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* 


ENG  f  B  WJOSW  StR  TATX 


COMPENDIUM 

OP 

AMERICAN  LITERATURE, 

CHRONOLOGICALLY  ARRANGED; 

WITH 

BIOGEAPHICAL  SKETCHES  OF  THE  AUTHOKS, 

AND 

jidettas  torn  tpir  W&mfa. 

ON  THE  PLAN  OF  THE  AUTHOR'S 

"COMPENDIUM  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE,"  AND  "ENGLISH  LITERATURE  OF 
THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY." 

BY 

CHABLES  D.  CLEVELAND. 


ILLUSTRATED  EDITION. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
PARRY  &  M°M  I  LL  AN. 

NEW  YORK:  SCRIBNER  &  CO  BOSTON:  TICKNOR  &  FIELDS. 

1859. 


Entered  accordiug  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1859,  by 

CHARLES  D.  CLEVELAND, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Eastern  District  of 
Pennsylvania. 


Printed  ey  HENRY  15.  ASHMEAD, 

GEORGE  ST.  ADOVK  ELEVENTH. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 


Soon  after  the  publication  of  my  "  English  Literature  of  the 
Nineteenth  Century/' — seven  years  ago, — the  publishers  announced 
the  present  work ;  and  in  about  a  year  after,  nearly  half  of  it  was 
done.  But  I  found  that,  with  the  arduous  duties  of  my  school,  I 
was  working  too  hard,  and  I  therefore  suspended  my  labors  upon 
the  book,  and  for  four  or  five  years  (residing  for  a  greater  part 
of  the  time  in  the  country)  I  wrote  not  a  line  for  it.  But  as,  in 
consequence  of  its  early  announcement,  it  was  continually  inquired 
for,  I  determined,  a  year  ago,  to  complete  the  work  as  soon  as  I 
could,  and  as  best  I  might  be  able.  The  result  is  now  before  the 
public.  I  have  deemed  it  but  simple  justice  to  myself,  as  well  as 
to  my  publishers,  to  state  these  facts,  lest  it  might  be  supposed 
that  I  had  been  laboring  upon  my  book  for  the  whole  seven  years, 
thus  raising  expectations,  as  to  the  completeness  and  finish,  which 
I  fear  the  volume  itself  will  not  justify.  Moreover,  one  who  has 
an  onerous  scholastic  charge  might  be  supposed  to  have  enough  to 
employ  his  time,  without  engaging  in  such  outside  literary  labors 
as  seem  more  befitting  the  professed  author.  I  say  these  things, 
not  to  deprecate  criticism  upon  my  work, — on  the  contrary,  I  cor- 
dially invite  it, — but  as  a  partial  apology  for  its  deficiencies. 

In  the  preparation  of  all  works  of  this  character,  there  are 
difficulties  which  those  only  who  have  been  engaged  in  such  labors 
can  appreciate.  But  in  this  work  the  difficulties  are  peculiar : 
First,  from  the  two  questions  that  must,  at  the  very  outset,  be 
answered : — What  is  American  Literature  ?  and,  When  does  it 
begin  ?  Second,  from  the  vast  amount  of  material  to  select  from, 
at  times  absolutely  overwhelming.  And,  third,  from  the  impossi- 
bility of  giving  entire  satisfaction  either  to  living  authors,  or  to 
the  friends  and  kindred  of  those  who  are  deceased. 

Respecting  the  question,  what  is  American  Literature,  I  would 
remark  that,  in  my  view,  it  would  be  absurd  to  apply  this  term  to 
the  occasional  and  transient  literary  effusions  which  appeared  on 
this  side  of  the  Atlantic  for  a  century  after  the  settlement  of  the 
country.  Colonies  of  Great  Britain,  speaking  the  same  language, 
governed  by  the  same  laws,  manufacturing  but  little  for  ourselves, 
but  dependent  on  the  mother  country  for  a  large  portion  of  our 


4 


PREFACE. 


material  comforts,  it  was  natural  for  us  to  look  to  her  also  for  our 
intellectual  aliment.  And  we  did  so.  Scarcely  forty  years  ago, 
the  "  Edinburgh  Review"  thus  wrote  :l — "  Literature,  the  Ameri- 
cans have  none;  no  native  literature,  we  mean.  *  *  *  But  why 
should  the  Americans  write  books,  when  a  six  weeks'  passage 
brings  them,  in  their  own  tongue,  our  sense,  science,  and  genius, 
in  bales  and  hogsheads  ?"  At  this  very  plain  language,  which  had  a 
good  deal  of  truth  in  it,  we  were  much  and  very  foolishly  offended. 
We  might  have  answered  the  reviewer,  amply,  thus  : — "  True,  we 
have  had  as  yet  but  little  literature  of  our  own.  We  have  had 
a  greater,  a  higher,  a  nobler  work  to  do  than  to  write  books.  We 
have  had  to  found  a  great  nation.  A  vast  continent  was  before  us 
to  be  subdued.  The  '  means  whereby  to  live'  were  first  to  be  pro- 
vided. Dwellings  were  to  be  built;  school-houses  and  church 
edifices  were  to  be  erected ;  literary,  scientific,  and  religious  edu- 
cational institutions  were  to  be  founded ;  and  then,  in  the  natural 
course  of  things,  would  come  forth  and  be  embodied  the  creations 
of  the  intellect,  the  fancy,  and  the  imagination.  In  short,  instead 
of  writing  any  great  work,  we  were  acting  a  still  greater  one.  We 
were  creating  those  very  subjects  upon  which  the  future  historian, 
traveller,  essayist,  poet,  might  employ  his  pen  for  the  delight 
and  instruction  of  other  generations."  Such  might  have  been 
our  answer;  and  who  would  not  have  acknowledged  its  conclu- 
siveness ? 

But  as  soon  as  our  "  gristle  was  hardened  into  the  bone  of  man- 
hood," we  began  to  think  of  setting  up  for  ourselves ;  and  then, 
indeed,  we  began  to  think  for  ourselves.  And  here  we  have  an 
answer,  as  correct  as  I  can  give,  to  the  question,  what  is  American 
Literature ;  namely,  that  it  is  the  product  of  those  minds  that 
have  been  nurtured,  trained,  developed,  matured,  on  our  own  soil, 
by  the  manners,  habits,  scenery,  circumstances,  and  institutions 
peculiar  to  ourselves.  This  answer,  too,  determines,  with  consi- 
derable precision,  the  date  of  American  Literature, — that  its 
native  growth  and  development  commenced  with  our  Revolu- 
tionary period.  Our  first  thoughts  were,  of  course,  directed  to 
our  own  condition,  to  our  relations  to  the  mother  country,  to  our 
forms  of  government,  and  to  the  great  principles  of  political 
government,  of  public  economy,  and  of  civil  liberty ;  and  then 
came  forth,  Minerva-like,  a  literature  of  a  political  character,  to 
which,  for  strength,  clearness,  and  comprehensiveness  of  thought, 
for  just  and  sound  reasoning,  and  for  effective  and  lofty  elo- 
quence, the  world  had  never  seen  the  parallel ;  showing  that  the 
high  encomium  passed  by  Edmund  Burke  upon  our  first  colonial 
Congress  was  no  less  just  than  beautiful.    This  literature  is  era- 


1  Vol.  xxxi.  p.  144,  December,  IS  IS. 


PREFACE. 


5 


bodied  in  the  speeches  and  letters  of  James  Otis,  the  elder  Adams, 
Washington,  Hamilton,  Jefferson,  Jay,  Madison,  and  other  patriots 
of  the  Revolution.  Thenceforward,  by  degrees,  as  our  strength  in- 
creased, as  our  views  expanded,  as  our  facilities  for  learning  were 
multiplied,  as  our  scholarship  assumed  a  higher  and  a  higher 
grade,  we  entered,  successively,  the  various  fields  of  literature, 
and  reaped  rich  and  still  richer  harvests  from  them  all,  so  that 
our  dear,  good  old  mother  is  now  proud  to  acknowledge  us  as  her 
own,  and  to  confess  that  in  some  of  the  walks  of  science  we  have, 
in  our  onward  march,  left  even  her  behind.1  In  History,  she 
acknowledges  that  Irving,  Prescott,  Bancroft,  Hildreth,  and  Mot- 
ley, are  equal  to  any  on  her  side  of  the  Atlantic.  In  Theology 
and  Biblical  Literature,  Dwight  and  Barnes  have,  probably,  as 
many  readers  in  England  as  here;  while  no  review  in  that  depart- 
ment in  Great  Britain  is  superior,  for  varied  and  profound  learn- 
ing, to  "  The  Bibliotheca  Sacra. "  As  a  novelist,  the  English 
Reviews  themselves  being  judges,  Mrs.  Stowe  is  without  a  rival 
in  either  hemisphere.  As  many  copies,  probably,  of  Bryant  and 
Longfellow  have  been  sold  in  England,  as  of  Coleridge,  or  Words- 
worth, or  Tennyson ;  while  many  annotated  and  elucidated  edi- 
tions of  classic  authors  by  our  own  scholars  are  extensively  studied 
in  English  schools.  So  that  now  "  The  Edinburgh  Review"  might 
ask  with  truth  the  reverse  question — "  Who  does  not  read  an 
American  book  ?" 

Having  fixed  the  date  of  the  origin  of  our  native  literature  at 
the  latter  half  of  the  last  century,  the  question  arose  with  what 
author  I  should  begin.  Here  there  seemed  little  difficulty  in 
deciding.  The  great  light  of  the  last  century  was,  undoubtedly, 
Jonathan  Edwards,  distinguished  not  more  for  his  learning  and 
piety,  than  for  his  originality  of  genius,  and  a  mind  unmistakably 
American  in  its  habits  of  thought  and  action.  But  after  him,  the 
number  that  might,  with  some  show  of  reason,  put  in  their  claim 
to  come  within  the  scope  of  such  a  work,  increased  more  and  more, 
until  it  has,  within  the  past  thirty  years,  become  so  great  as  to  be 
really  embarrassing.  And  here,  doubtless,  will  be  found  the  chief 
failing  of  my  humble  volume ;  here  is  a  field  ample  enough  for  the 
most  vituperative  critic  to  exercise  his  skill  in.  Many  will  see  that 
some  favorite  piece — or,  it  may  be,  some  favorite  author — has  been 
left  out ;  and  may  hastily  ask  why  it  is  so.  It  is  enough  to  reply  that 
I  could  not  put  in  every  thing, — no,  not  a  hundredth  part  of  what 


1  "  The  London  Quarterly  Review,"  for  December,  1841,  (only  twenty-three 
years  after  the  extract  from  "  The  Edinburgh  Review"  just  quoted  was  written,) 
in  reviewing  Dr.  Robinson's  Palestine,  thus  wri:es : — "We  are  not  altogether 
pleased  that  for  the  best  and  most  copious  work  on  the  geography  and  antiquities 
of  the  Holy  Land,  though  written  in  English,  we  should  be  indebted  to  an  Ame- 
rican divine." 


6 


PREFACE. 


has  been  written.  Even  the  titles  of  all  the  books  written  by  Ame- 
_  rican  authors  would  fill  a  volume  half  as  large  as  this.  But,  if  it 
will  be  any  gratification  to  these  querists,  I  will  candidly  acknow- 
ledge that  I  myself  see,  after  my  book  is  now  made  up,  many 
ways  in  which  it  might  be  improved,  and  that  many  authors  are 
not  noticed  in  it  who  should  be.  It  will  be  a  pleasure,  however,  to 
make  amends  for  whatever  sins  of  omission  or  of  commission  may 
be  pointed  out  to  me,  should  my  book  reach  another  edition  and 
be  put  in  the  stereotyped,  permanent  form.  In  the  mean  time,  I 
earnestly  hope  that  any  friend — or  foe,  if  I  have  one — will  candidly 
and  freely  communicate  to  me  his  views.  Each  one  will  look  at 
the  subject  from  a  different  stand-point;  and  I  will  sincerely 
thank  all  to  do  what  they  can  to  place  me  in  their  own  position, 
that  I  may,  as  far  as  possible,  see  with  their  eyes. 

But,  whatever  want  of  judgment  may  be  laid  to  my  charge, 
either  in  deciding  upon  the  authors  to  be  admitted  into  my  book, 
or  of  taste  in  selecting  from  their  works,  I  trust  that  no  one  will 
be  able  with  justice  to  impugn  my  honesty.  I  have  at  least  en- 
deavored, uninfluenced  by  fear  or  favor,  to  represent  my  authors 
fairly,  and  to  let  them  speak  out  whatever  sentiments  were  dearest 
to  their  hearts.  To  have  done  otherwise,  would  have  been  as  dis- 
honorable as  unjust.  One,  for  instance,  has  made  Freedom  the 
chief  burden  of  his  writings ;  another  has  been  most  interested 
in  the  cause  of  Temperance, — both  subjects  peculiarly  American ; 
and  the  warmest  feelings  of  my  heart,  and  my  own  lifelong  prin- 
ciples, have  here  fully  harmonized  with  my  sense  of  justice,  to 
represent  the  humanity  and  philanthropy,  as  well  as  the  cultivated 
intellect,  of  my  accomplished  countrymen. 

In  conclusion,  I  would  only  remark  that  I  can  desire  no  greater 
favor  to  be  shown  by  the  public  to  this,  than  has  been  extended 
to  my  two  former  volumes.  My  publishers — and  no  author  could 
in  this  respect  be  more  highly  favored — have  done  their  part,  as 
before,  in  a  style  of  great  beauty;  so  that  no  series  of  books,  I 
✓  believe,  have  ever  been  offered  to  the  public  at  so  moderate  a 
price,  considering  their  amount  of  reading  matter  and  their 
mechanical  execution. 

And  now,  having  prepared  this  book,  as  my  others,  neither  to 
please  any  clique  or  sect,  nor  to  favor  any  particular  latitude  or 
special  market,  nor  to  defer  to  any  false  sentiments,  but  to  pro- 
mote the  cause  of  sound  learning  and  education,  in  harmony  with 
pure  Christian  morals,  the  best  interests  of  humanity,  and  the 
cause  of  universal  truth,  I  submit  it  to  the  judgment  of  an  in- 
telligent public. 

CHARLES  D.  CLEVELAND. 


Philadelphia,  April  6,  1858. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION. 


The  hearty  praise  bestowed  by  the  public  upon  the  first  edition 
of  this  book,  the  rapid  sale  which  it  met  with,  together  with  the 
numerous  kind  and  commendatory  letters  that  I  received  from 
authors  and  others,  were,  of  course,  very  grateful  to  my  feelings  j 
and  it  was  to  me  no  less  a  duty  than  a  pleasure  to  show  myself 
not  unmindful  of  such  kindness,  by  doing  all  I  could — and,  I 
would  hope,  not  without  success — to  make  the  second  edition 
every  way  more  deserving.  No  one  could  see  or  feel  the  de- 
ficiencies of  my  book  so  much  as  myself ;  but  I  had  this  conso- 
lation, that  the  most  competent  to  decide  upon  its  merits  would 
be  those  best  able  to  appreciate  the  difficulties  in  preparing  it, 
and  therefore  most  ready  to  make  every  allowance  for  its  defects. 
And  so  it  proved. 

My  book  was,  however,  the  subject  of  some  ungracious  stric- 
tures on  two  grounds, — sins  of  omission  and  sins  of  commission. 
In  proof  of  the  first,  one  critic  set  forth  a  list  of  thirty-one  names 
not  to  be  found  in  the  work.  To  this  accusation  I  could  only 
plead  guilty,  and  that,  too,  to  an  extent  much  greater  than  the 
charge ;  for  in  the  preface  to  the  first  edition  (written,  of  course, 
after  the  rest  of  the  book  was  printed)  I  candidly  acknowledged 
that  I  found  I  had  omitted  many  names  that  deserved  a  place  in 
the  volume  quite  as  much,  at  least,  as  some  who  were  in  it,  and 
I  declared  my  purpose  to  do  my  best  to  remedy  the  defect  in  the 
second  edition.  This  I  did,  to  as  great  an  extent  as  was  consistent 
with  my  plan,  by  introducing  sixty  additional  authors,  with  ex- 
tracts from  their  works.  But  even  now  I  am  aware  that  there  are 
some  writers,  of  much  merit  in  their  way,  who  will  not  be  found 
in  these  pages,  and  that  I  may  still  be  censured  for  omissions. 
So  let  it  be.  I  well  knew,  when  I  began  my  work,  that  I  had 
undertaken  a  task  very  difficult  of  accomplishment,  and  that,  what- 
ever might  be  my  success,  I  should  be  exposed  to  the  displeasure 

7 


8 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION. 


of  those  who  would  feel  themselves  aggrieved,  either  because  suffi- 
cient prominence  had  not  been  given  to  their  favorite  pieces  and 
authors,  or  because  they  themselves  were  not  noticed.1 

But,  besides  the  difficulties  and  embarrassments  in  deciding 
upon  the  authors  to  be  admitted  and  the  selections  to  be  made,  I 
felt, — depressingly  felt, — from  first  to  last,  how  little  the  general 
character  and  style  of  many  authors  could  be  appreciated  by  the 
few  extracts  I  could  take  from  their  writings;  and  more  than 
once  I  thought  that  I  might  not  inaptly  be  compared  to  the 
simpleton  in  Hierocles,  who,  when  he  had  a  house  for  sale,  carried 
about  a  brick  in  his  pocket  as  a  specimen.  But  the  idea  also  occurred 
to  me  that  the  Grecian  was  not  so  far  wrong,  after  all ;  for  if  the 
brick  gave  no  idea  of  the  size  or  architecture  of  the  building,  it 
showed,  at  least,  of  what  material  it  was  composed.  So  I  com- 
forted myself  with  the  reflection  that  very  many  who,  in  this  age 
of  business  activity,  would  have  no  time  to  read  the  entire  works 
of  an  author,  and  therefore  could  not  have  a  full  appreciation  of 
his  genius,  would  still  get  from  my  book  some  notion  of  his  cha- 
racter, his  turn  of  thought,  his  style,  and  his  power, — and  that 
this  would  be  far  better  than  to  know  nothing  of  him  at  all. 

But  my  sins  of  commission  were  still  more  grievous, — the  anti- 
slavery  extracts  introduced  into  my  book.  For  these  I  have  not 
one  word  of  apology  to  offer.  Every  sentiment  of  my  mind  and 
every  pulsation  of  my  heart  is,  and  always  has  been,  on  the  side 
of  liberty  and  the  right  of  every  human  being  to  its  fullest  enjoy- 
ment, believing,  with  Cowper,  that 

"  'Tis  Liberty  alone  that  gives  the  flower 
Of  fleeting  life  its  lustre  and  perfume  ; 
And  we  are  weeds  without  it." 

I  candidly  acknowledge  that  I  am  so  simple-minded  as  really 
to  believe  (not  "  make-believe")  in  the  declaration  of  the  Scrip- 
tures that  "  God  hath  made  of  one  blood  all  nations  of  men  and 
in  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  that  "  every  man  has  an  in- 


1  A  writer  in  the  "  North  American  Review,"  some  years  ago,  pleasantly 
remarked,  "We  have  among  us  little  companies  of  people,  each  of  which 
'keeps  its  poet,'  and,  not  content  with  that,  proclaims  from  its  small  cor- 
ner, with  a  most  conceited  air,  that  its  poet  is  the  man  of  the  age." 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION. 


9 


alienable  right  to  Liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness."  I  there- 
fore believe  it  to  be  a  great  crime  to  deprive  any  innocent  human 
being  of  an  u  inalienable  right;"  and  a  sin  against  God  of  no  ordi- 
nary magnitude  to  turn  the  ".  temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost"1  into  an 
article  of  merchandise,  or,  in  the  nervous  language  of  Whittier, 

"  To  herd  with  lower  natures  the  awful  form  of  God." 

I  also  acknowledge  that,  in  these  days,  when  a  cowardly,  short- 
sighted, unprincipled  expediency  too  often  usurps  the  place  of  truth 
and  duty,  I  wished  all,  especially  the  youth  of  my  country,  to  see  that 
the  founders  of  our  Republic — Washington,  Franklin,  Jefferson, 
and  others — were  always  and  earnestly  on  the  side  of  Freedom 
as  opposed  to  Slavery  ■  and  that  most  of  our  wisest  and  best  men 
and  ablest  writers — poets,  essayists,  historians,  divines — down  to 
the  present  day,  have  taken  the  same  high  Christian  ground.  I 
acknowledge,  too,  that  I  love,  as  I  humbly  hope,  truth  and  honesty, 
and  hate  all  shams,  whether  in  politics,  morals,  or  religion ;  and 
that,  in  the  preparation  of  my  book,  I  felt  it  to  be  my  duty  to  re- 
present my  authors  fairly  j  to  set  forth  what  has  chiefly  charac- 
terized their  writings ;  to  let  them  speak  out  the  deep  feelings  of 
their  heart.  To  do  this  in  many  cases,  I  could  not,  simply  as  an 
honest  man,  but  bring  into  view  their  anti-slavery  opinions  and 
principles  as  shown  in  their  writings  and  actions.  I  say  this  not 
apologetically  j  for  I  trust  that  I  shall  never  be  given  over  to  do 
a  deed  or  say  a  word  to  conciliate  the  favor  of  the  slaveholder, 
or  of  his  more  guilty  Northern  apologist.  I  know  very  well  that 
there  are  some  books  that  pretend  to  give  a  full  and  fair  view 
of  American  authors,  but  from  which  are  very  scrupulously  ex- 
cluded every  anti-slavery  sentiment  from  the  writings  of  those 
most  known  as  anti-slavery  men.  But  could  I  be  so  dishonest  as 
well  as  mean  as  to  act  thus, — to  keep  out  of  view  the  most  warmly- 
cherished  sentiments  of  my  authors  as  well  as  my  own,  in  the 
hope  of  greater  pecuniary  gain,  or  to  secure  favor  and  commenda- 
tion from  the  friends  and  champions,  lay  or  clerical,  of  our  "  pecu- 
liar institution," — no  one  could  despise  me  half  so  much  as  I 
should  despise  myself. 


1  1  Cor.  vi,  19. 


10 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION. 


I  was  also  blamed  by  some  for  not  introducing  more  Southern 
authors  into  my  book.  But,  in  the  preparation  of  the  work,  I  never 
thought  or  cared  what  was  the  latitude  of  the  writer's  birth,  but 
only  what  were  his  merits.  In  my  second  edition,  having  sixty 
new  names,  I  introduced  a  few  more  Southern  writers,  numeri- 
cally, but  not  more  in  proportion ;  for  if  seven-eighths  of  our 
most  eminent  poets,  historians,  essayists,  and  theologians  would 
be  born  in  the  free  States,  I  see  not  how  I  could  help  it;  and, 
having  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  arrangement,  I  do  not  see 
exactly  how  I  am  to  be  blamed  for  it.1 

In  this  third  edition  no  additional  matter,  of  course,  has  been 
introduced,  as  the  work  is  stereotyped;  but  a  few  typographical 
errors  have  been  corrected,  and  the  Index  has  been  carefully  and 
thoroughly  revised  and  reset. 

In  conclusion,  I  would  make  my  most  grateful  acknowledgments 
to  those — and  they  are  many — who  made  various  friendly  sug- 
gestions for  the  improvement  of  my  humble  volume.  They  will 
see  that  in  most  cases  their  views  were  partially  if  not  wholly 
adopted ;  and  if  I  did  not  avail  myself  of  their  hints  in  all  cases, 
it  was  simply  because  I  could  not  do  so  consistently  with  my  own 
taste  and  judgment.  But  I  do  not  the  less  appreciate  their  true 
kindness,  and  the  interest  they  manifested  in  my  book;  and  I  am 
sure  that,  knowing  the  many  difficulties  that  beset  one,  on  every 
side,  engaged  in  such  a  work, — the  diversities  of  taste,  the  dif- 
ferences of  judgment,  the  mass  of  material  to  be  selected  from, 
the  various  considerations  to  be  taken  into  account  in  admitting 
or  rejecting  both  writers  and  selections, — they  will  look  upon  the 
result  of  my  labor  now  completed,  with  kindliness,  if  not  with 
commendation. 

CHARLES  D.  CLEVELAND. 

Philadelphia,  August  18,  1859. 

1  Of  the  one  hundred  and  sixty-eight  authors  in  my  book,  forty-eight 
were  born  in  Massachusetts ;  twenty-five  in  New  York ;  twenty-three  in 
Connecticut ;  seventeen  in  Pennsylvania ;  eleven  in  Maine ;  six  in  New 
Hampshire  ;  six  in  Virginia  ;  five  in  Maryland  ;  four  in  New  Jersey  ;  four 
in  South  Carolina;  three  in  Vermont ;  three  in  Rhode  Island;  three  in 
Scotland ;  two  in  Ohio ;  one  in  Delaware ;  one  in  Louisiana ;  one  in 
Michigan  ;  one  in  Africa  ;  one  in  Bermuda  ;  one  in  Ireland  ;  one  in  South 
America ;  and  one  in  the  AVest  Indies. 


CONTENTS. 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS:  Page 

Biographical  Sketch   25 

His  Religious  Feelings   25 

His  Resolutions   26 

The  Freedom  of  the  Will   31 

The  Permission  not  tho  Production  of 

Evil   32 

BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN: 

William  B.  Tappan's  Lines  on   33 

Biographical  Sketch   33 

First  Entrance  into  Philadelphia   33 

On  the  Return  of  Peace   38 

The  Way  to  Wealth   38 

The  Whistle  ,   41 

A  Parable  against  Persecution   42 

Turning  the  Grindstone   43 

Memorial  to  Congress  on  Slavery   44 

JOHN  WITHERSPOON: 

Biographical  Sketch   45 

The  Pernicious  Example  of  the  Stage..  46 

Character  of  Theatrical  Representations  47 

Character  of  Actors   47 

Principles  Regulating  Money   48 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON: 

Biographical  Sketch   49 

"Valedictory  Counsels  of  Washington....  50 

The  Brotherhood  of  Man   52 

Providence  ruling  the  Affairs  of  Na- 
tions  52 

Pleasures  of  Private  Life   53 

Slavery   53 

Virtue  and  Happiness   54 

Agriculture   54 

War   55 

JOHN  ADAMS: 

Biographical  Sketch   55 

Mrs.  Adams's  Letter  to  her  Husband 

(note)   56 

Meditates  the  Choice  of  Hercules   57 

The  Fourth  of  July   58 


FRANCIS  HOPKINSON:  Pagb 

Biographical  Sketch   59 

Specimen  of  a  Collegiate  Examination..  60 

On  White-Washing   63 

Mistake  versus  Blunder   65 

The  Battle  of  the  Kegs   66 

JAMES  WILSON: 

£  Biographical  Sketch   68 

The  Excellence  of  our  Constitution   69 

The  People  the  Source  of  all  Power   69 

The  Anti-Slavery  Character  of  the  Con- 
stitution  71 

THOMAS  JEFFERSON: 

Biographical  Sketch   72 

The  Rights  of  Man   74 

Passage  of  the  Potomac  through  the 

Blue  Ridge   75 

Influence  of  Slavery   76 

A  Decalogue  of  Canons  for  Practical 

Life   77 

His  Dying  Council   77 

BENJAMIN  RUSH: 

Biographical  Sketch   78 

Female  Education   79 

The  Use  of  Tobacco   81 

The  Bible  as  a  School-Book   82 

LINDLEY  MURRAY: 

Biographical  Sketch   84 

Moderation  in  One's  Desires   85 

Employment  Essential  to  Health   86 

The  Blessings  of  Affliction   86 

DAVID  RAMSEY: 

Biographical  Sketch   87 

Washington  resigning  his  Commission  88 

JOHN  TRUMBULL: 

Biographical  Sketch   89 

The  Fop's  Decline   90 

The  Belle   91 

11 


12 


CONTENTS. 


JOHN  TRUMBULL:  Page 

Character  of  McFingal   92 

McFingal's  Vision  of  American  Great- 
ness   93 

JOHN  LEDYAPD: 

Biographical  Sketch   94 

The  Tartars  and  Russians   95 

Physiognomy  of  the  Tartars   9G 

Woman   97 

Blessiugs  of  Liberty   97 

JAMES  MADISON: 

Biographical  Sketch   98 

Our  Country's  Responsibility  to  the 

World   99 

An  Appeal  for  the  Union   100 

ST.  GEORGE  TUCKER: 

Biographical  Sketch   101 

Days  of  my  Youth   101 

TIMOTHY  DWIGHT: 

Biographical  Sketch   102 

Duelling   103 

The  Notch  of  the  White  Mountains   104 

The  Goodness  of  God  as  manifested  in 

Creation   105 

Goffe,  the  Regicide   10G 

Evening  after  a  Battle   107 

I  Love  thy  Kingdom,  Lord   107 

PHILIP  FRENEAU: 

Biographical  Sketch   108 

The  Dying  Indian   109 

The  Wild  Honeysuckle   Ill 

The  Prospect  of  Peace   Ill 

May  to  April   112 

PHILLIS  WHEATLEY  PETERS: 

Biographical  Sketch   113 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  Dr.  Sewall   114 

On  the  Death  of  an  Infant   115 

A  Farewell  to  America   115 

JOEL  BARLOW: 

Biographical  Sketch   117 

The  Hasty  Pudding   118 

To  Freedom   119 

JOHN  MARSHALL: 

Biographical  Sketch   120 

Character  of  Washington   121 

ALEXANDER  HAMILTON: 
Biographical  Sketch   123 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON:  Pxob 

The  Necessity  of  a  National  Bank   125 

The    Excellency    of   our  Constitu- 
tion  126 

Character  of  Major  Andre   127 

Character  of  General  Greene   128 

FISHER  AMES: 

Biographical  Sketch   130 

The  Obligations  of  National  Faith   132 

Patriotism   134 

Washington  as  a  Civilian   134 

Character  of  the  Newspaper  Press   135 

Character  of  Hamilton   136 

Greece   138 

Political  Factions   138 

NOAII  WEBSTER: 

Biographical  Sketch   139 

The  Hartford  Convention   141 

Origin  of  Language   142 

ALEXANDER  WILSON: 

Biographical  Sketch   144 

Pleasures  in  contemplating  Nature   145 

The  Bald  Eagle   146 

The  Mocking-Bird   148 

JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS: 

Biographical  Sketch   149 

The  Gospel  a  Gospel  of  Liberty  and 

Peace   152 

The  Value  of  the  Bible   155 

The  Hour-Glass   156 

JOSEPH  DENNIE: 

Biographical  Sketch   157 

Account  of  the  "  Portfolio"  (note)   157 

Night   158 

Jack  and  Gill:  a  Criticism   160 

JOHN  M.  MASON : 

Biographical  Sketch   164 

Hamilton's  Death   165 

Politics  and  Religion   167 

Cluu-acter  of  Hamilton   168 

Gospel  for  the  Poor   169 

JOSEPH  HOPKINSON: 

Biographical  Sketch   170 

Hail,  Columbia   170 

CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN: 

Biographical  Sketch   172 

The  Pestilence  of  1798   172 

Perilous  Encounter  with  a  Panther   175 


CONTENTS. 


13 


SAMUEL  J.  SMITH:  Page 

Biographical  Sketch   178 

"Peace,  be  Still"   179 

A  Morning  Hymn   180 

For  an  Album   180 

JOSIAII  QUINCY: 

Biographical  Sketch   181 

The  Limits  to  Laws   182 

An  Embargo  Liberty   181 

New  England   184 

John  Quincy  Adams   185 

ARCHIBALD  ALEXANDER : 

Biographical  Sketch  186 

The  Right  Use  of  Reason  in  Religion...  187 

The  Bible   189 

The  Consolations  of  the  Gospel   189 

WILLIAM  WIRT: 

Biographical  Sketch   191 

John  1\  Kennedy  and  his  Works  (note)  191 

The  Blind  Preacher   193 

The  Power  of  Kindness   196 

Common  Sense   196 

Burr  and  Blaunerhasset   197 

Every  One  the  Architect  of  his  Own 
Fortune   19J 

ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE: 

Biographical  Sketch   201 

Adams  and  Liberty   202 

WILLIAM  SULLIVAN: 

Biographical  Sketch   203 

The  "Federalists"   201 

The  Washington  Administration.........  206 

LYMAN  BEECHER: 

Biographical  Sketch   206 

The  Sin  of  Trafficking  in  Ardent  Spirits  207 

Appeal  to  Young  Men   208 

The  Duellist  Unfit  for  Office   209 

The  East  and  the  West  One   210 

JAMES  K.  PAULDING: 

Biographical  Sketch   211 

Murderer's  Creek   212 

Quarrel  of  Squire  Bull  and  his  Son   215 

WILLIAM  TUDOR: 

Biographical  Sketch   217 

Account  of  the  "  Monthly  Anthology" 

(note)   217 

Account  of  the  "  North  American  Re- 
view" (note)   218 


WILLIAM  TUDOR:  Pag. 

Influence  of  Females  on  Society   219 

Character  of  James  Otis   220 

Cause  of  the  American  Revolution   221 

FRANCIS  S.  KEY: 

Biographical  Sketch   222 

The  Star-Spangled  Banner   222 

Life   224 

Hymn   224 

JOSEPH  T.  BUCKINGHAM: 

Biographical  Sketch   225 

National  Feeling — Lafayette   226 

The  Evils  of  Lotteries   227 

WASHINGTON  ALLSTON: 

H.  T.  Tuckerman's  Lines  on   228 

Biographical  Sketch   228 

The  Address  of  the  Sylph  of  Spring   230 

America  to  Great  Britain   231 

Benevolence   232 

Truth   233 

Humility   233 

BENJAMIN  SILLIMAN: 

Biographical  Sketch   233 

Nature  of  Geological  Evidence   234 

Application  of  the  Evidence — Fossil 
Fishes  of  Mount  Bolca   236 

TIMOTHY  FLINT: 

Biographical  Sketch   236 

Indian  Mounds   237 

Fashion  and  Ruin  versus  Industry  and 

Independence   238 

The  Shores  of  the  Ohio   239 

The  Indian  Belle  and  Beau   240 

WILLIAM  ELLERY  CIIANNING: 

James  Russell  Lowell's  Lines  on   241 

Biographical  Sketch   241 

The  Purifying  Influence  of  Poetry   243 

Books   245 

The  Moral  Dignity  of  the  Educational 

Profession   245 

Milton  and  Johnson   246 

Christianity    the    Great  Emancipa- 
tor  247 

Character  of  the  Negro  Race   248 

Every  Man  Great   249 

ULIAN  C.  YERPLANCK : 

Biographical  Sketch   250 

John  Jay   251 

The  Schoolmaster   252 


14 


CONTENTS. 


JOHN  JAMES  AUDUBON:  Page 

Biographical  Sketch   254 

The  Humming  Bird   255 

The  Mocking-Bird   256 

The  Wood-Thrush   257 

DANIEL  WEBSTER: 

Biographical  Sketch   25S 

Our  Country  in  1920   262 

Address  to  the  Surviving  Soldiers  of  the 

Revolution   263 

England   264 

The  Morning   264 

The  Love  of  Home   264 

The  Nature  of  True  Eloquence   265 

Justice   266 

Death  the  Great  Leveller   266 

Purpose  of  Bunker  Hill  Monument   266 

Crime  Revealed  by  Conscience   267 

Massachusetts   268 

Liberty  and  Union   269 

JOSEPH  STORY: 

Biographical  Sketch   270 

The  Importance  of  Classical  Learning..  271 

Free  Schools   272 

The  Dangers  that  threaten  our  Re- 
public  272 

WASHINGTON  IRVING: 

James  Russell  Lowell's  Lines  on   274 

Biographical  Sketch   274 

Columbus  first  discovers  Land  in  the 

New  World   276 

Filial  Affection   277 

The  Alhambra  by  Moonlight   279 

The  Grave   280 

Portrait  of  a  Dutchman  ,   281 

JOSEPH  S.  BUCKMINSTER: 

Biographical  Sketch   282 

Uses  of  Sickness   284 

Temptations  of  the  Young   284 

Active  and  Inactive  Learning   285 

LEVI  FRISBIE: 

Biographical  Sketch   287 

The  Reciprocal  Influence  of  Morals  and 

Literature   287 

Tacitus— Livy   289 

Moral  Taste   290 

A  Dream   291 

JOHN  PIERPONT: 

Biographical  Sketch   292 

Classical  and  Sacred  Themes  for  Music  293 


JOHN  PIERPONT:  pAr,, 

Song  of  the  Shepherds   293 

License-Laws   294 

Hymn   295 

My  Child   296 

Not  on  the  Battle-Field   297 

SAMUEL  WOOD  WORTH: 

Biographical  Sketch   299 

The  Old  Oaken  Bucket   299 

ANDREWS  NORTON: 

Biographical  Sketch   300 

Posthumous  Influence  of  the  Wise  and 

Good   301 

Reformers   302 

Scene  after  a  Summer  Shower   302 

Fortitude   303 

RICHARD  II.  DANA: 

Biographical  Sketch   304 

The  Scene  of  Death   305 

The  Husband  and  Wife's  Grave  306 

The  Death  of  Sin,  and  the  Life  of  Holi- 
ness  308 

The  Mother  and  Son   309 

RICHARD  HENRY  WILDE: 

Biographical  Sketch   312 

John  Randolph  and  Daniel  Webster.....  313 

My  Life  is  like  the  Summer  Rose  314 

To  the  Mocking-Bird   314 

JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER: 

Biographical  Sketch   315 

The  Capture  of  a  Whale   316 

The  Wreck  of  the  Ariel   319 

JAMES  A.  IIILLHOUSE : 

Fitz-Greene  Halleck's  Lines  on   323 

Biographical  Sketch   323 

Scene  from  Hadad   324 

Hadad"s  Description  of  the  City  of 

David   326 

How  Paternal  Wealth  should  be  Em- 
ployed  327 

WILLIAM  JAY: 

Biographical  Sketch   328 

Patriotism   329 

John  Quiney  Adams   329 

The  Higher  Law   331 

JARED  SPARKS: 

Biographical  Sketch   332 

Anecdote  of  John  Ledyard   333 


CONTENTS. 


15 


JARED  SPARKS:  Page 
The  American  Revolution   335 

LYDIA  HUNTLEY  SIGOURNEY: 

Biographical  Sketch   336 

Widow  at  her  Daughters  Bridal   338 

Niagara   33S 

A  Butterfly  on  a  Child's  Grave   339 

Death  of  an  Infant   340 

Alpine  Flowers  :   340 

Contentment   340 

The  Coral  Insect   341 

The  Gain  of  Adversity   342 

The  Privileges  of  Age   342 

ALEXANDER  H.  EVERETT: 

Biographical  Sketch   344 

England   345 

Claims  of  Literature  upon  America   346 

The  Young  American   347 

GEORGE  TICKNOR: 

Biographical  Sketch   348 

Don  Quixote   349 

CHARLES  SPRAGUE: 

Biographical  Sketch   352 

Shakspeare  Ode   353 

The  Brothers   356 

The  Family  Meeting   357 

The  Winged  Worshippers   358 

I  See  Thee  Still   359 

JOHN  HOWARD  PAYNE: 

Biographical  Sketch   360 

Home,  Sweet  Home   360 

SEBA  SMITH: 

Biographical  Sketch   361 

The  Mother  in  the  Snow-Storm   361 

HENRY  WARE,  Jr.: 

Biographical  Sketch   362 

Science  and  Poetry   362 

Choosing  a  Profession   362 

Seasons  of  Prayer   364 

HENRY  C.  CAREY: 

Biographical  Sketch     365 

Man  the  Subject  of  Social  Science   366 

Commerce  and  Trade   367 

The  Warrior-Chief  and  the  Trader   367 

SAMUEL  G.  GOODRICH: 

Biographical  Sketch   369 

Timothy  Dwight   369 


SA.MUEL  G.  GOODRICH:  pAGK 
The  Rural   Districts  our  Country's 

Strength   371 

Boston  in  1824   372 

Philadelphia   Publishers   and  Book- 
sellers (note)   373 

CARLOS  WILCOX: 

Biographical  Sketch   374 

September   374 

Freedom   375 

Doing  Good,  True  Happiness   376 

WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT: 

Biographical  Sketch  377 

Thanatopsis   379 

To  a  Waterfowl   380 

The  Conqueror's  Grave   381 

The  Past   382 

The  Evening  Wind   384 

The  Battle-Field   385 

The  Antiquity  of  Freedom   386 

JOHN  NEAL: 

Biographical  Sketch   387 

Children,— What  are  They   388 

EDWARD  ROBINSON: 

Biographical  Sketch   390 

Plain  before  Sinai   391 

The  Top  of  Sinai,  (Sufsafeh)   392 

The  Cedars  of  Lebanon   393 

EDWARD  EVERETT: 

Biographical  Sketch   394 

The  Pilgrims  of  the  Mayflower   395 

Pampering  the  Body  and  Starving  the 

Soul   396 

The  Eternal  Clockwork  of  the  Skies....  397 

The  Heavens  before  and  after  Dawn   398 

The  Universal  Bounties  of  Providence..  399 

JOSEPH  RODMAN  DRAKE: 

Fitz-Greene  Halleck's  Lines  on   400 

Biographical  Sketch   400 

The  Culprit  Fay   401 

The  American  Flag   404 

WILLIAM  B.  TAPPAN : 

Biographical  Sketch   405 

There  is  an  Hour  of  Peaceful  Rest   406 

Gethsemane   406 

Why  should  we  Sigh   407 

FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK: 
Biographical  Sketch   407 


16 


CONTENTS. 


FLTZ-GREENE  IIALLECK:  pAGE 

Marco  Bozzaris   408 

Burns   410 

The  World  is  Bright  before  Thee   413 

JAMES  GATES  PERCIVAL: 

Biographical  Sketch   413 

Ode,— Liberty  to  Athens   414 

Consumption   416 

Night   417 

Love  of  Study   418 

Extract  from  Prometheus   419 

MARIA  BROOKS: 

Biographical  Sketch   420 

Morning   421 

Confiding  Love   421 

Marriage   422 

Song   422 

WILLIAM  B.  SPRAGUE : 

Biographical  Sketch   423 

Voltaire  and  Wilberforce   424 

Virtue  Crowned  with  Usefulness   425 

8ARAII  JOSEPHA  HALE: 

Biographical  Sketch   427 

The  Light  of  Home   427 

It  Snows   428 

FRANCIS  WAYLAND: 

Biographical  Sketch   429 

The  Object  of  Missions   430 

The  Iliad  and  the  Bible   431 

The  Guilt  of  Punishing   the  Inno- 
cent  432 

The  True  Gospel  Ministry   433 

WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT: 

Biographical  Sketch   435 

Return  of  Columbus   437 

Queen  Isabella   438 

The  Character  and  Eate  of  Monte- 
zuma  440 

CATHARINE  MARIA  SEDGWICK: 

Biographical  Sketch   441 

A  Sabbath  in  New  England   442 

Uncle  Phil  and  his  Invalid  Daugh- 
ter  444 

JOHN  GORHAM  PALFREY: 

Biographical  Sketch   447 

The  Elegant  Culture  and  Learning  of 

the  Puritans   448 

Roger  Williams   450 


JOHN  GORHAM  PALFREY:  pAGB 
A  Good  Daughter   451 

WILLIAM  WARE: 

Biographical  Sketch   452 

Palmyra  in  its  Glory   452 

Palmyra  after  its  Capture  and  Destruc- 
tion  453 

JOHN  G.  C.  BRAINARD : 

Lines  on,  by  J.  G.  Whittier   455 

Biographical  Sketch   455 

The  Falls  of  Niagara   456 

Epithalamium   456 

On  a  Late  Loss   457 

Leather  Stocking   457 

The  Sea-Bird's  Song   458 

ALBERT  BARNES: 

Biographical  Sketch  459 

A  Mother's  Love— Home   461 

The  Traffic  in  Ardent  Spirits  462 

The  Bible  versus  Slavery— The  Duty  of 

the  Church   463 

War   464 

The  Gentle  Charities  of  Life   404 

The  Value  of  Industry  465 

ROBERT  C.  SANDS: 

Biographical  Sketch   466 

From  the  Proem  to  Yamoydon   467 

Ode  to  Evening   468 

Monody  on  Samuel  Patch   468 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON  DOANE: 

Biographical  Sketch   471 

On  an  Old  Wedding  Ring   471 

That  Silent  Moon   472 

GRENVILLE  MELLEN: 

Biographical  Sketch   473 

The  Martyr   474 

The  Eagle   475 

Conscience   475 

WILLIAM  B.  O.  PEABODY: 

Biographical  Sketch   476 

Hymn  of  Nature   477 

LYDIA  MARIA  CHILD: 

Biographical  Sketch   478 

Marius   479 

A  Street  Scene   480 

Unselfishness   481 

Politeness   481 

Flowers   482 


CONTENTS. 


17 


LYDTA  MARIA  CHILD:  Page 
Where  is  the  Enemy   482 

GEORGE  BANCROFT: 

Biographical  Sketch   483 

Character  of  Roger  Williams   484 

Destruction  of  the  Tea  in  Boston  Har- 

hor   485 

Chivalry  and  Puritanism   487 

The  Position  of  the  Puritans   487 

JAMES  G.  BROOKS: 

Biographical  Sketch   488 

Greece,  1832   488 

MARY  E.  BROOKS: 

Biographical  Sketch   490 

Weep  not  for  the  Dead   490 

MARK  HOPKINS: 

Biographical  Sketch   491 

Christianity  not  Originated  by  Man   491 

Faith— The  Race  for  the  Young   492 

True  Worship   493 

Attractiveness  of  Irregular  Action   495 

ALBERT  G.  GREENE : 

Biographical  Sketch   49G 

Old  Grimes   496 

LEONARD  BACON: 

Biographical  Sketch  498 

John  Davenport's  Influence  upon  New 

Haven   499 

The  Present  Age....   500 

Christianity  in  History   501 

EDWARD  C.  PINKNEY: 

Biographical  Sketch   502 

Italy   503 

A  Health   504 

A  Serenade   504 

GEORGE  P.  MORRIS: 

Biographical  Sketch   505 

Life  in  the  West   506 

When    Other    Friends    are  Round 

Thee   50C 

Up  with  the  Signal   507 

Woodman,  Spare  that  Tree   507 

My  Mother's  Bible   508 

GEORGE  DENISON  PRENTICE: 

Biographical  Sketch   508 

Sabbath  Evening   509 

I  Thiuk  of  Thee   510 

2 


RUFUS  DAWES:  pA6B 

Biographical  Sketch   510 

Spirit  of  Beauty   511 

Sunrise,— From  Mount  Washington   511 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON: 

Biographical  Sketch   513 

The  Compensations  of  Calamity   513 

Travelling   514 

Self-Reliance   515 

Good-Bye,  Proud  World   515 

JACOB  ABBOTT: 

Biographical  Sketch   516 

Intellectual  Improvement   516 

The  Thing  Essential  to  Happiness   518 

HORACE  BUSHNELL: 

Biographical  Sketch   519 

Work  and  Play   520 

Light   522 

GEORGE  W.  BETHUNE: 

Biographical  Sketch   523 

Our  Country   524 

Victory  over  Death   526 

Cling  to  thy  Mother   527 

Live  to  do  Good   528 

Early  Lost,  Early  Saved   528 

ELIZABETH  OAKES  SMITH: 

Biographical  Sketch   529 

The  Drowned  Mariner   530 

The  Wife   531 

CAROLINE  M.  KIRKLAND: 

Biographical  Sketch   532 

The  Authority  in  a  Household   533 

Borrowing  "  Out  West"   534 

Hospitality   535 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE : 

Biographical  Sketch   536 

A  Rill  from  the  Town  Pump   537 

Sights  from  a  Steeple   540 

Vanity  Fair   541 

CHARLES  FENNO  HOFFMAN: 

Biographical  Sketch   543 

A  Morning  Hymn   544 

Indian  Summer,  1828   544 

We  Parted  in  Sadness   ..  545 

Sparkling  and  Bright   545 

WILLIAM  GTLMORE  SIMMS: 
Biographical  Sketch  «  .  ..  546 


is 


CONTENTS. 


WILLIAM  GILMORE  SIMMS:  Page 

The  Maiden  and  the  Rattlesnake   547 

Song  of  the  Zephyr  Spirit   551 

Heart  Essential  to  Genius   552 

ISAAC  McLELLAN: 

Biographical  Sketch   552 

New  England's  Dead   553 

Lines,  suggested    by  a  Picture  by 
Washington  Allston   554 

NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS: 

Biographical  Sketch   555 

Hagar  in  the  "Wilderness   556 

Saturday  Afternoon   559 

The  Annoyer   559 

Reverie  at  Glenmary   500 

HENRY    "WADS  WORTH  LONGFEL- 
LOW: 

Biographical  Sketch   561 

A  Psalm  of  Life   562 

The  Reaper  and  the  Flowers   563 

Footsteps  of  Angels   563 

The  Arsenal  at  Springfield   564 

Maidenhood   565 

The  Warning   567 

Excelsior   567 

Literary  Fame   568 

GEORGE  BARRELL  CHEEVER: 

Biographical  Sketch   569 

The  Benefit  of  Greek  Culture   571 

Bunyan  in  his  Cell   572 

Retributive  Providences   573 

Step  to  the  Captain's  Office  and  Settle...  574 

The  English  Language   575 

A  Slave-Holding  Christianity   576 

RICHARD  HILDRETII: 

Biographical  Sketch   577 

The  Murder  of  the  Soul   578 

The  Continental  Congress   579 

Hamilton,  Washington,  and  Jay   580 

James  Madison   580 

Past  and  Present  Politics   581 

JONATHAN  LAWRENCE : 

Biographical  Sketch   582 

Look  Aloft   582 

ELIZABETH     MARGARET  CHAND- 
LER: 

Biographical  Sketch   582 

The  Slave's  Appeal   583 

The  Parting   584 


MARY  S.  B.  DANA:  Pag e 

Biographical  Sketch   586 

Passing  under  the  Rod   586 

HENRY  REED: 

Biographical  Sketch   588 

Best  Method  of  Reading   589 

Poetical  and  Prose  Reading   590 

Tragic  Poetry   591 

WILLIAM  D.  GALLAGHER: 

Biographical  Sketch   592 

Truth  and  Freedom   592 

The  Laborer   593 

GEORGE  STILLMAN  HILLARD: 

Biographical  Sketch   594 

Excursion  to  Sorrento   595 

Spain   598 

Books   598 

LUCRETIA  MARIA  DAYIDSON: 

Biographical  Sketch   600 

Song  at  Twilight   601 

The  Prophecy   601 

To  my  Mother   C02 

HANNAH  FLAGG  GOULD : 

Biographical  Sketch   603 

A  Name  in  the  Sand   603 

The  Pebble  and  the  Acorn   604 

The  Frost   605 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WIIITTIER: 

Biographical  Sketch   606 

Palestine   607 

Clerical  Oppressors   608 

Ichabod   609 

Maud  Muller   610 

The  Wish  of  To-Day   612 

Yirtue  alone  Beautiful   613 

EMMA  C.  EMBURY: 

Biographical  Sketch   614 

The  Widow's  Wooer   615 

Oh!  Tell  me  not  of  Lofty  Fate   615 

The  Maiden  Sat  at  her  Busy  Wheel   616 

PARK  BENJAMIN: 

Biographical  Sketch   617 

The  Departed   617 

How  Cheery  are  the  Mariners   618 

Sport   619 

Press  On   619 

The  Sexton   620 

A  Life  of  Lettered  Ease   621 


CONTENTS. 


19 


ROBERT  T.  CONRAD:  Page 

Biographical  Sket<  h   621 

The  Pride  of  Worth   622 

Sonnet, — Thy  Kingdom  Come!   622 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES: 

Biographical  Sketch   623 

My  Aunt   623 

The  Height  of  the  Ridiculous   624 

The  Chambered  Nautilus   625 

The  Two  Armies   626 

The  Front  and  Side  Doors   627 

Old  Age  and  the  Professor   628 

The  Brain   62S 

The  Sea-Shore  and  the  Mountains   629 

My  Last  Walk  with  the  Schoolmistress  630 

ALBERT  PIKE: 

Biographical  Sketch   631 

To  the  Mocking-Bird   631 

ANNA  PEYRE  DINNIES : 

Biographical  Sketch   632 

The  Wife   632 

To  my  Husband"s  First  Gray  Hair   633 

WILLIS  GAYLORD  CLARK: 

Biographical  Sketch   634 

Memory   635 

The  Invitation   636 

Death  of  the  First-Born   637 

EDGAR  ALLEN  POE : 

Biographical  Sketch   638 

The  Raven   639 

The  Burial  of  Lady  Madeline   641 

CHARLES  SUMNER: 

Biographical  Sketch   644 

Expenses  of  War  and  Education  Com- 
pared  646 

True  Glory   647 

Progress  and  Reform   648 

Judicial  Tribunals   649 

ANDREW  P.  PEABODY: 

Biographical  Sketch   650 

The  Miracles  and  Work  of  Jesus   650 

Cuvier   651 

The  Higher  Law   652 

ALFRED  B.  STREET: 

Biographical  Sketch   653 

The  Lost  Hunter   654 

FRANCES  SARGENT  OSGOOD: 
Biographical  Sketch.....   657 


FRANCES  SARGENT  OSGOOD:  Pagb 

New  England's  Mountain  Child   657 

A  Mother's  Prayer  in  Illuess   658 

Laborare  est  Orare   659 

WILLIAM  H.  BURLEIGH : 

Biographical  Sketch   660 

The  Times   661 

The  Pilgrim  Fathers   661 

June   661 

HARRIET  BEECIIER  STOWE: 

Biographical  Sketch   663 

Eva  s  Death   664 

How  to  make  Friends  of  "the  Mam- 
mon of  Unrighteousness*'   668 

J.  G.  Whittier's  Lines  on  the  Death  of 

Eva   66S 

'•  Only  a  Year"   671 

THOMAS  MACKELLAR: 

Biographical  Sketch   672 

Life's  Evening   673 

September  Rain   673 

Patient  Continuance  in  Weil-Doing   674 

HENRY  T.  TUCKERMAN: 

Biographical  Sketch   675 

Leisure  to  be  Properly  Appreciated   675 

Enthusiasm — Sympathy   676 

The  Poet  Campbell   677 

Mary   678 

HENRY  WARD  BEECIIER: 

Biographical  Sketch   679 

The  True  Object  of  Preaching   680 

Religion   681 

God's  Forgiveness   682 

Parental  Indulgence   682 

Children   683 

The  Twenty-Third  Psalm   683 

A  Christian  Man's  Life  :   684 

Help  the  Slave   684 

Everyday  Christianity   684 

The  Holy  Catholic  Church   684 

A  Man's  a  Man   685 

Cerberus  in  America   685 

Religion  and  Business   685 

A  Christian  Life   685 

Hypocrites   686 

Giving  versus  Keeping   686 

The  Elect   686 

Blindness   686 

JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY: 
Biographical  Sketch   68" 


26 


CONTENTS. 


JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY:  Page 
The  Siege  of  Leyden   6SS 

RUFUS  WILMOT  GRISWOLD : 

Biographical  Sketch   090 

American  Literature   691 

Eloquence  of  Jonathan  Edwards   693 

PHILIP  PENDLETON  COOKE: 

Biographical  Sketch...,   G93 

Florence  Vane   694 

LUCY  HOOPER: 

Lines  on,  by  Henry  T.  Tuckerman   695 

Biographical  Sketch   695 

Osceola   696 

Evening  Thoughts   697 

JOHN  GODFREY  SAXE : 

Biographical  Sketch   698 

Rhyme  of  the  Rail   699 

I'm  Growing  Old   700 

ELIZABETH  HOWELL: 

Biographical  Sketch   701 

Milton's  Prayer  of  Patience   701 

HORACE  BINNEY  WALLACE: 

Biographical  Sketch   702 

The  Alps   703 

The  Interior  of  St.  Peter's   703 

The  Crater  of  Vesuvius   704 

Washington— Hamilton   705 

A.  CLEVELAND  COXE: 

Biographical  Sketch   707 

Aaron    Cleveland,   Life  and  Works, 

(note)   707 

The  Heart's  Song   708 

The  Chimes  of  England   709 

Oh,  Walk  with  God   710 

Oxford  Boat-Race   711 

TAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL: 

Biographical  Sketch   712 

The  Heritage   713 

Above  and  Below   715 

Act  for  Truth   716 

On  the  Capture  of  certain  Fugitive 

Slaves  near  Washington   717 

To  J.  R.  Giddings   718 

J.  R.  Giddings,  Life  aud  Works  (note)..  718 
Freedom   719 

MARIA  LOWELL: 
Biographical  Sketch   719 


MARIA  LOWELL:  pAgk 
The  Alpine  Sheep   720 

EDWIN  P.  WHIPPLE : 

Biographical  Sketch   721 

The  Power  of  Words   721 

Wit  and  Humor   723 

The  Literature  of  Mirth   724 

JOSIAII  GILBERT  HOLLAND: 

Biographical  Sketch   726 

The  True  Track   727 

Usefulness — Health — Happiness   728 

ALICE  CARY: 

Biographical  Sketch   730 

Light  and  Love   731 

Harvest- Time   731 

The  Broken  Household   732 

What  is  Life?   732 

PIKEBE  CARY: 

Biographical  Sketch   733 

The  Christian  Woman   733 

JAMES  ALDRICH: 

Biographical  Sketch   733 

A  Death-Bed   733 

AMELIA  B.  WELBY: 

Frances  Sargent  Osgood's  Lines  on   734 

Biographical  Sketch   734 

The  Rainbow   735 

The  Old  Maid   736 

On  seeing  an  Infant  Sleeping  on  its 
Mother's  Bosom   737 

THOMAS  BUCHANAN  READ: 

Biographical  Sketch   738 

The  Closing  Scene   739 

The  Deserted  Road   740 

The  Emigrants   741 

Arthur's  Song   742 

MARGARET  MILLER  DAVIDSON: 

Biographical  Sketch   742 

Lake  Champlain   742 

Yearnings  for  Home   744 

To  Her  Mother   744 

GEORGE  II.  BOKER: 

R.  II.  Stoddard's  Lines  on   745 

Biographical  Sketch   745 

Ode  to  a  Mountain  Oak   746 

To  England   748 


CONTENTS. 


21 


JAMES  T.  FIELDS:  Page 

Biographical  Sketch   746 

Ballad  of  the  Tempest   746 

SARA  JANE  LIPPINCOTT: 

Biographical  Sketch   750 

The  Horseback  Bide   750 

The  Army  of  Reform   751 

The  Poet  of  To-Day   753 

EDITH  MAY: 

Biographical  Sketch   754 

Summer   754 

The  Coloring  of  Happiness   755 

A  Poet's  Love   756 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS: 
Biographical  Sketch   757 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS:  Pagb 

Jerusalem  or  Rome   758 

The  Duty  of  the  American  Scholar   700 

RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARD: 

Biographical  Sketch   762 

Hymn  to  the  Beautiful   762 

The  Two  Brides   704 

Birds   765 

The  Sky   705 

The  Sea   705 

BAYARD  TAYLOR: 

Biographical  Sketch  765 

The  Bison  Track   766 

Life  on  the  Nile   767 

Yisit  to  the  Shillook  Negroes   769 

The  Midnight  Sun   771 


Index  to  Subjects  and  to  Names  incidentally  mentioned  in  the  volume   773 


ALPHABETICAL  LIST  OF  AUTHORS. 


Abbott,  Jacob   516 

Adams,  John   55 

Adams,  John  Quincy   149 

Aldrich,  James   738 

Alexander,  Archibald  .........  186 

Allston,  Washington   228 

Ames,  Fisher   130 

Audubon,  John  James   254 

Bacon,  Leonard   498 

Bancroft,  George   483 

Barlow,  Joel   117 

Barnes,  Albert   459 

Beeciier,  Henry  Ward   679 

Beeciier,  Lyman   206 

Benjamin,  Park   617 

Bethune,  George  W   523 

Boker,  George  H   745 

Brainard,  John  G.  C   455 

Brooks,  James  G   488 

Brooks,  Maria   420 

Brooks,  Mary  E   490 

Brown,  Charles  Brockden....  172 

Bryant,  William  C   377 

Buckingham,  Joseph  T   225 

BUCKMINSTER,  JOSEPH  S   282 

Burleigh,  William  II   660 

Bushnell,  Horace   519 

Carey,  Henry  C   365 

22 


PAGE 


Cary,  Alice   730 

Cary,  Pikebe   733 

Chandler,  Elizabeth  M   582 

Ciianning,  William  Ellery....  241 

Cheever,  George  B   569 

Child,  Lydia  M   478 

Clark,  Willis  G   634 

Conrad,  Robert  T   621 

Cooke,  Philip  P  ....  693 

Cooper,  James  F   315 

Coxe,  A.  Cleveland   707 

Curtis,  George  William   757 

Dana,  Mary  S.  B   586 

Dana,  Richard  H   304 

Davidson,  Lucretia  M   600 

Davidson,  Margaret  M   742 

Dawes,  Rufus   510 

Dennie,  Joseph  ,..  157 

Dinnies,  Anna  P   632 

Doane,  George  W   471 

Drake,  Joseph  R   400 

Dwight,  Timothy   102 

Edwards,  Jonathan   25 

Embury,  Emma  C   614 

Emerson,  Ralph  W   513 

Everett,  Alexander  II   344 

Everett,  Edward   394 

Fields,  James  T   746 


ALPHABETICAL  LIST  OP  AUTHORS. 


23 


PAGE 

Flint,  Timothy   236 

Franklin,  Benjamin   33 

Frenau,  Philip   108 

Frisbie,  Levi   287 

Gallagher,  William  D   592 

Goodrich,  Samuel  G   369 

Gould,  Hannah  F   603 

Greene,  Albert  G   496 

Griswold,  Rufus  W   690 

Hale,  Sarah  J   427 

Halleck,  Fitz-Greene   407 

Hamilton,  Alexander   123 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel   536 

Hildreth,  Richard   577 

Hillard,  George  S   594 

Hillhouse,  James  A   323 

Hoffman,  Charles  F   543 

Holland,  Josiaii  G   726 

Holmes,  Oliver  W   623 

Hooper,  Lucy   695 

Hopkins,  Mark  491 

Hopkinson,  Francis   59 

Hopkinson,  Joseph   170 

Howell,  Elizabeth   701 

Irving,  Washington   274 

Jay,  William   328 

Jefferson,  Thomas   72 

Key,  Francis  S   222 

Kirkland,  Caroline  M   532 

Lawrence,  Jonathan   582 

Ledyard,  John   94 

Lippincott,  Sara  Jane   750 

Longfellow,  Henry  W   561 

Lowell,  James  R   713 

Lowell,  Maria   719 

Mackellar,  Thomas   672 


PAGE 

Madison,  James   98 

Marshall,  John   120 

Mason,  John  M   164 

May,  Edith   754 

McLellan,  Isaac   552 

Mellen,  Grenville   473 

Morris,  George  P   505 

Motley,  John  L   687 

Murray,  Lindley   84 

Neal,  John   387 

Norton,  Andrews   300 

Osgood,  Frances  S   657 

Paine,  Robert  Treat   202 

Palfrey,  John  G   447 

Paulding,  James  K   211 

Payne,  John  Howard   360 

Peabody,  Andrew  P   650 

Peabody,  William  B.  0   476 

Percival,  James  Gates   413 

Peters,  Phillis  Wheatly   113 

Pierpont,  John   292 

Pike,  Albert   631 

Pinkney,  Edward  C   502 

Poe,  Edgar  A   638 

Prentice,  George  D   508 

Prescott,  William  H   435 

Quincy,  Josiah   181 

Ramsey,  David   87 

Read,  Thomas  B   738 

Reed,  Henry   588 

Robinson,  Edward   390 

Rush,  Benjamin   78 

Sands,  Robert  C   466 

Saxe,  John  G   698 

Sedgwick,  Catharine  M   441 

Sigourney,  Lydia  H   336 


L>4 


ALPHABETICAL  LIST  OF  AUTHORS. 


PAGE 

Silliman,  Benjamin   233 

Simms,  William  G   546 

Smith,  Elizabeth  0   529 

Smith,  Samuel  J   178 

Smith,  Seba   361 

Sparks,  Jared   332 

Sprague,  Charles   352 

Sprague,  William  B   423 

Stoddard,  Richard  Henry....  762 

Story,  Joseph   270 

Stowe,  Harriet  B   663 

Street,  Alfred  B   653 

Sullivan,  William   203 

Sumner,  Charles   644 

Tappan,  William  B   405 

Taylor,  Bayard   765 

Ticknor,  George   348 

Trumbull,  John   89 

Tucker,  St.  George   101 

Tuckerman,  Henry  T   675 


Tudor,  William   217 

Verplanck,  Gulian  C   250 

Wallace,  Horace  B   702 

Ware,  Henry,  Jr   362 

Ware,  William   452 

Washington,  George   49 

Wayland,  Francis   429 

Webster,  Daniel   258 

Webster,  Noah   139 

Welby,  Amelia  B   734 

Whipple,  Edwin  P   721 

Whittier,  John  G   606 

Wilcox,  Carlos.....   374 

Wilde,  Richard  H   312 

Willis,  Nathaniel  P   555 

Wilson,  Alexander   144 

Wilson,  James   68 

Wirt,  William   191 

Witherspoon,  John   45 

Woodworth,  Samuel   ?99 


COMPENDIUM 

OF 

AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS,  1703—1758. 

On  no  foundation  more  enduring  could  the  structure  of  a  work  upon  American 
Literature  be  reared,  than  on  the  illustrious  name  of  Jonathan  Edwards, — an  orna- 
ment and  glory  not  to  his  country  only,  but  to  his  race.  Of  a  piety  as  deep,  as  pure, 
as  fervent,  and  as  constant  as  it  has  ever  been  allowed  to  mortals  to  possess ;  of  a 
singleness  of  purpose,  which  never  forsook  him,  to  make  the  very  best  of  life  that 
life  is  capable  of ;  and  of  an  intellect  which,  by  the  rare  union  of  clearness,  acute- 
ness,  and  strength,  has  never  been  surpassed  if  ever  equalled,  the  elder  Edwards 
has  attained  a  renown  in  both  hemispheres  which  can  never  die. 

He  was  born  at  East  Windsor,  Connecticut,  on  the  5th  of  October,  1703.  His 
parents  were  the  Rev.  Timothy  Edwards,  for  sixty-four  years  the  pastor  of  the 
Congregational  Church  at  East  Windsor,  and  Esther  Stoddard,  daughter  of  the 
Rev.  Solomon  Stoddard,  who  was  for  more  than  half  a  century  pastor  of  the 
church  of  Northampton,  Massachusetts.  He  commenced  the  study  of  Latin  under 
his  father's  instruction  at  six  years  of  age,  and  entered  Yale  College  a  few  days 
before  he  was  thirteen.  As  a  signal  proof  of  his  early  strength  of  mind,  it  may 
be  mentioned  that  in  his  sophomore  year  he  read  Locke's  Essay  on  the  Human 
Understanding  with  such  interest  and  delight  as  to  declare  that  in  the  perusal 
of  it  he  enjoyed  a  far  higher  pleasure  "  than  the  most  greedy  miser  finds  when 
gathering  up  handfuls  of  silver  and  gold  from  some  newly-discovered  treasure." 
That  such  a  youth  should  acquit  himself  most  honorably  in  his  college  course  was 
to  be  expected,  not  in  his  studies  only,  but  in  his  whole  deportment  and  bearing. 
During  his  last  year  in  college,  very  deep  religious  impressions  took  possession 
of  his  whole  being.  His  own  account  of  the  event  is  in  the  following  language, 
expressive  of 

HIS  RELIGIOUS  FEELINGS. 

Not  long  after  I  first  began  to  experience  new  apprehensions 
and  ideas  of  Christ,  and  the  work  of  redemption,  and  the  glorious 
way  of  salvation  by  him,  I  gave  an  account  to  my  father  of  some 
things  that  had  passed  in  my  mind.  I  was  pretty  much  affected 
by  the  discourse  which  we  had  together ;  and,  when  the  discourse 
was  ended,  I  walked  abroad  alone  in  a  solitary  place  in  my  father's 

3  25 


20 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS. 


pasture,  for  contemplation.  And  as  I  was  walking  there,  and 
looking  upon  the  sky  and  clouds,  there  came  into  my  mind  so 
sweet  a  sense  of  the  glorious  maj  esty  and  grace  of  God,  as  I  knew 
not  how  to  express.  I  seemed  to  see  them  both  in  a  sweet  con- 
junction; majesty  and  meekness  joined  together.  It  was  a  sweet, 
and  gentle,  and  holy  majesty;  and  also  a  majestic  meekness;  an 
awful  sweetness ;  a  high,  and  great,  and  holy  gentleness. 

After  this,  my  sense  of  divine  things  gradually  increased,  and 
became  more  and  more  lively,  and  had  more  of  that  inward  sweet- 
ness. The  appearance  of  every  thing  was  altered.  There  seemed 
to  be,  as  it  were,  a  calm,  sweet  cast,  or  appearance  of  divine  glory 
in  almost  every  thing.  God's  excellency,  his  wisdom,  his  purity 
and  love,  seemed  to  appear  in  every  thing ;  in  the  sun,  moon,  and 
stars ;  in  the  clouds  and  sky ;  in  the  grass,  flowers,  and  trees ;  in 
the  water  and  all  nature ;  which  used  greatly  to  fix  my  mind.  I 
often  used  to  sit  and  view  the  moon  for  a  long  time ;  and,  in  the 
clay,  spent  much  time  in  viewing  the  clouds  and  sky,  to  behold  the 
sweet  glory  of  God  in  these  things ;  in  the  mean  time,  singing 
forth,  with  a  low  voice,  my  contemplations  of  the  Creator  and 
Redeemer.  And  scarce  any  thing,  among  all  the  works  of  nature, 
was  so  sweet  to  me  as  thunder  and  lightning ;  although  formerly 
nothing  had  been  so  terrible  to  me.  Before,  I  used  to  be  uncom- 
monly terrified  with  thunder,  and  to  be  struck  with  terror  when  I 
saw  a  thunder-storm  rising;  but  now,  on  the  contrary,  it  rejoiced 
me.  I  felt  God,  if  I  may  so  speak,  at  the  first  appearance  of  a 
thunder-storm,  and  used  to  take  the  opportunity,  at  such  times,  to 
fix  myself  in  order  to  view  the  clouds,  and  see  the  lightnings  play, 
and  hear  the  majestic  and  awful  voice  of  God's  thunder,  which 
oftentimes  was  exceedingly  entertaining,  leading  me  to  sweet  con- 
templations of  my  great  and  glorious  God. 

Such  were  the  decisive  religious  views  and  elevated  affections  with  which  he  was 
blessed  before  he  was  seventeen  years  of  age ;  and  before  he  was  nineteen  he  was 
licensed  to  preach  the  gospel,  and  was  invited  to  supply,  for  a  short  time,  the 
pulpit  of  a  small  Congregational  church  in  New  York.  In  the  spring  of  1723,  he 
returned  to  East  Windsor.  Before  this  time  he  had  formed  for  the  government 
of  his  own  heart  and  life  his  celebrated  "  Resolutions,"  seventy  in  number,  which 
evince  a  firmness  of  religious  principle,  a  depth  of  piety,  a  decision  of  character, 
an  acquaintance  with  the  human  heart,  and  a  comprehensiveness  of  views  in 
regard  to  Christian  duty,  rare  even  in  the  most  mature  minds.  The  following  are 
a  few  of  these  : — 

HIS  RESOLUTIONS. 

1.  Resolved,  That  I  will  do  whatsoever  I  think  to  be  most  to 
the  glory  of  God  and  my  own  good,  profit,  and  pleasure,  in  the 
whole  of  my  duration,  without  any  consideration  of  the  time, 
whether  now,  or  never  so  many  myriads  of  ages  hence. 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS. 


27 


2.  Resolved,  To  do  whatever  I  think  to  be  my  duty,  and  most 
for  the  good  of  mankind  in  general. 

3.  Resolved,  Never  to  lose  one  moment  of  time,  but  to  improve 
it  in  the  most  profitable  way  I  possibly  can. 

4.  Resolved,  To  live  with  all  my  might  while  I  do  live. 

5.  Resolved,  Never  to  do  any  thing  which  I  should  be  afraid 
to  do  if  it  were  the  last  hour  of  my  life. 

6.  Resolved,  To  be  endeavoring  to  find  out  fit  objects  of 
charity  and  liberality. 

7.  Resolved,  Never  to  do  any  thing  out  of  revenge. 

8.  Resolved,  Never  to  suffer  the  least  motions  of  anger  towards 
irrational  beings. 

9.  Resolved,  Never  to  speak  evil  of  any  one  so  that  it  shall 
tend  to  his  dishonor,  more  or  less,  upon  no  account,  except  for 
some  real  good. 

10.  Resolved,  That  I  will  live  so  as  I  shall  wish  I  had  done 
when  I  come  to  die. 

11.  Resolved,  To  live  so  at  all  times  as  I  think  it  best,  in  my 
most  devout  frames,  and  when  I  have  the  clearest  notion  of  the 
things  of  the  gospel  and  another  world. 

12.  Resolved,  To  maintain  the  strictest  temperance  in  eating 
and  drinking. 

13.  Resolved,  Never  to  do  any  thing  which,  if  I  should  see  in 
another,  I  should  account  a  just  occasion  to  despise  him  for,  or  to 
think  any  way  the  more  meanly  of  him. 

14.  Resolved,  To  study  the  Scriptures  so  steadily,  constantly, 
and  frequently,  as  that  I  may  find  and  plainly  perceive  myself  to 
grow  in  the  knowledge  of  the  same. 

15.  Resolved,  Never  to  count  that  a  prayer,  nor  to  let  that 
pass  as  a  prayer,  nor  that  as  a  petition  of  a  prayer,  which  is  so 
made  that  I  cannot  hope  that  God  will  answer  it ;  nor  that  as  a 
confession,  which  I  cannot  hope  God  will  accept. 

16.  Resolved,  Never  to  say  any  thing  at  all  against  anybody, 
but  when  it  is  perfectly  agreeable  to  the  highest  degree  of  Chris- 
tian honor,  and  of  love  to  mankind;  agreeable  to  the  lowest 
humility  and  sense  of  my  own  faults  and  failings ;  and  agreeable 
to  the  Golden  Kule ;  often  when  I  have  said  any  thing  against  any 
one,  to  bring  it  to,  and  try  it  strictly  by,  the  test  of  this  resolution. 

17.  Resolved,  In  narrations,  never  to  speak  any  thing  but  the 
pure  and  simple  verity. 

18.  Resolved,  Never  to  speak  evil  of  any,  except  I  have  some 
particular  good  call  to  it. 

19.  Resolved,  To  inquire  every  night,  as  I  am  going  to  bed, 
wherein  I  have  been  negligent ;  what  sin  I  have  committed ;  and 
wherein  I  have  denied  myself.  Also  at  the  end  of  every  week, 
month,  and  year. 


28 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS. 


20.  Resolved,  Never  to  do  any  thing  of  which  I  so  much 
question  the  lawfulness,  as  that  I  intend  at  the  same  time  to  con- 
sider and  examine  afterwards  whether  it  be  lawful  or  not,  unless  I 
as  much  question  the  lawfulness  of  the  omission. 

21.  Resolved,  To  inquire  every  night,  before  I  go  to  bed,  whe- 
ther I  have  acted  in  the  best  way  I  possibly  could  with  respect  to 
eating  and  drinking;. 

22.  Resolved,  Never  to  allow  the  least  measure  of  fretting  or 
uneasiness  at  my  father  or  mother.  Resolved,  to  suffer  no  effects 
of  it,  so  much  as  in  the  least  alteration  of  speech,  or  motion  of  my 
eye ;  and  to  be  especially  careful  of  it  with  respect  to  any  of  our 
family. 

23.  On  the  supposition  that  there  never  was  to  be  but  one 
individual  in  the  world  at  any  one  time  who  was  properly  a  com- 
plete Christian,  in  all  respects  of  a  right  stamp,  having  Chris- 
tianity always  shining  in  its  true  lustre,  and  appearing  excellent 
and  lovely,  from  whatever  part,  and  under  whatever  character 
viewed; — Resolved,  to  act  just  as  I  would  do  if  I  strove  with  all 
my  might  to  be  that  one,  who  should  live  in  my  time. 

In  June,  1724,  Mr.  Edwards  was  elected  tutor  in  Yale  College,  in  which  office 
he  continued  two  years.  He  then  accepted  a  call  to  settle  in  Northampton  as  a 
colleague  to  his  grandfather,  Rev.  Solomon  Stoddard.  It  is  said  that,  when  in 
ordinary  health,  he  would  spend  thirteen  hours  every  day  in  his  study.  This 
was  too  much  for  his  constitution,  which  was  naturally  delicate,  and  doubtless 
shortened  his  life  many  years.  In  1727  he  was  married  to  Miss  Sarah  Pierrepont, 
daughter  of  Rev.  James  Pierrepont,  pastor  of  a  church  in  New  Haven.  The 
union  proved  a  most  happy  one  in  every  respect.  By  her  wisdom,  energy,  and 
economy  she  relieved  her  husband  from  the  interruptions  of  domestic  care,  and 
thus  he  was  left  at  liberty  to  pursue  his  studies  without  remission. 

Soon  after  his  ordination,  Mr.  Edwards  was  permitted  to  witness  some  gratify- 
ing fruit  of  his  labors  in  the  conversion  of  a  number  of  his  people.  In  1729,  the 
vsnerable  Mr.  Stoddard  dying,  the  whole  care  of  the  congregation  devolved  on 
the  youthful  pastor;  and  so  faithful  and  laborious  were  his  ministrations  that,  in 
1734  and  1735,  the  town  was  favored  with  a  "revival  so  extensive  and  powerful 
as  to  constitute  a  memorable  era  in  the  history  of  that  church."  In  the  year  1739 
he  commenced  a  series  of  discourses  in  his  own  pulpit,  which  afterwards  formed 
the  basis  of  his  celebrated  work,  The  Jlistonj  of  the  Work  of  fiedemjrtion,  which 
was  not,  however,  published  till  after  his  decease.  In  the  spring  of  1740  a  second 
extensive  and  powerful  revival  of  religion  commenced  in  Northampton,  which 
was  aided  by  the  labors  of  the  celebrated  Rev.  George  Whitefield,  and  an  account 
of  which  Mr.  Edwards  published  in  1742,  under  the  title  of  Thoughts  concerning 
the  Present  Revival  in  New  England.  It  was  immediately  republished  in  Scotland, 
and  brought  the  author  into  correspondence  with  some  of  the  most  distinguished 
divines  of  that  country. 

In  1743  Mr.  Edwards  finished  a  series  of  sermons  upon  the  distinguishing 
marks  and  evidences  of  true  religion,  which  were  published  in  174C,  under  the 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS. 


20 


title  of  A  Treatise  concerning  Religions  Affections,  and  which  called  forth  the 
warmest  praises  and  thanks  from  the  friends  of  true  piety  on  both  sides  of  the 
Atlantic.  In  the  latter  part  of  the  year  1747,  David  Brainerd,  the  celebrated  mis- 
sionary, who  had  been  laboring  for  many  years  among  the  Indians  in  different 
settlements  in  New  York,  New  Jersey,  and  Pennsylvania,  amidst  many  dis- 
couragements and  with  enfeebled  health,  with  a  zeal,  diligence,  self-denial,  and 
perseverance  which  have  seldom  had  any  parallel  in  the  history  of  missions, 
came,  on  invitation,  to  Mr.  Edwards's  honse,  and,  gradually  sinking  under  the 
power  of  a  consumptive  disease,  closed  his  life  in  the  bosom  of  his  friend's  family 
on  the  9th  of  October  of  that  year.  In  174.9  Mi".  Edwards  prepared  and  published 
a  memoir  of  this  remai'kable  man,  entitled  An  Account  of  the  Life  of  the  late  Jiev. 
David  Brainerd,  Missionary  to  the  Indians,  and  Pastor  of  a  Church  of  Christian 
Indians  in  New  Jersey. 

Thus  far,  the  life  of  this  eminently  great  and  pious  man  had  not  been  attended 
by  any  marked  or  painful  trials.  But  his  path,  henceforth,  was  to  be  any  thing 
but  a  smooth  one.  He  was  to  experience  the  fickleness  of  popular  applause,  and, 
what  was  still  more  trying,  persecutions  from  his  own  Christian  brethren.  It 
having  been  credibly  reported  that  a  number  of  the  younger  members  of  his 
church  had  in  their  possession  immoral  and  licentious  books,  he  preached  upon 
the  subject;  whereupon  the  church  resolved  unanimously  that  a  committee  should 
be  appointed  to  investigate  the  matter.  But  they  had  not  proceeded  far  in  their 
duty  before  it  was  ascertained  that  nearly  every  leading  family  in  town  had  some 
member  implicated  in  the  guilt.  This  disclosure  produced  an  immediate  reaction, 
and  a  majority  of  the  church  determined  not  to  proceed  in  the  incpiiiry ;  so  true  is 
it,  as  his  learned  biographer  remarks,  that  "  nothing  is  more  apt  to  revolt  and 
alienate,  and  even  to  produce  intense  hostility  in  the  minds  of  parents,  than  any 
thing  Avhich  threatens  the  character  or  the  comfort  of  their  children."  The  result 
was  that  great  disaffection  ensued,  the  discipline  of  the  church  was  openly  set  at 
defiance,  and  great  declension  in  zeal  and  morals  naturally  followed. 

But  there  was  a  cause  of  still  deeper  disaffection.  Mr.  Stoddard,  the  prede- 
cessor of  Edwards,  had  been  accustomed  to  receive  into  the  church  such  as  applied 
for  admission,  whether  they  gave  any  evidence  of  a  change  of  heart  or  not;  and 
Mr.  Edwards  continued  the  same  practice  after  his  ordination.  At  length  doubts 
as  to  its  rightfulness  began  to  arise  in  his  mind,  and  continued  to  increase  with 
such  strength  that,  in  1749,  he  disclosed  to  his  church  his  change  of  opinion,  and 
publicly  vindicated  it  by  his  Humble  Inquiry  -into  the  Rules  of  the  Word  of  God 
concerning  the  Qualif  cations  Requisite  to  a  Comjjlcte  Standing  and  Full  Communion 
in  the  Visible  Christian  Church,  which  was  published  in  August  of  that  year.  This 
treatise  at  once  produced  great  excitement  in  the  congregation,  and  he  became  the 
object  of  bitter  opposition,  which  continued  so  long  that  he  concluded  to  accept  a 
call  from  the  church  at  Stockbridge,  Massachusetts,  whither  he  removed  in  the 
spring  of  1751.  Here  he  enjoyed  great  quiet  and  happiness,  and  was  enabled  to 
complete  what  for  many  years  he  had  been  engaged  in,  his  immortal  treatise, — 
that  on  which  bis  fame  chiefly  rests, — The  Freedom  of  the  Will  and  Moral  Agency, 
which  was  published  in  the  spring  of  1754. 

The  fundamental  doctrines  which  Edwards  undertakes  to  establish  in  the  Free- 
dom of  the  Will  are,  that  the  only  rational  idea  of  human  freedom  is,  the  power 
of  doing  what  we  please ;  and  that  the  acts  of  the  will  are  rendered  certain  by 


30 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS. 


some  other  cause  than  the  mere  power  of  willing ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  they 
are  the  result  of  the  strongest  motive  presented,  and  not  brought  about  by  the 
mere  "self-determining  power  of  tbe  will;"  and  he  has  sustained  his  position  with 
a  degree  of  novelty,  acuteness,  depth,  precision,  and  force  of  reasoning  which  no 
one  ever  before  had  reached. 

In  1755  he  wrote  two  other  treatises :  one  A  Dissertation  on  God's  Last  End  in 
the  Creation  of  the  World;  and  the  other  A  Dissertation  on  the  Nature  and  End  of 
Virtue.  But  these,  together  with  his  treatise  on  Original  Sin,  were  not  published 
till  after  his  death. 

On  the  death  of  the  Rev.  Aaron  Burr,  President  of  Princeton  College,  the  trus- 
tees invited  Mr.  Edwards  to  succeed  to  that  most  responsible  post, — the  presidency 
of  the  college, — and  he  removed  thither  fh  the  month  of  January,  1758.  All  the 
friends  of  the  college,  as  well  as  the  students,  were  highly  elated  at  the  thought 
of  having  such  a  man  at  its  head,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  entered  upon  his 
duties  more  than  answered  their  highest  expectations.  But,  alas,  how  vain  arc 
all  human  calculations  !  In  five  weeks  after  his  introduction  into  office,  he  was  cut 
off  by  the  smallpox,  ou  the  22d  of  March,  1758,  in  the  fifty-fifth  year  of  his  age. 

Language  can  hardly  express  the  sense  of  loss  which  all  good  men  felt  that 
religion  and  learning  had  sustained  in  the  death  of  this  great  man,  in  whose  praise 
the  most  distinguished  scholars  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic  have  been  emulous 
to  speak  and  write.  "On  the  arena  of  metaphysics,"  writes  Dr.  Chalmers,  "he 
stood  the  highest  of  all  his  contemporaries,  and  we  know  not  what  most  to  admire 
in  him,  whether  the  deep  philosophy  that  issued  from  his  pen,  or  the  humble  and 
childlike  piety  that  issued  from  his  pulpit."  The  veuerable  and  learned  Dr. 
Erskine,  of  Scotland,  thus  wrote  a  friend : — "  The  loss  sustained  by  his  death,  not 
only  by  the  College  of  New  Jersey,  but  by  the  church  in  general,  is  irreparable. 
I  do  not  think  our  age  has  produced  a  divine  of  equal  genius  or  judgment."  Sir 
James  Mackintosh,  in  his  Progress  of  Ethical  Philosophy,  says  of  him,  "In 
the  power  of  subtle  argument  he  was,  perhaps,  unmatched,  certainly  unsurpassed, 
among  men."  Dugald  Stewart — and  no  one  can  speak  on  such  a  subject  with 
more  authority  than  he — remarks,  "America  may  boast  of  one  metaphysician, 
who,  in  logical  acuteness  and  subtlety,  doos  not  yield  to  any  disputant  bred  in  the 
universities  of  Europe.  I  need  not  say  that  I  allude  to  Jonathan  Edwards."  And 
Hazlitt,  in  his  Principles  of  Human  Actions,  thus  writes: — "Having  produced 
him,  the  Americans  need  not  despair  of  their  metaphysicians.  We  do  not  scruple 
to  say  that  he  is  one  of  the  acutest,  most  powerful,  and  of  all  reasoners  the  most 
conscientious  and  sincere.    His  closeness  and  his  candor  are  alike  admirable." 

In  summing  up  his  general  character,  his  biographer,  Dr.  Miller,  says,  "  Other 
men,  no  doubt,  have  excelled  him  in  particular  qualities  or  accomplishments. 
There  have  been  far  more  learned  men  :  far  more  eloquent  men  ;  far  more  active 
and  enterprising  men  in  the  out-door  work  of  the  sacred  office.  But  in  the  assem- 
blage and  happy  union  of  those  high  qualities,  intellectual  and  moral,  which  con- 
stitute finished  excellence, — as  a  Man,  a  Christian,  a  Divine,  and  a  Philosopher, — 
he  was,  undoubtedly,  one  of  the  greatest  and  best  men  that  have  adorned  this  or 
any  other  country  since  the  apostolic  age."1 


1  Read  Biography  by  Rev.  Samuel  Miller,  D.D.,  in  the  8th  volume  of  Sparks'a 
American  Biography. 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS. 


31 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  THE  WILL. 

If  the  Will,  which  we  find  governs  the  members  of  the  body, 
and  determines  their  motions,  does  not  govern  itself,  and  determine 
its  own  actions,  it  doubtless  determines  them  the  same  way,  even 
by  antecedent  volitions.  The  Will  determines  which  way  the 
hands  and  feet  shall  move,  by  an  act  of  choice  :  and  there  is  no 
other  way  of  the  Will's  determining,  directing  or  commanding 
any  thing  at  all.  Whatsoever  the  Will  commands,  it  commands  by 
an  act  of  the  Will.  And  if  it  has  itself  under  its  command,  and 
determines  itself  in  its  own  actions,  it  doubtless  does  it  in  the  same 
way  that  it  determines  other  things  which  are  under  its  command. 
80  that  if  the  freedom  of  the  Will  consists  in  this,  that  it  has 
itself  and  its  own  actions  under  its  command  and  direction,  and  its 
own  volitions  are  determined  by  itself,  it  will  follow,  that  every 
free  volition  arises  from  another  antecedent  volition,  directing  and 
commanding  that :  and  if  that  directing  volition  be  also  free,  in 
that  also  the  Will  is  determined  :  that  is  to  say,  that  directing  voli- 
tion is  determined  by  another  going  before  that;  and  so  on,  till  we 
come  to  the  first  volition  in  the  whole  series ;  and  if  that  first  voli- 
tion be  free,  and  the  Will  self-determined  in  it,  then  that  is  deter- 
mined by  another  volition  preceding  that.  Which  is  a  contradic- 
tion ;  because  by  the  supposition  it  can  have  none  before  it,  to 
direct  or  determine  it,  being  the  first  in  the  train.  But  if  that 
first  volition  is  not  determined  by  any  preceding  act  of  the  Will, 
then  that  act  is  not  determined  by  the  Will,  and  so  is  not  free  in 
the  Arminian  notion  of  freedom,  which  consists  in  the  Will's  self- 
determination.  And  if  that  first  act  of  the  Will  which  determines 
and  fixes  the  subsequent  acts  be  not  free,  none  of  the  following 
acts,  which  are  determined  by  it,  can  be  free.  If  we  suppose  there 
are  five  acts  in  the  train,  the  fifth  and  last  determined  by  the 
fourth,  and  the  fourth  by  the  third,  the  third  by  the  second,  and 
the  second  by  the  first ;  if  the  first  is  not  determined  by  the  Will, 
and  so  not  free,  then  none  of  them  are  truly  determined  by  the 
Will :  that  is,  that  each  of  them  are  as  they  are,  and  not  other- 
wise, is  not  first  owing  to  the  Will,  but  to  the  determination  of  the 
first  in  the  series,  which  is  not  dependent  on  the  Will,  and  is  that 
which  the  Will  has  no  hand  in  determining.  And  this  being  that 
which  decides  what  the  rest  shall  be,  and  determines  their  exist- 
ence; therefore  the  first  determination  of  their  existence  is  not 
from  the  Will.  The  case  is  just  the  same  if,  instead  of  a  chain 
of  five  acts  of  the  Will,  we  should  suppose  a  succession  of  ten,  or 
an  hundred,  or  ten  thousand.  If  the  first  act  be  not  free,  being 
determined  by  something  out  of  the  Will,  and  this  determines  the 
next  to  be  agreeable  to  itself,  and  that  the  next,  and  so  on  •  none 
of  them  are  free,  but  all  originally  depend  on,  and  are  determined 


32 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS. 


by,  some  cause  out  of  the  Will :  and  so  all  freedom  in  the  ease  is 
excluded,  and  no  act  of  the  Will  can  be  free,  according  to  this 
notion  of  freedom.  Thus,  this  Arminian  notion  of  Liberty  of  the 
Will,  consisting  in  the  Will's  Self-determination,  is  repugnant  to 
itself,  and  shuts  itself  wholly  out  of  the  world. 

THE  PERMISSION  NOT  THE  PRODUCTION  OF  EVIL. 

There  is  a  great  difference  between  God  being  concerned  thus, 
by  his  permission,  in  an  event  and  act  which,  in  the  inherent  sub- 
ject and  agent  of  it,  is  sin,  (though  the  event  will  certainly  follow 
on  his  permission,)  and  his  being  concerned  in  it  by  producing  it 
and  exerting  the  act  of  sin  j  or  between  his  being  the  orderer  of 
its  certain  existence  by  not  hindering  it,  under  certain  circum- 
stances, and  his  being  the  proper  actor  or  author  of  it,  by  a  positive 
agency  or  efficiency.  As  there  is  a  vast  difference  between  the  sun 
being  the  cause  of  the  lightsomeness  and  warmth  of  the  atmo- 
sphere, and  the  brightness  of  gold  and  diamonds,  by  its  presence 
and  positive  influence ;  and  its  being  the  occasion  of  darkness  and 
frost,  in  the  night,  by  its  motion  whereby  it  descends  below  the 
horizon.  The  motion  of  the  sun  is  the  occasion  of  the  latter  kind 
of  events ;  but  it  is  not  the  proper  cause  efficient  or  producer  of 
them;  though  they  are  necessarily  consequent  on  that  motion, 
under  such  circumstances  :  no  more  is  any  action  of  the  Divine 
Being  the  cause  of  the  evil  of  men's  wills.  If  the  sun  were  the 
proper  cause  of  cold  and  darkness,  it  would  be  the  fountain  of 
these  things,  as  it  is  the  fountain  of  light  and  heat :  and  then 
something  might  be  argued  from  the  nature  of  cold  and  darkness, 
to  a  likeness  of  nature  in  the  sun ;  and  it  might  be  justly  inferred 
that  the  sun  itself  is  dark  and  cold,  and  that  his  beams  are  black 
and  frosty.  But  from  its  being  the  cause  no  otherwise  than  by  its 
departure,  no  such  thing  can  be  inferred,  but  the  contrary ;  it  may 
justly  be  argued  that  the  sun  is  a  bright  and  hot  body,  if  cold  and 
darkness  are  found  to  be  the  consequence  of  its  withdrawment ; 
and  the  more  constantly  and  necessarily  these  effects  are  connected 
with,  and  confined  to,  its  absence,  the  more  strongly  does  it  argue 
the  sun  to  be  the  fountain  of  light  and  heat.  So,  inasmuch  as  sin 
is  not  the  fruit  of  any  positive  agency  or  influence  of  the  Most 
High,  but,  on  the  contrary,  arises  from  the  withholding  of  his 
action  and  energy,  and,  under  certain  circumstances,  necessarily 
follows  on  the  want  of  his  influence ;  this  is  no  argument  that  he 
is  sinful,  or  his  operation  evil,  or  has  any  thing  of  the  nature  of 
evil ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  that  he  and  his  agency  are  altogether 
good  and  holy,  and  that  he  is  the  fountain  of  all  holiness.  It 
would  be  strange  arguing,  indeed,  because  men  never  commit  sin, 
but  only  when  God  leaves  them  to  themselves,  and  necessarily  sin 


t 


If  milKTIKaiEMo 


iT.Olt  THE  ORIGINAL  PICTURE  BY  DUT1ESSIS. 
IN  THE  POSSESSION  OF  MS? HARNETT  OE  PAEIS. 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN. 


33 


when  lie  does  so,  and  therefore  their  sin  is  not  from  themselves, 
but  from  Grod ;  and  so,  that  Grod  must  be  a  sinful  being :  as  strange 
as  it  would  be  to  argue,  because  it  is  always  dark  when  the  sun  is 
gone,  and  never  dark  when  the  sun  is  present,  that  therefore  all 
darkness  is  from  the  sun,  and  that  his  disk  and  beams  must  needs 
be  black. 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN,  1706— 179C. 

"^lis  mind  a  maxim,  plain,  yet  keenly  shrewd, 
A  heart  with  large  benevolence  endued ; 
Now  scanning  cause  with  philosophic  aim, 
And  now  arresting  the  ethereal  flame ; 
Great  as  a  statesman,  as  a  patriot  true, 
Courteous  in  manners,  yet  exalted  too ; 
A  stern  republican, — by  kings  caress'd, 

Modest,— by  nations  is  his  memory  bless'd." — William  B.  Tappan. 

This  distinguished  philosopher  and  statesman  was  born  in  Boston,  on  the  17th 
of  January,  1706.  His  father,  who  was  a  tallow-chandler,  was  too  poor  to  give 
him  the  advantages  of  a  collegiate  education,  and  at  ten  years  of  age  he  was 
taken  from  the  grammar  school  to  aid  in  cutting  wicks  for  the  candles,  filling  the 
moulds,  and  attending  the  shop.  When  he  was  twelve,  having  a  strong  passion 
for  reading,  and  thinking  that  a  printer's  business  would  give  him  the  best  oppor- 
tunity to  indulge  it,  he  was  bound  to  his  brother,  who  had  recently  returned  from 
England  with  a  press  and  type.  He  soon  made  himself  master  of  the  business, 
while  he  employed  all  his  leisure  time  and  his  evenings  to  the  improvement  of  his 
English  style,  by  reading  the  best  books  he  could  find,  among  which,  happily,  was 
Addison's  Spectator,  to  which  he  labored  to  make  his  own  style  conform.  In 
1721  his  brother  started  a  weekly  newspaper,  called  The  Neio  England  Courant, 
for  which  Benjamin,  though  so  young,  wrote  with  great  acceptance.  Soon,  how- 
ever, from  jealousy  or  other  cause,  the  elder  brother  quarrelled  with  the  younger, 
who  thereupon,  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  started  alone  for  Philadelphia.  The  fol- 
lowing is  his  own  account  of  his 

FIRST  ENTRANCE  INTO  PHILADELPHIA. 

I  have  entered  into  the  particulars  of  my  voyage,  and  shall,  in 
like  manner,  describe  my  first  entrance  into  this  city,  that  you 
may  be  able  to  compare  beginnings  so  little  auspicious  with  the 
figure  I  have  since  made. 

On  my  arrival  at  Philadelphia,  I  was  in  my  working  dress,  my 
best  clothes  being  to  come  by  sea.  I  was  covered  with  dirt ;  my 
pockets  were  filled  with  shirts  and  stockings ;  I  was  unacquainted 
with  a  single  soul  in  the  place,  and  knew  not  where  to  seek  a 
lodging.  Fatigued  with  walking,  rowing,  and  having  passed  the 
night  without  sleep,  I  was  extremely  hungry,  and  all  my  money 
consisted  of  a  Dutch  dollar,  and  about  a  shilling's  worth  of  cop- 


34 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN. 


pers,  which  I  gave  to  the  boatmen  for  my  passage.  As  I  had 
assisted  them  in  rowing,  they  refused  it  at  first  j  but  I  insisted  on 
their  taking  it.  A  man  is  sometimes  more  generous  when  he  has 
little  than  when  he  has  much  money;  probably  because,  in  the 
first  case,  he  is  desirous  of  concealing  his  poverty. 

I  walked  towards  the  top  of  the  street,  looking  eagerly  on  both 
sides,  till  I  came  to  Market  Street,  where  I  met  with  a  child  with 
a  loaf  of  bread.  Often  had  I  made  my  dinner  on  dry  bread.  I 
inquired  where  he  had  bought  it,  and  went  straight  to  the  baker's 
shop  which  he  pointed  out  to  me.  I  asked  for  some  biscuits, 
expecting  to  find  such  as  we  had  at  Boston  j  but  they  made,  it 
seems,  none  of  that  sort  at  Philadelphia.  I  then  asked  for  a  three- 
penny loaf.  They  made  no  loaves  of  that  price.  Finding  myself 
ignorant  of  the  prices,  as  well  as  of  the  different  kinds  of  bread, 
I  desired  him  to  let  me  have  threepenny- worth  of  bread  of  some 
kind  or  other.  He  gave  me  three  large  rolls.  I  was  surprised  at 
receiving  so  much  :  I  took  them,  however,  and,  having  no  room 
in  my  pockets,  I  walked  on  with  a  roll  under  each  arm,  eating  a 
third.  In  this  manner  I  went  through  Market  Street  to  Fourth 
Street,  and  passed  the  house  of  Mr.  Read,  the  father  of  my  future 
wife.  She  was  standing  at  the  door,  observed  me,  and  thought, 
with  reason,  that  I  made  a  very  singular  and  grotesque  appear- 
ance. 

I  then  turned  the  corner,  and  went  through  Chestnut  Street, 
eating  my  roll  all  the  way )  and,  having  made  this  round,  I  found 
myself  again  on  Market  Street  wharf,  near  the  boat  in  which  I 
arrived.  I  stepped  into  it  to  take  a  draught  of  the  river  water ; 
and,  finding  myself  satisfied  with  my  first  roll,  I  gave  the  other  two 
to  a  woman  and  her  child,  who  had  come  down  with  us  in  the  boat, 
and  was  waiting  to  continue  her  journey.  Thus  refreshed,  I  re- 
gained the  street,  which  was  now  full  of  well-dressed  people,  all 
going  the  same  way.  I  joined  them,  and  was  thus  led  to  a  large 
Quakers'  meeting-house  near  the  market-place.  I  sat  down  with 
the  rest,  and,  after  looking  round  me  for  some  time,  hearing 
nothing  said,  and  being  drowsy  from  my  last  night's  labor  and 
want  of  rest,  I  fell  into  a  sound  sleep.  In  this  state  I  continued 
till  the  assembly  dispersed,  when  one  of  the  congregation  had  the 
goodness  to  wake  me.  This  was  consequently  the  first  house  I 
entered,  or  in  which  I  slept,  at  Philadelphia.1 


1  "  It  is  Franklin's  history  as  a  boy  of  the  middle  class,  successfully  but  labo- 
riously working  his  way  upward,  that  has  made  it  at  once  the  most  attractive  and 
most  useful  biography  of  modern  times.  All  over  Christendom  it  has  met  with 
the  sympathy  of  the  working  classes,  and  it  has  done  more  than  any  volume 
within  my  knowledge  to  give  courage  and  heart  to  the  sons  of  labor,  as  it  has 
shown  that  the  paths  of  ambition  are  open  to  them  as  to  others,  provided  they  be 
followed  with  Franklin's  virtues, — honesty,  frugality,  perseverance,  and  patriot- 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN. 


85 


In  a  day  or  two  he  engaged  to  work  with  a  printer  by  the  name  of  Keiiner,  and 
soon  by  his  industry  and  frugality  accumulated  a  little  money.  A  letter  which 
Franklin  had  written  to  a  friend  having  fallen  under  the  notice  of  Sir  William 
Keith,  the  Governor  of  the  Province,  he  invited  the  young  printer  to  his  house, 
and  finally  persuaded  him  to  go  to  London  to  better  his  fortunes,  promising  to 
give  him  letters  of  recommendation.  Franklin  set  sail  from  Philadelphia,  the 
governor  promising  to  send  the  letters  to  him  when  the  ship  should  reach  New- 
castle ;  but  he  was  faithless  to  his  promise,  and  Franklin  landed  in  London  a  per- 
fect stranger.  But  a  gentleman,  a  fellow-passenger  by  the  name  of  Denham,  was 
interested  in  him,  and  very  soon  he  obtained  a  situation  in  a  printing-house  in 
Bartholomew  Close,  where  he  worked  a  year.  He  soon  gained  a  high  character 
for  temperance  and  industry  among  his  fellow-workmen,  and  began  to  be  favor- 
ably noticed,  when  he  was  persuaded  by  his  friend  Denham,  who  was  about  to 
return  home  with  a  large  quantity  of  goods  which  he  had  purchased,  to  accompany 
him  and  aid  him  in  their  sale.  He  landed  at  Philadelphia  on  the  11th  of  October; 
but  soon  after  the  shop  had  been  opened,  with  every  prospect  of  success,  Denham 
died,  and  Franklin  was  left  once  more  to  the  wide  world.  He  therefore  returned 
to  his  old  business,  and  was  soon  so  successful  in  it  that,  in  conjunction  with  a 
Mr.  Hugh  Meredith,  he  bought  out  the  Pennsylvania  Gazette,  which  had  but 
recently  been  established,1  and  which  in  a  few  years  proved  vei*y  profitable  to 
him.  In  connection  with  the  paper,  he  soon  opened  a  stationer's  shop,  and  so 
prospered  that,  in  September,  1730,  he  married  Miss  Bead,  with  whom  he  had 
become  acquainted  before  he  went  to  London. 

Feeling  the  want  of  good  books,  he  started  the  plan  of  a  subscription  library, — 
obtained  fifty  subscribers,  "mostly  young  tradesmen,"  who  paid  forty  shillings 
each, — imported  the  books,  and  thus  laid  the  foundation  of  the  present  "  Library 
Company  of  Philadelphia,"  now  one  of  the  largest  in  the  United  States. 

At  this  time,  when  about  twenty-six  years  of  age,  he  drew  up  a  series  of  reso- 
lutions by  which  he  might  regulate  his  conduct,  govern  his  temper,  and  improve 
his  whole  moral  man ;  and  it  is  but  justice  to  say  that  in  the  main  he  conformed 
to  them ;  that  the  result  was  a  character  which,  for  evenness  of  temper,  solidity  of 
judgment,  honesty  of  purpose,  and  prudence  in  the  regulation  of  all  temporal 
affairs,  has  rarely  been  equalled.  In  1732  he  first  published  his  celebrated 
Almanac,  (commonly  known  as  Poor  Richard's  Almanac,)  under  the  assumed 
name  of  "Richard  Saunders."  Besides  the  usual  tables  and  calendar,  it  contained 
a  fund  of  useful  information,  and  "proverbial  sentences,  chiefly  such  as  inculcated 
industry  and  frugality."  It  had  great  success,  and  was  continued  for  about 
twenty-five  years.  In  1736  he  was  chosen  clerk  of  the  General  Assembly,  and  the 
next  year  post-master  at  Philadelphia.  He  now  interested  himself  in  all  public 
matters,  founded  the  American  Philosophical  Society  and  the  University  of  Penn- 


ism.  What  a  contrast  between  the  influence  of  such  a  biography  as  this,  and  that 
of  a  man  whose  life  is  only  remarkable  for  success  in  bloodshed,  or  even  in  the 
more  vulgar  paths  of  vice,  knavery,  or  crime  !  What  a  debt  of  gratitude  does  the 
world  owe  to  Franklin  !" — Goodrich's  Recollections. 

1  Franklin  and  Meredith  began  the  paper  with  No.  40,  September  25,  1729;  but 
in  a  year  the  partnership  was  dissolved,  and  Franklin  had  the  sole  management 
of  it. 


36 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN. 


sylvania,  and  was  foremost  in  all  enterprises  calculated  to  promote  good  morals, 
sound  learning,  and  the  public  weal. 

At  the  age  of  forty-three  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the  Assembly,  and  the 
next  year  was  appointed  a  commissioner  for  making  a  treaty  with  the  Indians. 
About  this  time  he  began  to  be  interested  in  those  philosophical  experiments 
which  have  made  his  name  so  celebrated  throughout  the  scientific  world.  But  he 
was  soon  diverted  from  them  by  the  demands  made  upon  his  time  by  the  public, 
who  seemed  to  think  that  no  project  for  the  public  good  deserved  to  be  supported 
unless  Franklin  was  interested  in  it.  Accordingly,  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  aid,  by 
his  influence,  the  plan  of  founding  an  hospital,  which  had  been  started  by  his 
friend  Dr.  Thomas  Bond,  and  he  soon  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  subscrip- 
tions completed,  and  a  grant  of  £2000  made  by  the  Assembly  for  the  establish- 
ment of  the  same. 

In  1757  he  was  appointed  postmaster-general  for  America,  and  the  same  year 
received  from  Harvard  and  Yale  Colleges  the  honorary  degree  of  Master  of  Arts. 
Previous  to  this,  in  1755,  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  French  War,  he  had  been  of 
great  service  in  procuring  supplies  for  Braddock's  army,  and  had  warned  him 
against  the  enemy  he  had  to  contend  with;  and,  after  his  disastrous  defeat,  he 
had  labored  successfully  in  putting  Pennsylvania  in  a  good  state  of  defence. 
About  this  time  he  published  his  letters  on  electricity,  of  which,  says  Priestley, 
"nothing  was  ever  written  on  the  subject  more  justly  applauded  :  all  the  world  was 
full  of  admiration."  The  Royal  Society  of  London  elected  him  a  "  Fellow,"  and 
when  he  was  in  that  city  the  most  distinguished  men  in  the  metropolis,  and  from 
the  continent,  hastened  to  pay  their  respects  to  him. 

After  his  return  from  England,  he  travelled,  in  1763,  throughout  the  northern 
colonies,  to  inspect  and  regulate  the  post-offices,  performing  a  tour  of  about  sixteen 
hundred  miles.  But  the  controversy  between  the  "  Proprietors"  and  the  people 
of  Pennsylvania  was  not  yet  ended,  and,  it  being  deemed  necessary  to  take  at 
once  from  the  foreign  landholders  the  chief  appointing  power,  Franklin,  in  1764, 
was  sent  a  second  time  to  England,  with  a  petition  for  a  change  in  the  charter. 
But  now  all  local  differences  were  to  be  forgotten  in  the  general  contest  that  was 
approaching.  The  famous  "  Stamp  Act"  had  been  passed  by  the  British  ministry, 
and  loud  remonstrances  from  the  colonies  were  at  once  echoed  back  to  the  father- 
land. In  order  to  obtain  fuller  and  more  accurate  information  respecting  America, 
the  party  in  opposition  to  the  ministry  proposed  that  Franklin  should  be  interro- 
gated publicly  before  the  House  of  Commons.  Accordingly,  on  the  3d  of  February, 
1766,  he  was  summoned  to  the  bar  of  the  House  for  that  purpose,  and  he  cheerfully 
obeyed  the  call.  Independent  of  the  weight  of  his  pre-established  reputation,  he 
possessed,  in  a  very  eminent  degree,  all  those  natural  endowments  and  attainments 
which  would  make  his  examination  most  honorable  to  himself  and  serviceable  to 
his  country.  The  dignity  of  his  personal  appearance,  and  the  calmness  of  his 
demeanor,  equally  unmoved  by  the  illusions,  and  undismayed  by  the  insolence  of 
power,  added  not  a  little  to  make  the  whole  scene  highly  imposing,  and  indeed 
morally  sublime ; — to  see  a  solitary  representative  from  the  then  infant  colonies, 
standing  alone  amid  the  concentred  pomp  and  pageantry,  the  nobility  and  the 
learning,  of  the  mightiest  kingdom  of  the  earth,  with  the  eyes  of  all  gazing  upon 
nim,  and  acquitting  himself  so  nobly  as  to  call  down  the  plaudits  even  of  his 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN. 


37 


enemies.  The  result  might  have  been  anticipated ;  for  such  was  the  impression 
he  made  upon  Parliament,  that  the  Stamp  Act  was  repealed. 

Immediately  after  his  return,  he  was  elected  a  member  of  Congress,  then  sitting 
in  Philadelphia,  and  was  one  of  its  most  efficient  members.  After  signing  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  he  was  appointed  minister  plenipotentiary  to  France, 
and  he  sailed  for  Paris  near  the  close  of  the  year  1776,  where  he  was  received  most 
cordially  by  all  classes.  As  we  had  not  been  successful  in  the  campaign  of 
1776-77,  the  French  were  loath  to  enter  into  an  alliance  with  us;  but  when  they 
heard  of  the  surrender  of  Burgoyne's  army  in  October,  1777,  and  other  successes 
on  our  part,  seeing  that  we  could  "help  ourselves,"  they  concluded  to  help  us, 
and  entered  into  an  alliance,  offensive  and  defensive,  with  us.  They  rendered 
us  some  assistance ;  but,  happily,  the  great  work  of  independence  was  mainly 
our  own. 

In  17S5  Franklin  returned  to  Philadelphia,  and  his  arrival  was  signalized  by 
every  demonstration  of  public  joy.  He  was  soon  made  Governor  of  Pennsylvania, 
and  then  elected  delegate  to  the  Federal  Convention  of  1787,  for  framing  the  Con- 
stitution of  the  United  States ;  and  in  the  discussions  upon  it  he  bore  a  distin- 
guished part.  After  the  dissolution  of  the  convention,  he  did  but  little,  as  the  in- 
firmities incident  to  his  age,  and  the  disorder  with  which  he  had  long  been 
afflicted,  seldom  allowed  him  freedom  from  acute  bodily  pain.  He  drew  up,  however, 
and  published,  A  Plan  for  Improving  the  Condition  of  the  Free  Blacks  ;  and  his  last, 
public  act  was  to  sign,  as  President  of  the  society,  a  "Memorial  from  the  Abolition 
Society  of  Pennsylvania  to  Congress  ;"  while  the  last  paper  that  he  wrote  was  on 
the  same  subject, — thus  beautifully  closing  a  long  life  of  distinguished  usefulness, 
as  a  citizen,  a  philosopher,  and  a  statesman,  in  the  cause  of  philanthropy. 
Although  his  malady  and  his  sufferings  continued,  yet  no  material  change  in  his 
health  was  observed  till  the  first  part  of  April,  1790,  when  he  was  attacked  with  a 
fever  and  a  pain  in  the  breast.  The  organs  of  respiration  became  gradually 
oppressed;  a  calm  lethargic  state  succeeded;  and  on  the  17th,  (April,  1790,)  at 
eleven  at  night,  he  quietly  expired. 

The  strong  and  distinguishing  features  of  Dr.  Franklin's  mind  were,  sagacity, 
quickness  of  perception,  and  soundness  of  judgment.  His  imagination  was  lively, 
without  being  extravagant.  He  possessed  a  perfect  mastery  over  the  faculties  of 
his  understanding  and  over  his  passions.  Having  this  power  always  at  command, 
and  never  being  turned  aside  either  by  vanity  or  selfishness,  he  was  enabled  to 
pursue  his  objects  with  a  directness  and  constancy  that  rarely  failed  to  insure  suc- 
cess. It  seemed  to  be  his  single  aim  to  promote  the  happiness  of  his  fellow-men, 
by  enlarging  their  knowledge,  improving  their  condition,  teaching  them  practical 
lessons  of  wisdom  and  prudence,  and  inculcating  the  principles  of  rectitude  and 
the  habits  of  a  virtuous  life.1 


l  "  Franklin  was  the  greatest  diplomatist  of  the  eighteenth  century.  He  never 
spoke  a  word  too  soon ;  he  never  spoke  a  word  too  late ;  he  never  spoke  a  word 
too  much ;  he  never  failed  to  speak  the  right  word  in  the  right  place." — Ban- 
croft. 

Bead  Life  and  "Works,  by  Sparks,  10  vols.;  Life  in  Biography  of  the  Signers 
of  the  Declaration  of  Independence ;  North  Am.  Rev.,  vii.  289;  xvi.  346;  xxxvii. 
249;  lix.  446;  and  lxxxiii.  402;  Edinburgh  Review,  viii.  327;  and  xxviii.  275. 

4 


38 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN. 


The  following  is  Dr.  Franklin's  admirable  letter  to  Sir  Joseph  Banks,  dated 
July,  1783  :— 

ON  THE  RETURN  OF  PEACE. 

Dear  Sir  : — I  join  with  you  most  cordially  in  rejoicing  at  the 
return  of  Peace.  I  hope  it  will  be  lasting,  and  that  mankind  will 
at  length,  as  they  call  themselves  reasonable  creatures/  have  reason 
and  sense  enough  to  settle  their  differences  without  cutting 
throats;  for,  in  my  opinion,  there  never  was  a  good  war,  or  a  bad 
peace.  What  vast  additions  to  the  conveniences  and  comforts  of 
living  might  mankind  have  acquired,  if  the  money  spent  in  wars 
had  been  employed  in  works  of  public  utility !  What  an  exten- 
sion of  agriculture,  even  to  the  tops  of  our  mountains;  what 
rivers  rendered  navigable,  or  joined  by  canals;  what  bridges, 
aqueducts,  new  roads,  and  other  public  works,  edifices,  and  im- 
provements, rendering  England  a  complete  paradise,  might  have 
been  obtained  by  spending  those  millions  in  doing  good,  which  in 
the  last  war  have  been  spent  in  doing  mischief ;  in  bringing 
misery  into  thousands  of  families,  and  destroying  the  lives  of  so 
many  thousands  of  working  people,  who  might  have  performed 
the  useful  labor ! 

THE  WAY  TO  WEALTH. 

Courteous  reader,  I  have  heard  that  nothing  gives  an  author  so 
great  pleasure  as  to  find  his  works  respectfully  quoted  by  others. 
Judge,  then,  how  much  I  must  have  been  gratified  by  an  incident 
I  am  going  to  relate  to  you.  I  stopped  my  horse  lately,  where  a 
great  number  of  people  were  collected  at  an  auction  of  merchants' 
goods.  The  hour  of  the  sale  not  being  come,  they  were  conversing 
on  the  badness  of  the  times ;  and  one  of  the  company  called  to  a 
plain,  clean  old  man,  with  white  locks ; — "  Pray,  Father  Abraham, 
what  think  you  of  the  times  ?  Will  not  these  heavy  taxes  quite 
ruin  the  country  ?  How  shall  we  ever  be  able  to  pay  them  ?  What 
would  you  advise  us  to  ?"  Father  Abraham  stood  up  and  replied, 
"  If  you  would  have  my  advice,  I  will  give  it  you  in  short ;  for 
A  word  to  the  wise  is  enough,  as  Poor  Richard  says."  They 
joined  in  desiring  him  to  speak  his  mind,  and,  gathering  round 
him,  he  proceeded  as  follows  : — 

"  Friends/'  said  he,  "  the  taxes  are  indeed  very  heavy,  and,  if 
those  laid  on  by  the  government  were  the  only  ones  we  had  to  pay, 
we  might  more  easily  discharge  them  ;  but  we  have  many  others, 
and  much  more  grievous  to  some  of  us.  We  are  taxed  twice  as 
much  by  our  idleness,  three  times  as  much  by  our  pride,  and  four 
times  as  much  by  our  folly ;  and  from  these  taxes  the  commis- 
sioners cannot  ease  or  deliver  us,  by  allowing  an  abatement. 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN. 


39 


However,  let  us  hearken  to  good  advice,  and  something  may  be 
done  for  us ;  God  helps  them  that  help  themselves,  as  Poor  Richard 
says. 

"  It  would  be  thought  a  hard  government  that  should  tax  its 
people  one-tenth  part  of  their  time,  to  be  employed  in  its  service ; 
but  idleness  taxes  many  of  us  much  more  j  sloth,  by  bringing  on 
diseases,  absolutely  shortens  life.  Sloth,  like  rust,  consumes  faster 
than  labor  wears;  while  the  used  hey  is  always  bright,  as  Poor 
Richard  says.  But  dost  thou  love  life,  then  do  not  squander  time, 
for  that  is  the  stuff  life  is  made  of  as  Poor  Richard  says.  How 
much  more  than  is  necessary  do  we  spend  in  sleep,  forgetting  that 
The  sleeping  fox  catches  no  poultry,  and  that  There  will  be  sleep- 
ing enough  in  the  grave,  as  Poor  Richard  says. 

"If  time  be  of  all  things  the  most  precious,  wasting  time  must 
be,  as  Poor  Richard  says,  the  greatest  prodigality ;  since,  as  he 
elsewhere  tells  us,  Lost  time  is  never  found  again  ;  and  what  we 
call  time  enough,  always  proves  little  enough.  Let  us  then  up  and 
be  doing,  and  doing  to  the  purpose ;  so  by  diligence  shall  we  do 
more  with  less  perplexity. 

"  But  with  our  industry  we  must  likewise  be  steady,  settled,  and 
careful,  and  oversee  our  own  affairs,  with  our  own  eyes,  and  not 
trust  too  much  to  others;  for,  Three  removes  areas  bad  as  a  fire; 
and  again,  Keep  thy  shop,  and  thy  shop  will  keep  thee ;  and  again, 
If  you  would  have  your  business  done,  go;  if  not,  send. 

"  So  much  for  industry,  my  friends,  and  attention  to  one's  own 
business ;  but  to  these  we  must  add  frugality,  if  we  would  make 
our  industry  more  certainly  successful.  A  man  may,  if  he  knows 
not  how  to  save  as  he  gets,  keep  his  nose  all  his  life  to  the  grind- 
stone, and  die  not  worth  a  groat  at  last.  A  fat  kitchen  makes  a 
lean  will. 

"  Away,  then,  with  your  expensive  follies,  and  you  will  not  then 
have  so  much  cause  to  complain  of  hard  times,  heavy  taxes,  and 
chargeable  families. 

"And  further,  What  maintains  one  vice  would  bring  up  two 
children.  You  may  think,  perhaps,  that  a  little  tea,  or  a  little 
punch  now  and  then,  diet  a  little  more  costly,  clothes  a  little  finer, 
and  a  little  entertainment  now  and  then,  can  be  no  great  matter ; 
but  remember,  Many  a  little  makes  a  mickle.  Beware  of  little 
expenses  :  A  small  leak  will  sink  a  great  ship,  as  Poor  Richard 
says;  and  again,  Who  dainties  love,  shall  beggars  prove ;  and 
moreover,  Fools  make  feasts,  and  ivise  men  eat  them. 

"  Here  you  are  all  got  together  at  this  sale  of  fineries  and  knick- 
knacks.  You  call  them  goods  ;  but,  if  you  do  not  take  care,  they 
will  prove  evils  to  some  of  you.  You  expect  they  will  be  sold 
cheap,  and  perhaps  they  may  for  less  than  they  cost ;  but,  if  you 
have  no  occasion  for  them,  they  must  be  dear  to  you.  Remember 


40 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN. 


"what  Poor  Richard  says  :  Buy  what  thou  hast  no  need  of,  and  ere 
long  thou  shalt  sell  thy  necessaries.  And  again,  At  a  great  penny  - 
worth  pause  awhile.  He  means,  that  perhaps  the  cheapness  is 
apparent  only,  and  not  real  •  or  the  bargain,  by  straitening  thee  in 
thy  business,  may  do  thee  more  harm  than  good.  For  in  another 
place  he  says,  Many  have  been  ruined  by  buying  good  penny- 
worths. Again,  It  is  foolish  to  lay  out  money  in  a  purchase  of 
repentance  ;  and  yet  this  folly  is  practised  every  day  at  auctions, 
for  want  of  minding  the  Almanac.  Many  a  one,  for  the  sake  of 
finery  on  the  back,  have  gone  with  a  hungry  belly  and  half-starved 
their  families.  Silks  and  satins,  scarlet  and  velvets,  put  out  the 
kitchen  fire,  as  Poor  Richard  says. 

"  But  what  madness  must  it  be  to  run  in  debt  for  these  super- 
fluities !  We  are  offered,  by  the  terms  of  this  sale,  six  months' 
credit;  and  that,  perhaps,  has  induced  some  of  us  to  attend  it, 
because  we  cannot  spare  the  ready  money,  and  hope  now  to  be  fine 
without  it.  But,  ah  !  think  what  you  do  when  you  run  in  debt ; 
you  give  to  another  power  over  your  liberty.  If  you  cannot  pay 
at  the  time,  you  wili  be  ashamed  to  see  your  creditor ;  you  will  be 
in  fear  when  you  speak  to  him ;  you  will  make  poor,  pitiful,  sneak- 
ing excuses ;  and,  by  degrees,  come  to  lose  your  veracity,  and  sink 
into  base,  downright  lying ;  for  The  second  vice  is  lying,  the  first 
is  running  in  debt,  as  Poor  Richard  says ;  and  again,  to  the  same 
purpose,  Lying  rides  upon  Debt's  back  ;  whereas  a  free-born  Eng- 
lishman ought  not  to  be  ashamed  nor  afraid  to  see  or  speak  to 
any  man  living.  But  poverty  often  deprives  a  man  of  all  spirit  and 
virtue.    It  is  hard  for  an  empty  bag  to  stand  upright. 

"  What  would  you  think  of  that  prince,  or  of  that  government, 
who  should  issue  an  edict  forbidding  you  to  dress  like  a  gentleman 
or  gentlewoman,  on  pain  of  imprisonment  or  servitude  ?  Would 
you  not  say  that  you  were  free,  have  a  right  to  dress  as  you  please, 
and  that  such  an  edict  would  be  a  breach  of  your  privileges,  and 
such  a  government  tyrannical  ?  And  yet  you  are  about  to  put 
yourself  under  such  tyranny,  when  you  run  in  debt  for  such  dress  ! 
Your  creditor  has  authority,  at  his  pleasure,  to  deprive  you  of  your 
liberty,  by  confining  you  in  jail  till  you  shall  be  able  to  pay  him. 
When  you  have  got  your  bargain,  you  may,  perhaps,  think  little 
of  payment;  but,  as  Poor  Richard  says,  Creditors  have  better 
memories  than  debtors;  creditors  are  a,  superstitious  sect,  great 
observers  of  set  days  and  times.  The  day  comes  round  before  you 
are  aware,  and  the  demand  is  made  before  you  are  prepared  to 
satisfy  it ;  or,  if  you  bear  your  debt  in  mind,  the  term,  which  at 
first  seemed  so  long,  will,  as  it  lessens,  appear  extremely  short. 
Time  will  seem  to  have  added  wings  to  his  heels  as  well  as  his 
shoulders.  Those  have  a  short  Lent,  who  owe  money  to  be  paid  at 
Easter.  At  present,  perhaps,  you  may  think  yourselves  in  thrivi 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN. 


41 


circumstances,  and  that  you  can  bear  a  little  extravagance  without 
injury;  but, 

For  age  and  want  save  while  you  may  ; 
No  morning  sun  lasts  a  whole  day. 

Gain  may  be  temporary  and  uncertain,  but  ever,  while  you  live, 
expense  is  constant  and  certain;  and  It  is  easier  to  build  two 
chimneys,  than  to  keep  one  in  fuel,  as  Poor  Richard  says;  so, 
Rather  go  to  bed  supperless,  than  rise  in  debt. 

"  This  doctrine,  my  friends,  is  reason  and  wisdom ;  but,  after 
all,  do  not  depend  too  much  upon  your  own  industry,  and  fru- 
gality, and  prudence,  though  excellent  things ;  for  they  may  all 
be  blasted,  without  the  blessing  of  Heaven ;  and,  therefore,  ask 
that  blessing  humbly,  and  be  not  uncharitable  to  those  that  at  pre- 
sent seem  to  want  it,  but  comfort  and  help  them.  Remember,  Job 
suffered,  and  was  afterwards  prosperous/' 

Thus  the  old  gentleman  ended  his  harangue.  I  resolved  to  be 
the  better  for  it;  and  though  I  had  at  first  determined  to  buy 
stuff  for  a  new  coat,  I  went  away  resolved  to  wear  my  old  one  a 
little  longer.  Reader,  if  thou  wilt  do  the  same,  thy  profit  will  be 
as  great  as  mine.    I  am,  as  ever,  thine  to. serve  thee, 

Richard  Saunders. 

the  whistle. 

When  I  was  a  child,  at  seven  years  old,  my  friends,  on  a  holi- 
day, filled  my  little  pocket  with  coppers.  I  went  directly  to  a 
shop,  where  they  sold  toys  for  children ;  and,  being  charmed  with 
the  sound  of  a  whistle,  that  I  met  by  the  way  in  the  hands  of 
another  boy,  I  voluntarily  offered  him  all  my  money  for  one.  I 
then  came  home,  and  went  whistling  all  over  the  house,  much 
pleased  with  my  whistle,  but  disturbing  all  the  family.  My 
brothers,  and  sisters,  and  cousins,  understanding  the  bargain  I  had 
made,  told  me  I  had  given  four  times  as  much  for  it  as  it  was 
worth.  This  put  me  in  mind  what  good  things  I  might  have 
bought  with  the  rest  of  my  money ;  and  they  laughed  at  me  so 
much  for  my  folly,  that  I  cried  with  vexation  :  and  the  reflection 
gave  me  more  chagrin  than  the  ivhistle  gave  me  pleasure. 

This,  however,  was  afterwards  of  use  to  me,  the  impression 
continuing  on  my  mind ;  so  that  often,  when  I  was  tempted  to  buy 
some  unnecessary  thing,  I  said  to  myself,  don't  give  too  much  for 
the  whistle  ;  and  so  I  saved  my  money. 

As  I  grew  up,  came  into  the  world,  and  observed  the  actions  of 
men,  I  thought  I  met  with  many,  veiy  many,  who  gave  too  much 
for  the  whistle. 

When  T  saw  any  one  too  ambitious  of  court  favor, — sacrificing 
his  time  in  attendance  at  levees,  his  repose,  his  liberty,  his  virtue, 

4* 


42 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN. 


and  perhaps  his  friends,  to  attain  it, — I  have  said  to  myself,  this 
man  gives  too  much  for  his  v)histle. 

When  I  saw  another  fond  of  popularity,  constantly  employing 
himself  in  political  bustles,  neglecting  his  own  affairs,  and  ruin- 
ing them  by  that  neglect,  he  pays,  indeed,  says  I,  too  much  for  his 
whistle. 

If  I  knew  a  miser  who  gave  up  every  kind  of  comfortable 
living, — all  the  pleasure  of  doing  good  to  others, — all  the  esteem 
of  his  fellow-citizens, — and  the  joys  of  benevolent  friendship,  for 
the  sake  of  accumulating  wealth ;  poor  man,  says  I,  you  do,  in- 
deed, pay  too  much  for  your  whistle. 

When  I  meet  a  man  of  pleasure,  sacrificing  every  laudable  im- 
provement of  the  mind  or  of  his  fortune  to  mere  corporeal  sensa- 
tions,— Mistaken  man,  says  I,  you  are  providing  pain  for  yourself 
instead  of  pleasure, — you  give  too  much  for  your  whistle. 

If  I  see  one  fond  of  fine  clothes,  fine  furniture,  fine  equipages, 
all  above  his  fortune,  for  which  he  contracts  debts,  and  ends  his 
career  in  prison, — Alas,  says  I,  he  has  paid  dear,  very  dear,  for 
his  whistle. 

When  I  see  a  beautiful,  sweet-tempered  girl,  married  to  an  ill- 
natured  brute  of  a  husband, —  What  a  pity  it  is,  says  I,  that  she 
has  pa  id  so  much  for.  a  whistle. 

In  short,  I  conceived  that  a  great  part  of  the  miseries  of  man- 
kind were  brought  upon  them  by  the  false  estimates  they  had 
made  of  the  value  of  things,  and  by  their  giving  too  much  for  their 
ichistles. 

A  PARABLE  AGAINST  PERSECUTION.1 

1.  And  it  came  to  pass  after  these  things,  that  Abraham  sat  in 
the  door  of  his  tent  about  the  going  down  of  the  sun. 

2.  And  behold,  a  man,  bowed  with  age,  came  from  the  way  of 
the  wilderness,  leaning  on  a  staff. 

3.  And  Abraham  arose  and  met  him,  and  said  unto  him,  "Turn 
in,  I  pray  thee,  and  wash  thy  feet,  and  tarry  all  night,  and  thou 
shalt  arise  early  on  the  morrow,  and  go  on  thy  way." 

4.  But  the  man  said,  "  Nay,  for  I  will  abide  under  this  tree." 

5.  And  Abraham  pressed  him  greatly ;  so  he  turned,  and  they 
went  into  the  tent,  and  Abraham  baked  unleavened  bread,  and 
they  did  eat. 


1  The  substance  of  this  beautiful  Parable  was  not  original  with  Franklin,  for 
Jeremy  Taylor  gives  it  as  taken  from  the  "Jew's  Book;"  and  it  is  traced  back 
centuries  further.  The  true  author  is  not  known ;  but  it  never  attracted  general 
attention  until  in  the  hands  of  Franklin  it  assumed  the  scriptural  style.  Franklin 
was  in  the  habit  of  amusing  himself  by  reading  it  to  divines  and  others  well  versed 
in  the  Scriptures,  and  obtaining  their  opinions  upon  it,  which  were  sometimes  very 
diverting. 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN. 


4:5 


6.  And  when  Abraham  saw  that  the  man  blessed  not  God,  he 
said  unto  him,  "  Wherefore  dost  thou  not  worship  the  most  high 
God,  Creator  of  heaven  and  earth  ?" 

7.  And  the  man  answered  and  said,  "  I  do  not  worship  the  God 
thou  speakest  of,  neither  do  I  call  upon  his  name;  for  I  have 
made  to  myself  a  god,  which  abideth  alway  in  mine  house,  and 
provideth  me  with  all  things." 

8.  And  Abraham's  zeal  was  kindled  against  the  man,  and  he 
arose  and  fell  upon  him,  and  drove  him  forth  with  blows  into  the 
wilderness. 

9.  And  at  midnight  God  called  unto  Abraham,  saying,  "  Abra- 
ham, where  is  the  stranger  ?" 

10.  And  Abraham  answered  and  said,  "Lord,  he  would  not 
worship  thee,  neither  would  he  call  upon  thy  name;  therefore 
have  I  driven  him  out  from  before  my  face  into  the  wilderness." 

11.  And  God  said,  "  Have  I  borne  with  him  these  hundred 
ninety  and  eight  years,  and  nourished  him,  and  clothed  him,  not- 
withstanding his  rebellion  against  me ;  and  couldst  not  thou,  that 
art  thyself  a  sinner,  bear  with  him  one  night  V 

12.  And  Abraham  said,  "  Let  not  the  anger  of  the  Lord  wax 
hot  against  his  servant ;  lo,  I  have  sinned  j  lo,  I  have  sinned ;  for- 
give me,  I  pray  thee." 

13.  And  Abraham  arose,  and  went  forth  into  the  wilderness, 
and  sought  diligently  for  the  man,  and  found  him,  and  returned 
with  him  to  the  tent ;  and  when  he  had  entreated  him  kindly,  he 
sent  him  away  on  the  morrow  with  gifts. 

14.  And  God  spake  again  unto  Abraham,  saying,  "  For  this  thy 
sin  shall  thy  seed  be  afflicted  four  hundred  years  in  a  strange 
land ; 

15.  "  But  for  thy  repentance  will  I  deliver  them ;  and  they 
shall  come  forth  with  power,  and  with  gladness  of  heart,  and  with 
much  substance." 

TURNING  THE  GRINDSTONE. 

When  I  was  a  little  boy,  I  remember,  one  cold  winter's  morn- 
ing, I  was  accosted  by  a  smiling  man  with  an  axe  on  his  shoulder. 
"  My  pretty  boy,"  said  he,  "  has  your  father  a  grindstone  ?" 
"  Yes,  sir,"  said  I.  "  You  are  a  fine  little  fellow,"  said  he  j  "  will 
you  let  me  grind  my  axe  on  it  V  Pleased  with  the  compliment 
of  "  fine  little  fellow,"  "  Oh  yes,  sir,"  I  answered  :  "  it  is  down  in 
the  shop."  "  And  will  you,  my  man,"  said  he,  patting  me  on  the 
head,  "  get  me  a  little  hot  water  V  How  could  I  refuse  ?  I  ran, 
and  soon  brought  a  kettleful.  "  How  old  are  you  ?  and  what's 
your  name  ?"  continued  he,  without  waiting  for  a  reply  :  "  I  am 
sure  you  are  one  of  the  finest  lads  that  ever  I  have  seen  :  will 
you  just  turn  a  few  minutes  for  me  V 


44 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN. 


Tickled  with  the  flattery,  like  a  little  fool,  I  went  to  work,  and 
bitterly  did  I  rue  the  day.  It  was  a  new  axe,  and  I  toiled  and 
tugged  till  I  was  almost  tired  to  death.  The  school-bell'  rang, 
and  I  could  not  get  away  •  my  hands  were  blistered,  and  the  axe 
was  not  half  ground.  At  length,  however,  it  was  sharpened ;  and 
the  man  turned  to  me  with,  "  Now,  you  little  rascal,  you've  played 
truant :  scud  to  the  school,  or  you'll  buy  it  I"  "  Alas  !"  thought 
I,  "  it  is  hard  enough  to  turn  a  grindstone  this  cold  day ;  but  now 
to  be  called  a  little  rascal  is  too  much." 

It  sank  deep  in  my  mind ;  and  often  have  I  thought  of  it 
since.  When  I  see  a  merchant  over  polite  to  his  customers, — 
begging  them  to  take  a  little  brandy,  and  throwing  his  goods  on 
the  counter, — thinks  I,  That  man  has  an  axe  to  grind.  When  I 
see  a  man  flattering  the  people,  making  great  professions  of  attach- 
ment to  liberty,  who  is  in  private  life  a  tyrant,  methinks,  Look 
out,  good  people !  that  fellow  would  set  you  turning  grindstones. 
When  I  see  a  man  hoisted  into  office  by  party  spirit,  without  a 
single  qualification  to  render  him  either  respectable  or  useful, — 
alas !  methinks,  deluded  people,  you  are  doomed  for  a  season  to 
turn  the  grindstone  for  a  booby. 

MEMORIAL  TO  CONGRESS  ON  SLAVERY. 

To  the  Senate  and  House  of  Representatives  of  the  United  States: 

From  a  persuasion  that  equal  liberty  was  originally  the  portion 
and  is  still  the  birthright  of  all  men,  and  influenced  by  the  strong 
ties  of  humanity  and  the  principles  of  their  institution,  your  memo- 
rialists conceive  themselves  bound  to  use  all  justifiable  endeavors 
to  loosen  the  bands  of  slavery,  and  promote  a  general  enjoyment 
of  the  blessings  of  freedom.  Under  these  impressions,  they  ear- 
nestly entreat  your  serious  attention  to  the  subject  of  slavery;  that 
you  will  be  pleased  to  countenance  the  restoration  of  liberty  to 
those  unhappy  men  who  alone  in  this  land  of  freedom  are  degraded 
into  perpetual  bondage,  and  who,  amidst  the  general  joy  of  sur- 
rounding freemen,  are  groaning  in  servile  subjection ;  that  you  will 
devise  means  for  removing  this  inconsistency  from  the  character 
of  the  American  people;  that  you  will  promote  mercy  and  justice 
toward  this  distressed  race ;  and  that  you  will  step  to  the  very 
verge  of  the  power  vested  in  you  for  discouraging  every  species 
of  traffic  in  the  persons  of  our  fellow-men.1 


1  This  maybe  found  in  the  "Federal  Gazette,"  February,  1790,  only  two  months 
before  the  death  of  the  illustrious  sage. 


JOHN  WITHERSPOON. 


45 


JOHN  WITHERSPOON,  1722—1794. 

Of  the  statesmen  and  scholars  of  our  Revolutionary  period,  few  did  more  good, 
or  exerted  a  wider  influence  in  their  generation,  than  John  Witherspoon.1  lie 
was  born  in  the  parish  of  Yester,  near  Edinburgh,  Scotland,  on  the  5th  of  Feb- 
ruary, 1722.  His  father  was  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  Scotland,  much 
respected  for  his  piety  and  learning ;  and  the  son,  after  going  through  the  usual 
courses  of  study  in  the  University  of  Edinburgh  in  literature,  science,  and  theo- 
logy, was  licensed  to  preach  at  the  age  of  twenty-one.  He  was  first  settled  in  the 
parish  of  Beith,  in  the  west  of  Scotland,  whence,  in  a  few  years,  he  removed  to 
the  flourishing  manufacturing  town  of  Paisley.  Here  he  continued  till  the  year 
1768,  when  he  was  elected  by  the  trustees  of  Princeton  College  the  president  of 
that  institution.  The  fame  of  his  talents  and  learning  had  preceded  him,  and 
consequently  he  brought  to  the  college  a  large  accession  of  students,  and  was  the 
means  of  greatly  increasing  its  funds,  and  placing  it  on  a  foundation  of  perma- 
nent usefulness.  Indeed,  few  men  could  combine  more  important  qualifications 
for  the  presidency  of  a  literary  institution, — talents,  extensive  attainments,  com- 
manding personal  appearance,  and  an  admirable  faculty  for  governing  young 
men,  and  exciting  in  them  a  noble  emulation  to  excel  in  their  studies. 

But  he  was  soon  to  enter  upon  a  new  sphere  of  duty.  Becoming  an  American 
the  moment  he  landed  upon  our  shores,  he  was  selected  by  the  citizens  of  New 
Jersey,  in  1776,  as  a  delegate  to  the  immortal  Congress  that  promulgated  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  to  which  instrument  he  affixed  his  name.  He  con- 
tinued to  represent  the  State  of  New  Jersey  in  the  general  Congress,  from  1776  to 
1782,  and  in  practical  business-talent  and  devotion  to  public  affairs  he  was  second 
to  none  in  that  body.  It  would  be  impossible,  in  this  brief  sketch,  to  specify  the 
numerous  services  which  he  rendered  to  his  country  in  the  dark  hours  of  her 
Revolutionary  history ;  but  one  thing  cannot  be  omitted, — the  ability  which  he 
displayed  as  a  member  of  the  committee  to  consider  the  state  of  the  currency  and 
the  finances  of  the  country.  Little  did  men  dream  that  a  theologian,  bred  in 
academic  halls,  could  prepare  such  papers  on  money  and  finance  as  were  pre- 
sented by  Dr.  Witherspoon ;  for  it  is  doubtful  whether  that  most  difficult  subject 
was  ever  treated  in  a  more  masterly  manner. 

When  he  retired  from  the  national  councils  in  1791,  he  married  his  second  wife, 
which  excited  some  attention,  as  he  was  in  his  seventieth  year,  and  the  lady,  dis- 
tinguished for  her  beauty  and  accomplishments,  but  twenty-three.  He  then  went 
to  his  country-place,  about  one  mile  from  Princeton,  having  two  years  before  par- 
tially given  up  his  duties  as  president  of  the  college  to  the  vice-president,  his  son- 
in-law,  Dr.  Samuel  Smith.  At  length  bodily  infirmities  began  to  fall  heavily 
upon  him;  still  he  would  not  desist  from  the  duties  of  his  ministry,  nor  from 
attending  at  the  college,  as  far  as  his  health  and  strength  would  permit.    But  his 


1  "  No  man  thinks  of  Witherspoon  as  a  Briton,  but  as  an  American  of  the  Ame- 
ricans :  as  the  counsellor  of  Morris,  the  correspondent  of  Washington,  the  rival 
of  Franklin  in  his  sagacity,  and  of  Reed  in  his  resolution ;  one  of  the  boldest  in 
that  Declaration  of  Independence,  and  one  of  the  most  revered  in  the  debates  of 
the  Congress." — Rev.  J.  W.  Alexander's  Princeton  Address, 


40 


JOHN  WITHERSPOON. 


useful  life  was  now  drawing  to  a  close,  and  on  the  15th  of  November,  1794,  in  the 
seventy-third  year  of  his  age,  he  entered  into  his  rest. 

Dr.  Witherspoon's  works  were  published  after  his  death,  in  four  volumes,  with 
a  memoir  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  John  Rodgers.  They  consist  of  Sermons;  an  Inquiry 
into  the  Nature  and  Effects  of  the  Stage;  Lectures  on  Moral  Philosophy ;  Lectures 
on  Eloquence;  Lectures  on  Divinity ;  Letters  on  Education ;  Letters  on  Marriage ; 
An  Essay  on  Money  as  a  Medium  of  Commerce ;  his  Speeches  in  Congress ;  and  a 
variety  of  essays  on  moral  and  political  subjects.  All  these  give  abundant  evi- 
dence of  the  learning,  piety,  sound  judgment,  and  eloquence  of  their  author.  But 
none  of  them  show  one  of  the  most  prominent  traits  in  his  character, — a  remark- 
ably ready  and  keen  wit.1  Indeed,  his  fund  of  refined  humor  and  delicate  satire 
seemed  inexhaustible,  and  it  burst  out  on  almost  all  occasions.2  This  made  him 
a  most  pleasing  and  entertaining  companion  in  private  life,  and  the  charm  of 
every  social  circle. 

THE  PERNICIOUS  EXAMPLE  OF  THE  STAGE. 

It  is  a  known  truth,  established  by  the  experience  of  all  ages, 
that  bad  example  has  a  powerful  and  unhappy  influence  upon 
human  characters.  Sin  is  of  a  contagious  and  spreading  nature, 
and  the  human  heart  is  but  too  susceptible  of  the  infection.  This 
may  be  ascribed  to  several  causes,  and  to  one  in  particular  which 
is  applicable  to  the  present  case, — that  the  seeing  of  sin  frequently 
committed  must  gradually  abate  that  horror  which  we  ought  to 
have  of  it  upon  our  minds,  and  which  serves  to  keep  us  from 
yielding  to  its  solicitations.  Frequently  seeing  the  most  terrible 
objects  renders  them  familiar  to  our  view,  and  makes  us  behold 
them  with  less  emotion.  And  from  seeing  sin  without  reluctance, 
the  transition  is  easy  to  a  compliance  with  its  repeated  impor- 
tunity, especially  as  there  are  latent  remaining  dispositions  to  sin- 
ning in  every  heart  that  is  but  imperfectly  sanctified.  It  will  be 
difficult  to  assign  any  other  reason  why  wickedness  is  always  car- 
ried to  a  far  greater  height  in  large  and  populous  cities  than  in 


1  In  this  he  was  excelled  by  none  of  his  contemporaries,  except  the  learned 
Charles  Nisbet,  D.D.,  the  first  President  of  Dickinson  College;  and  many  a  keen 
encounter  is  said  to  have  taken  place  between  the  two  rival  wits  and  divines. 
One  particularly  occurs  to  me.  At  a  casual  meeting  in  the  streets  of  Phila- 
delphia, Dr.  Nisbet  replied  to  the  question  put  by  his  companion  about  his  health, 
that  he  did  not  feel  very  well, — that  he  had  a  kind  of  "ringing  in  his  head." 
"Well,  and  don't  you  know  what  that's  the  sign  of?"  said  Dr.  Witherspoon. 
"No,  sir:  what  is  it?"  "  It's  a  sign  that  it's  hollow."  "Why,  sir,  does  yours 
never  ring?"  said  Dr.  Nisbet.  "No,  never,"  replied  his  friend.  "And  don't  you 
know  what  that's  the  sign  of?"  "No:  what  is  it?"  "It's  a  sign  that  it's 
cracked." 

2  For  instance ;  when  Burgoyne's  army  was  captured,  General  Gates  despatched 
one  of  his  aids  to  Congress  to  carry  the  intelligence.  But  he  suffered  himself  to 
be  delayed  on  the  way,  so  that  when  he  reached  Philadelphia  he  found  the  news 
had  got  there  some  days  before.  When,  therefore,  Congress  was  about  to  vote  the 
messenger  a  sword,  Dr.  Witherspoon  rose  and  begged  leave  to  move  that  instead 
of  a  sword  they  should  present  him  with  a  ])air  of  golden  spurs. 


JOHN  WITHERSPOON. 


47 


the  country.  Do  not  multitudes,  in  places  of  great  resort,  come  to 
perpetrate,  calmly  and  sedately,  without  any  remorse,  such  crimes 
as  would  surprise  a  less  knowing  sinner  so  much  as  to  hear  of? 
Can  it  then  be  safe  to  be  present  at  the  exhibition  of  so  many 
vicious  characters  as  always  must  appear  upon  the  stage  ?  Must 
it  not,  like  other  examples,  have  a  strong  though  insensible  influ- 
ence, and  indeed  the  more  strong  because  unperceived  ? 

CHARACTER  OF  THEATRICAL  REPRESENTATIONS. 

Where  can  the  plays  be  found,  at  least  comedies,  that  are  free 
from  impurity,  either  directly  or  by  allusion  and  double-meaning  ? 
It  is  amazing  to  think  that  women  who  pretend  to  decency  and 
reputation,  whose  brightest  ornament  ought  to  be  modesty,  should 
continue  to  abet,  by  their  presence,  so  much  unchastity  as  is  to  be 
found  in  the  theatre.  How  few  plays  are  acted  which  a  modest 
woman  can  see  consistently  with  decency  in  every  part !  And 
even  when  the  plays  are  more  reserved  themselves,  they  are  sure 
to  be  seasoned  with  something  of  this  kind  in  the  prologue  or  epi- 
logue, the  music  between  the  acts,  or  in  some  scandalous  farce 
with  which  the  diversion  is  concluded.  The  power  of  custom  and 
fashion  is  very  great  in  making  people  blind  to  the  most  manifest 
qualities  and  tendencies  of  things.  There  are  ladies  who  fre- 
quently attend  the  stage,  who,  if  they  were  but  once  entertained 
with  the  same  images  in  a  private  family  with  which  they  are 
often  presented  there,  would  rise  with  indignation,  and  reckon 
their  reputation  ruined  if  ever  they  should  return.  With  what 
consistency  they  gravely  return  to  the  same  schools  of  lewdness, 
they  themselves  best  know. 

CHARACTER  OF  ACTORS. 

The  life  of  players  is  not  only  idle  and  vain,  and  therefore  in- 
consistent with  the  character  of  a  Christian,  but  it  is  still  more 
directly  and  grossly  criminal.  Not  only  from  the  taste  of  the 
audience  must  the  prevailing  tendency  of  all  successful  plays  be 
bad,  but,  in  the  very  nature  of  the  thing,  the  greatest  part  of  the 
characters  represented  must  be  vicious.  What,  then,  is  the  life 
of  a  player  ?  It  is  wholly  spent  in  endeavoring  to  express  the 
language,  and  exhibit  a  perfect  picture,  of  the  passions  of  vicious 
men.  For  this  purpose  they  must  strive  to  enter  into  the  spirit 
and  feel  the  sentiments  proper  to  such  characters. 

Thus,  their  character  has  been  infamous  in  all  ages, — just  a 
living  copy  of  that  vanity,  obscenity,  and  impiety  which  is  to  be 
found  in  the  pieces  which  they  represent.  As  the  world  has  been 
polluted  by  the  stage,  so  they  have  always  been  more  eminently 


48 


JOHN  WITHERSPOON. 


so,  as  it  is  natural  to  suppose,  being  the  very  cisterns  in  which 
this  pollution  is  collected  and  from  which  it  is  distributed  to 
others. 

Can  it  be  lawful,  then,  in  any  one  to  contribute  in  the  least  de- 
gree to  support  men  in  this  unhallowed  employment  ?  Is  not  the 
theatre  truly  and  essentially  what  it  has  been  often  called  rhetoric- 
ally,— the  school  of  impiety,  where  it  is  their  very  business  to 
learn  wickedness  ?  And  will  a  Christian,  upon  any  pretended 
advantage  to  himself,  join  in  this  confederacy  against  God,  and 
assist  in  endowing  and  upholding  the  dreadful  seminary  ? 

PRINCIPLES  REGULATING  MONEY.1 

I  will  now  sum  up,  in  single  propositions,  the  substance  of  what 
has  been  asserted,  and  I  hope  sufficiently  proved,  in  the  preceding- 
discourse. 

1.  It  ought  not  to  be  imputed  to  accident  or  caprice  that  gold, 
silver,  and  copper  formerly  were,  and  the  two  first  continue  to  be, 
the  medium  of  commerce ;  but  to  their  inherent  value,  joined  with 
other  properties,  that  fit  them  for  circulation.  Therefore,  all  the 
speculations  formed  upon  a  contrary  supposition  are  inconclusive 
and  absurd. 

2.  Gold  and  silver  are  far  from  being  in  too  small  quantity  at 
present  for  the  purpose  of  a  circulating  medium  in  the  commercial 
nations.  The  last  of  them — silver — seems  rather  to  be  in  too  great 
quantity,  so  as  to  become  inconvenient  for  transportation. 

3.  The  people  of  every  nation  will  get  the  quantity  of  these  pre- 
cious metals  that  they  are  entitled  to  by  their  industry,  and  no 
more.  If  by  any  accident,  as  plunder  in  war,  or  borrowing  from 
other  nations,  or  even  finding  it  in  mines,  they  get  more,  they  will 
not  be  able  to  keep  it.  It  will  in  a  short  time  find  its  level. 
Laws  against  exporting  the  coin  will  not  prevent  this.  Laws  of 
this  kind,  though  they  are  still  in  force  in  some  nations  supposed 
to  be  wise,  yet  are  in  themselves  ridiculous.  If  you  import  more 
than  you  export,  you  must  pay  the  balance,  or  give  up  the  trade. 

4.  The  quantity  of  gold  and  silver  at  any  time  in  a  nation  is  no 
evidence  of  national  wealth,  unless  you  take  into  consideration  the 
way  in  which  it  came  there,  and  the  probability  of  its  continuing. 

5.  No  paper  of  any  kind  is,  properly  speaking,  money.  It  ought 
never  to  be  made  a  legal  tender.  It  ought  not  to  be  forced  upon 
anybody,  because  it  cannot  be  forced  upon  everybody. 

6.  Gold  and  silver,  fairly  acquired  and  likely  to  continue,  are 


1  This  is  at  the  close  of  his  very  able  and  learned  "Essay  on  Money  as  a  Me- 
dium of  Commerce ;  with  Remarks  on  the  Advantages  and  Disadvantages  of 
Paper  admitted  into  General  Circulation." 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 


40 


real  national  as  well  as  personal  wealth.  If  twice  as  much  paper 
circulates  with  them,  though  in  full  credit,  particular  persons  may 
be  rich  by  possessing  it,  but  the  nation  in  general  is  not. 

7.  The  cry  of  the  scarcity  of  money  is  generally  putting  the 
effect  for  the  cause.  No  business  can  be  done,  say  some,  because 
money  is  scarce.  It  may  be  said  with  more  truth,  money  is  scarce 
because  little  business  is  done.  Yet  their  influence,  like  that  of 
many  other  causes  and  effects,  is  reciprocal. 

8.  The  quantity  of  current  money,  of  whatever  kind,  will  have 
an  effect  in  raising  the  price  of  industry  and  bringing  goods  dearer 
to  market ;  therefore  the  increase  of  the  currency  in  any  nation 
by  paper  which  will  not  pass  among  other  nations,  makes  the  first 
cost  of  every  thing  they  do  greater,  and,  of  consequence,  the 
profit  less. 

9.  It  is,  however,  possible  that  paper  obligations  may  so  far 
facilitate  commerce  and  extend  credit,  as,  by  the  additional'  in- 
dustry that  they  excite,  to  overbalance  the  injury  which  they  do 
in  other  respects.  Yet  even  the  good  itself  may  be  overdone. 
Too  much  money  may  be  emitted  even  upon  loan ;  but  to  emit 
money  any  other  way  than  upon  loan  is  to  do  all  evil  and  no  good. 

10.  Those  who  refuse  doubtful  paper,  and  thereby  disgrace  it, 
or  prevent  its  circulation,  are  not  enemies,  but  friends  to  their 
country. 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON,  1732—1799. 

George  Washington,  the  fourth  son  of  Augustine  Washington,  and  the  first 
President  of  the  United  States,  was  born  at  Bridge's  Creek,  in  the  county  of 
Westmoreland,  Virginia,  on  the  22d  of  February,  1732,  and  died  at  Mount  Ver- 
non on  the  14th  of  December,  1799.  The  following  are  the  chief  incidents  of  his 
public  life — 

TEARS.      HIS  AGE.  EVENTS. 

1732         ...         Feb.  22.    His  birth,  in  Westmoreland  county,  Virginia. 

17-43         11          Apr.  12.    Death  of  his  father,  at  the  age  of  forty-nine  years. 

1746         14    His  brother  Lawrence  obtained  for  him  a  midshipman's  war- 

rant in  the  British  Navy. 

1748         16         Mar. ...     Surveyor  of  Lord  Fairfax's  lauds  on  the  Potomac  River. 

1751         19    Military  Inspector,  with  the  rank  of  Major,  to  protect  the 

frontiers  of  Virginia  against  the  French  and  Indians. 

1  I  give  not  an  extended  biography  of  General  Washington,  because  to  do  any 
justice  to  the  subject  it  would  occupy  more  room  than  I  could  spare;  while  the 
lives  of  him  are  so  numerous  as  to  be  accessible  to  any  one.  Read  lives  by  Mar- 
shall, Ramsey,  Weems,  Edmunds,  Guizot,  (translated  by  Reeve,)  Headley,  Irving, 
Bancroft,  Sparks  ;  also  an  admirable  book  entitled  "  Maxims  of  Washington, 
Political,  Moral,  Social,  and  Religious  ;  collected  and  arranged  by  J.  F.  Schroeder, 
D.D.,"  1  vol.  12mo.  Consult  also  "  North  American  Review,"  li.  69,  xlvii.  318, 
xxxix.  467;  "American  Quarterly,"  xv.  275,  xvii.  74;  "Methodist  Quarterly," 
ii.  38;  also  read  Eulogies  by  Hamilton,  Jay,  Ames,  Mason,  &c. 

5 


50 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 


TEARS. 

HIS  AGE. 

EVENTS. 

1751 

19 

Sept. 

He  sailed  for  Barbadoes  with  his  brother  Lawrence. 

1752 

20 

Adjutaut-General. 

1753 

21 

Oct.  31. 

Commissioner  to  the  French  on  the  Ohio. 

1754 

22 

Lieutenant-Colonel  for  the  defence  of  the  colony  of  Virginia. 

1755 

23 

July  9. 

Aid-de  camp  to  General  Braddock  at  the  battle  of  Monon- 
gahela. 

1755 

24 

Aug.  14. 

Commaucler-in-chief  of  the  Virginian  forces. 

1758 

26 

Dec.  ... 

He  resigned  his  commission. 

1759 

26 

Jan.  6. 

His  marriage.    Member  of  the  Virginia  House  of  Burgesses. 

1765 

33 

Commissioner  for  settling  the  military  accounts  of  the  colony. 

1770 

38 

His  tour  to  the  Ohio  and  Great  Kenawa  Bivers. 

1774 

42 

Member  of  the  Virginia  Conventions  on  the  points  at  issuo 
between  Great  Britain  and  the  Colonies. 

1774 

42 

Sept.  ... 

Member  of  the  first  Continental  Congress. 

1775 

43 

May  10. 

Member  of  the  second  Continental  Congress. 

1775 

43 

June  15. 

Commander-in-chief. 

1775 

43 

July  3. 

Commander  of  the  army  at  Cambridge. 

1776 

44 

Mar.  17. 

Boston  evacuated  by  the  British  army. 

1776 

44 

July  4. 

Declaration  of  American  Independence. 

1776 

44 

Aug.  27. 

Battle  of  Long  Island. 

1776 

44 

Dec.  26. 

Battle  of  Trenton. 

1776 

44 

Dec.  27. 

Congress  invested  him  with  dictatorial  powers. 

1777 

44 

Jan.  3. 

Battle  of  Princeton. 

1777 

45 

Sept.  11. 

Battle  of  the  Brandywine. 

1777 

45 

Oct.  4. 

Battle  of  Germantown. 

1778 

46 

June  28. 

Battle  of  Monmouth. 

1779 

47 

July  16. 

Stony  Point  taken. 

1780 

48 

Arnold's  treason. 

1781 

4S 

Jan.  1. 

Mutiny  of  the  Pennsylvania  troops. 

1781 

49 

Oct.  19. 

Surrender  of  Yorktown  and  Gloucester. 

1783 

51 

Apr.  19. 

Peace  proclaimed  to  the  army. 

1783 

51 

Nov.  2. 

His  farewell  to  the  army. 

1783 

51 

Nov.  25. 

New  York  evacuated  by  the  British  army. 

1783 

51 

Dec.  23. 

He  resigned  his  commission. 

1784 

52 

His  tour  to  the  Western  country. 

1787 

55 

May  14. 

Delegate  to  the  General  Convention  at  Philadelphia  to  form  a 
Constitution.   President  of  the  Convention. 

1789 

57 

Mar.  4. 

President  of  the  United  States. 

1789 

Apr.  30. 

His  inauguration  at  New  York. 

1789 

57 

Aug.  25. 

Death  of  his  mother  at  the  age  of  eighty-two  years. 

His  tour  through  the  Eastern  States. 

1791 

59 

His  tour  through  the  Southern  States. 

1793 

61 

Mar.  4." 

President  for  a  second  term. 

1793 

61 

M.  Genet,  Minister  from  France  to  the  United  States. 

1796 

64 

Sept.  15. 

His  Farewell  Address  to  the  People  of  the  United  States. 

1797 

65 

He  retired  to  private  life.    Difficulties  with  France.  Pre- 
parations for  war. 

1798 

66 

July  3. 

Commander-in-chief  of  the  Armies  of  tho  United  States. 

1799 

67 

Dec.  14. 

His  death  at  Mount  Vernon. 

VALEDICTORY  COUNSELS  OF  WASHINGTON. 

There  is  an  opinion  that  parties  in  free  countries  are  useful 
checks  upon  the  administration  of  the  government  and  serve  to 
keep  alive  the  spirit  of  liberty.  This,  within  certain  limits,  is 
probably  true;  and  in  governments  of  a  monarchical  cast,  pa- 
triotism may  look  with  indulgence,  if  not  with  favor,  upon  the 
spirit  of  party;  but  in  those  of  the  popular  character,  in  govern- 
ments purely  elective,  it  is  a  spirit  not  to  be  encouraged.  From 
their  natural  tendency,  it  is  certain  there  will  always  be  enough 
of  that  spirit  for  every  salutary  purpose ;  and  there  being  constant 
danger  of  excess,  the  effort  ought  to  be,  by  force  of  public  opinion, 
to  mitigate  and  assuage  it.    A  fire  not  to  be  quenched,  it  demands 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 


51 


a  uniform  vigilance  to  prevent  its  bursting  into  a  flame,  lest, 
instead  of  warming,  it  should  consume. 

Of  all  the  dispositions  and  habits  which  lead  to  political  pros- 
perity, religion  and  morality  are  indispensable  supports.  In  vain 
would  that  man  claim  the  tribute  of  patriotism  who  should  labor 
to  subvert  these  great  pillars  of  human  happiness,  these  firmest 
props  of  the  destinies  of  men  and  citizens.  The  mere  politician, 
equally  with  the  pious  man,  ought  to  respect  and  cherish  them. 
A  volume  could  not  trace  all  their  connections  with  private  and 
public  felicity.  Let  it  simply  be  asked,  Where  is  the  security  for 
property,  for  reputation,  for  life,  if  the  sense  of  religious  obliga- 
tion desert  the  oaths  which  are  the  instruments  of  investigation  in 
courts  of  justice  ?  And  let  us  with  caution  indulge  the  supposi- 
tion that  morality  can  be  maintained  without  religion.  Whatever 
may  be  conceded  to  the  influence  of  refined  education  on  minds 
of  peculiar  structure,  reason  and  experience  both  forbid  us  to  ex- 
pect that  national  morality  can  prevail  in  exclusion  of  religious 
principles. 

It  is  substantially  true  that  virtue  or  morality  is  a  necessary 
spring  of  popular  government.  The  rule,  indeed,  extends  with 
more  or  less  force  to  every  species  of  free  government.  Who,  that 
is  a  sincere  friend  to  it,  can  look  with  .indifference  upon  attempts 
to  shake  the  foundation  of  the  fabric  ? 

Promote,  then,  as  an  object  of  primary  importance,  institutions 
for  the  general  diffusion  of  knowledge.  In  proportion  as  the 
structure  of  a  government  gives  force  to  public  opinion,  it  is  essen- 
tial that  public  opinion  should  be  enlightened. 

Observe  good  faith  and  justice  towards  all  nations;  cultivate 
peace  and  harmony  with  all :  religion  and  morality  enjoin  this  con- 
duct; and  can  it  be  that  good  policy  does  not  equally  enjoin  it'/ 
It  would  be  worthy  of  a  free,  enlightened,  and,  at  no  distant 
period,  a  great  nation,  to  give  to  mankind  the  magnanimous  and 
too  novel  example  of  a  people  always  guided  by  an  exalted  justice 
and  benevolence.  Who  can  doubt  that,  in  the  course  of  time  and 
things,  the  fruits  of  such  a  plan  would  richly  repay  any  temporary 
advantages  which  might  be  lost  by  a  steady  adherence  to  it  ?  Can 
it  be  that  Providence  has  not  connected  the  permanent  felicity  of 
a  nation  with  its  virtue  ?  The  experiment  at  least  is  recommended 
by  every  sentiment  which  ennobles  human  nature.  Alas  !  is  it 
rendered  impossible  by  its  vices  ?  *  *  * 

In  the  execution  of  such  a  plan,  nothing  is  more  essential  than 
that  permanent,  inveterate  antipathies  against  particular  nations, 
and  passionate  attachments  for  others,  should  be  excluded,  and 
that,  in  place  of  them,  just  and  amiable  feelings  towards  all,  should 
be  cultivated.  The  nation  which  indulges  towards  another  an 
habitual  hatred,  or  an  habitual  fondness,  is  in  some  degree  a  slave. 


52 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 


It  is  a  slave  to  its  animosity  or  to  its  affection,  either  of  which  is 
sufficient  to  lead  it  astray  from  its  duty  and  its  interest.  Antipathy 
in  one  nation  against  another  disposes  each  more  readily  to  offer 
insult  and  injury,  to  lay  hold  of  slight  causes  of  umbrage,  and  to 
be  haughty  and  intractable  when  accidental  or  trifling  occasions 
of  dispute  occur.  *  *  * 

Though,  in  reviewing  the  incidents  of  my  administration,  I  am 
unconscious  of  intentional  error,  I  am,  nevertheless,  too  sensible 
of  my  defects  not  to  think  it  probable  that  I  may  have  committed 
many  errors.  Whatever  they  may  be,  I  fervently  beseech  the 
Almighty  to  avert  and  mitigate  the  evils  to  which  they  may  tend. 
I  shall  also  carry  with  me  the  hope  that  my  country  will  never 
cease  to  view  them  with  indulgence;  and  that,  after  forty-five 
years  of  my  life  dedicated  to  its  service  with  an  upright  zeal,  the 
faults  of  incompetent  abilities  will'  be  consigned  to  oblivion,  as 
myself  must  soon  be  to  the  mansions  of  rest. 

THE  BROTHERHOOD  OF  MAN. 

As  the  member  of  an  infant  empire,  as  a  philanthropist  by  cha- 
racter, and,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  as  a  citizen  of  the 
Great  Republic  of  Humanity  at  large,  I  cannot  help  turning  my 
attention  sometimes  to  this  subject, — how  mankind  may  be 

CONNECTED,  LIKE  ONE  GREAT  FAMILY,  IN  FRATERNAL  TIES.  I 

indulge  a  fond,  perhaps  an  enthusiastic  idea,  that  as  the  world  is 
evidently  much  less  barbarous  than  it  has  been,  its  melioration 
must  still  be  progressive )  that  nations  are  becoming  more  human- 
ized in  their  policy;  that  the  subjects  of  ambition  and  causes  for 
hostility  are  daily  diminishing ;  and,  in  fine,  that  the  period  is  not 
very  remote  when  the  benefits  of  a  liberal  and  free  commerce  will 
pretty  generally  succeed  to  the  devastations  and  horrors  of  war. 

PROVIDENCE  RULING  THE  AFFAIRS  OF  NATIONS. 

It  would  be  peculiarly  improper  to  omit,  in  this  first1  official  act, 
my  fervent  supplications  to  that  Almighty  Being  who  rules  over 
the  universe,  who  presides  in  the  councils  of  nations,  and  whose 
providential  aids  can  supply  every  human  defect,  that  His  benedic- 
tion may  consecrate,  to  the  liberties  and  happiness  of  the  people 
of  the  United  States,  a  government  instituted  by  themselves  for 
these  essential  purposes,  and  may  enable  every  instrument  em- 
ployed in  the  administration  to  execute  with  success  the  functions 
allotted  to  its  charge.  In  tendering  this  homage  to  the  Great 
Author  of  every  public  and  private  good,  I  assure  myself  that  it 


1  Inaugural  Address,  April  30,  1789. 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 


expresses  your  sentiments  not  less  than  my  own,  nor  those  of  my 
fellow-citizens  at  large  less  than  either.  No  people  can  be  bound 
to  acknowledge  and  adore  the  invisible  hand  which  conducts  the 
affairs  of  men  more  than  the  people  of  the  United  States.  Every 
step  by  which  they  have  advanced  to  the  character  of  an  inde- 
pendent nation  seems  to  have  been  distinguished  by  some  token  of 
Providential  agency;  and  in  the  important  revolution  just  accom- 
plished in  the  system  of  their  united  government,  the  tranquil  de- 
liberations and  voluntary  consent  of  so  many  distinct  communities 
from  which  the  event  has  resulted,  cannot  be  compared  with  the 
means  by  which  most  governments  have  been  established,  without 
some  return  of  pious  gratitude,  along  with  an  humble  anticipation 
of  the  future  blessings  which  the  past  seem  to  presage. 

PLEASURES  OF  PRIVATE  LIFE. 

Under  the  shadow  of  my  own  vine  and  my  own  fig-tree,  free 
from  the  bustle  of  a  camp,  and  the  busy  scenes  of  public  life,  I 
am  solacing  myself  with  those  tranquil  enjoyments,  of  which  the 
Soldier,  who  is  ever  in  pursuit  of  fame,  the  Statesman,  whose 
watchful  days  and  sleepless  nights  are  spent  in  devising  schemes 
to  promote  the  welfare  of  his  own,  perhaps  the  ruin  of  other 
countries,  as  if  the  globe  was  insufficient  for  us  all, — and  the 
Courtier,  who  is  always  watching  the  countenance  of  his  Prince, 
in  hopes  of  catching  a  gracious  smile, — can  have  very  little  con- 
ception. I  have  not  only  retired  from  all  public  employments,  but 
I  am  retiring  within  myself,  and  shall  be  able  to  view  the  solitary 
walk,  and  tread  the  paths  of  private  life,  with  a  heartfelt  satisfac- 
tion. Envious  of  none,  I  am  determined  to  be  pleased  with  all ; 
and,  this  being  the  order  of  my  march,  I  will  move  gently  down 
the  stream  of  life  until  I  sleep  with  my  fathers. 

SLAVERY. 

The  scheme  which  you1  propose,  as  a  precedent  to  encourage 
the  emancipation  of  the  black  people  in  this  country  from  the 
state  of  bondage  in  which  they  are  held,  is  a  striking  evidence  of 
the  benevolence  of  your  heart,  and  I  shall  be  happy  to  join  you 
in  so  laudable  a  work. 

Your2  purchase  of  an  estate  in  the  colony  of  Cayenne,  with  a 
view  of  emancipating  the  slaves  on  it,  is  a  generous  and  noble 
proof  of  your  humanity.  Would  to  God  a  like  spirit  might  dif- 
fuse itself  generally  into  the  minds  of  the  people  of  this  country ! 
But  I  despair  of  seeing  it. 


1  Lafayette. 


2  Lafayette. 

5* 


54 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 


There  is  not  a  man  living  who  wishes  more  sincerely  than  I  do 
to  see  a  plan  adopted  for  the  abolition  of  it.  But  there  is  only  one 
proper  and  effectual  mode  by  which  it  can  be  accomplished,  and 
that  is,  by  legislative  authority  ;  and  this,  as  far  as  my  suffrage 
will  go,  shall  never  be  wanting. 

I  never  mean,  unless  some  particular  circumstances  should  com- 
pel me  to  it,  to  possess  another  slave  by  purchase,  it  being  among 
my  first  wishes  to  see  some  plan  adopted  by  which  slavery,  in  this 
country,  may  be  abolished  by  law. 

VIRTUE  AND  HAPPINESS. 

There  is  no  truth  more  thoroughly  established  than  that  there 
exists,  in  the  economy  and  course  of  nature,  an  indissoluble  union 
between  virtue  and  happiness,  between  duty  and  advantage,  be- 
tween the  genuine  maxims  of  an  honest  and  magnanimous  policy 
and  the  solid  rewards  of  public  prosperity  and  felicity. 

The  consideration  that  human  happiness  and  moral  duty  are 
inseparably  connected  will  always  continue  to  prompt  me  to  pro- 
mote the  progress  of  the  former  by  inculcating  the  practice  of  the. 
latter. 

Without  virtue,  and  without  integrity,  the  finest  talents  and  the 
most  brilliant  accomplishments  can  never  gain  the  respect,  and 
conciliate  the  esteem,  of  the  truly  valuable  part  of  mankind. 

I  hope  I  shall  always  possess  firmness  and  virtue  enough  to 
maintain  what  I  consider  the  most  enviable  of  all  titles,  the  cha- 
racter of  an  "  honest  man." 

The  private  virtues  of  economy,  prudence,  and  industry  are  not 
less  amiable,  in  civil  life,  than  the  more  splendid  qualities  of  valor, 
perseverance,  and  enterprise,  in  public  life. 

AGRICULTURE. 

It  will  not  be  doubted  that,  with  reference  either  to  individual 
or  national  welfare,  agriculture  is  of  primary  importance.  In 
proportion  as  nations  advance  in  population  and  other  circum- 
stances of  maturity,  this  truth  becomes  more  apparent,  and  renders 
the  cultivation  of  the  soil  more  and  more  an  object  of  public 
patronage. 

The  life  of  the  husbandman,  of  all  others,  is  the  most  delightful. 
It  is  honorable,  it  is  amusing,  and,  with  judicious  management,  it 
is  profitable. 

An  extensive  speculation,  a  spirit  of  gambling,  or  the  introduc- 
tion of  any  thing  which  will  divert  our  attention  from  agriculture, 
must  be  extremely  prejudicial,  if  not  ruinous,  to  us. 


JOHN  ADAMS. 


55 


WAR. 

My  first  wish  is,  to  see  this  plague  of  mankind  banished  from 
the  earth,  and  the  sons  and  daughters  of  this  world  employed  in 
more  pleasing  and  innocent  amusements  than  in  preparing  imple- 
ments, and  exercising  them,  for  the  destruction  of  mankind. 

For  the  sake  of  humanity,  it  is  devoutly  to  be  wished  that  the 
manly  employment  of  agriculture,  and  the  humanizing  benefit  of 
commerce,  would  supersede  the  waste  of  war  and  the  rage  of  con- 
quest; that  the  swords  might  be  turned  into  ploughshares,  the 
spears  into  pruning-hooks,  and,  as  the  Scriptures  express  it,  "  the 
nations  learn  war  no  more/' 


JOHN  ADAMS,  1735—1826. 

John  Adams,  the  second  President  of  the  United  States,  was  born  in  Braintree, 
Massachusetts,  October  19,  1735.  After  the  usual  preparatory  studies,  he  entered 
Harvard  College,  and  was  distinguished  in  his  class  for  diligence  in  his  studies 
and  for  originality  and  boldness  of  thought, — qualities  which  shone  most  conspi- 
cuously in  his  after-life.  He  graduated  in  1755,  and  began  the  study  of  law  with 
James  Putnam,  at  Worcester.  In  1764,  he  married  Abigail  Smith,  daughter  of 
Rev.  William  Smith,  of  Weymouth, — a  lady  of  an  excellent  education  and  of  un- 
common natural  endowments.  In  1765,  he  removed  to  Boston  :  his  legal  practice 
soon  became  extensive ;  and  it  was  soon  seen  that  he  was  one  to  whom  his  fellow- 
citizens  might  confidently  look  as  a  champion  of  their  rights  against  the  encroach- 
ments and  assumptions  of  the  Crown.  In  1769,  he  was  chairman  of  the  committee 
appointed  by  the  town  of  Boston  to  draw  up  instructions  to  their  representatives 
to  resist  the  British  encroachments.  The  next  year  ho  was  chosen  a  member  of 
the  Legislature  from  Boston. 

In  June,  1774,  Mr.  Adams  was  elected  by  the  Assembly,  together  with  Thomas 
dishing,  James  Bowdoin,  Samuel  Adams,  and  Robert  T.  Paine,  to  the  first  Con- 
tinental Congress.  To  his  friend  Sewall,  who  endeavored  to  dissuade  him  from 
accepting  the  appointment,  he  replied,  in  his  characteristic  energy  of  language, 
"The  die  is  cast:  I  have  passed  the  Rubicon:  sink  or  swim,  live  or  die,  survive 
or  perish  with  my  country,  is  my  unalterable  determination."  He  took  his  seat 
in  Congress,  September  5,  1774,  and  was  on  the  committee  which  drew  up  the 
statement  of  the  rights  of  the  Colonies,  and  on  that  which  prepared  the  address  to 
the  king.  He  also  attended  the  next  Congress  in  1775,  and  was  among  the  fore- 
most of  those  who  were  in  favor  of  independence.  On  May  6,  1776,  he  moved  to 
recommend  to  the  Colonies  "  to  adopt  such  a  government  as  would,  in  the  opinion 
of  the  representatives  of  the  people,  best  conduce  to  the  happiness  and  safety  of 
their  constituents  and  of  America."  This  passed,  after  an  earnest  debate,  on  the 
15th.  On  the  7th  of  June,  Richard  Henry  Lee  made  the  motion,  which  was 
seconded  by  Mr.  Adams,  "  that  these  United  Colonics  are,  and  of  right  ought  to 


56 


JOHN  ADAMS. 


be,  free  and  independent  States."  The  debate  continued  to  the  10th,  and  wag 
then  postponed  to  the  1st  of  July.  A  committee  of  five,  consisting  of  Jefferson, 
Adams,  Franklin,  Sherman,  and  Livingston,  was  appointed  to  draw  up  a  declara- 
tion of  independence.  At  the  request  of  Mr.  Adams,  the  instrument  was  written 
by  Jefferson,  and  was  adopted,  as  is  known,  on  the  4th,  but  not  without  some 
strong  opposition.  The  opposing  arguments  were  met  by  Mr.  Adams,  in  a  speech 
of  unrivalled  power.  Of  him  Mr.  Jefferson  said,  "  The  great  pillar  of  support  to 
the  declaration  of  independence,  and  its  ablest  advocate  and  champion  on  the 
floor  of  the  House,  was  John  Adams.  He  was  the  colossus  of  that  Congress  :  not 
graceful,  not  eloquent,  not  always  fluent  in  his  public  addresses,  he  yet  came  out 
with  a  power,  both  of  thought  and  expression,  which  moved  his  hearers  from 
their  seats." 

In  1779,  he  was  appointed  minister-plenipotentiary  to  negotiate  a  peace  with 
Great  Britain,  and  had  authority  to  form  a  commercial  treaty  with  that  nation. 
He  was  associated  with  Franklin,  Jay,  and  Laurens,  and  the  mission  was  success- 
ful in  forming  a  definite  treaty  of  peace,  which  was  ratified  January  14,  1784. 
He  returned  to  Boston  in  178S,  after  an  absence  of  nine  years.  Congress  had  be- 
fore passed  a  resolution  of  thanks  for  his  able  and  faithful  discharge  of  various 
important  commissions.  He  was  elected  the  first  Vice-President  of  the  United 
States  in  1789,  and  was  re-elected  the  second  term  ;  consequently,  he  was  Pre- 
sident of  the  Senate  during  the  whole  of  the  administration  of  Washington,  whose 
confidence  he  enjoyed  in  the  highest  degree.  Having  been  elected  President  to 
succeed  Washington,  he  entered  upon  his  duties  March  4,  1797 ;'  and  in  1S01  he 
was  succeeded  by  Mr.  Jefferson. 

After  March,  1801,  Mr.  Adams  lived  in  retirement  at  Quine}7,  occupied  in  agri- 
cultural pursuits,  though  occasionally  addressing  various  communications  to  the 
public.  In  1820,  at  the  age  of  85,  he  was  chosen  president  of  the  convention  for 
revising  the  constitution  of  Massachusetts,  though  he  did  not  serve  in  that  capa- 
city. In  1825,  he  enjoyed  the  singular  happiness  of  seeing  his  son,  John  Quincy 
Adams,  elevated  to  the  office  of  President  of  the  United  States. 


1  The  following  admirable  letter  was  addressed  by  Mrs.  Adams  to  her  husband 
on  his  being  elected  President  of  the  United  States : — 

QtTINCY,  February  8,  1797. 
"The  sun  is  dressed  in  brightest  beams, 
To  give  thy  honors  to  the  day." 

And  may  it  prove  an  auspicious  prelude  to  each  ensuing  season  !  You  have  this 
day  to  declare  yourself  head  of  a  nation.  "And  now,  0  Lord,  my  God,  thou  hast 
made  thy  servant  ruler  over  the  people.  Give  unto  him  an  understanding  heart, 
that  he  may  know  how  to  go  out  and  come  in  before  this  great  people;  that  he 
-.nay  discern  between  good  and  bad  ;  for  who  is  able  to  judge  this  thy  so  great  a 
people?"  were  the  words  of  a  royal  sovereign;  and  not  less  applicable  to  him  who 
is  invested  with  the  chief  magistracy  of  a  nation,  though  he  wear  not  a  crown 
nor  the  robes  of  royalty. 

My  thoughts  and  my  meditations  are  with  you,  though  personally  absent;  and 
my  petitions  to  Heaven  are  that  "the  things  which  make  for  peace  may  not  be 
hidden  from  your  eyes."  My  feelings  are  not  those  of  pride  or  ostentation  upon 
the  occasion.  They  are  solemnized  by  a  sense  of  the  obligations,  the  important 
trusts  and  numerous  duties,  connected  with  it.  That  you  may  be  enabled  to  dis- 
charge them  with  honor  to  yourself,  with  justice  and  impartiality  to  your  country, 
and  with  satisfaction  to  this  great  people,  shall  be  the  daily  prayer  of  your 

A.  A. 


JOHN  ADAMS. 


57 


But  he  was  now  drawing  near  his  end.  On  the  morning  of  the  4th  of  July, 
1826,  he  was  roused  by  the  ringing  of  bells  and  the  firing  of  cannon;  and  when 
asked  if  he  knew  what  day  it  was,  he  replied,  "  Oh,  yes !  it  is  the  glorious  Fourth, 
— God  bless  it !  God  bless  you  all !"  In  the  course  of  the  day  he  said,  "It  is  a 
great  and  glorious  day and,  just  before  he  expired,  exclaimed,  "  Jefferson  sur- 
vives !" — showing  that  his  thoughts  were  dwelling  on  the  scenes  of  1776.  But 
Jefferson  was  then  dead,  having  expired  at  one  o'clock ;  while  Mr.  Adams  lin- 
gered till  twenty  minutes  past  six  p.m. 

For  purity  of  character,  dauntless  courage,  and  true  patriotism,  Mr.  Adams  had 
no  superior  among  his  contemporaries ;  and  his  name  will  be  held  in  veneration 
by  all  coming  generations.1 

MEDITATES  THE  CHOICE  OF  HERCULES.2 

The  other  night  the  choice  of  Hercules  came  into  my  mind,  and 
left  impressions  there  which  I  hope  will  never  be  effaced,  nor  long 
unheeded.  I  thought  of  writing  a  fable  on  the  same  plan,  but 
accommodated,  by  omitting  some  circumstances  and  inserting 
others,  to  my  own  case. 

Let  Virtue  address  me  :  "  Which,  dear  youth,  will  you  prefer,  a 
life  of  effeminacy,  indolence,  and  obscurity,  or  a  life  of  industry, 
temperance,  and  honor?  Take  my  advice;  rise  and  mount  your 
horse  by  the  morning's  dawn,  and  shake  away,  amidst  the  great  and 
beautiful  scenes  of  nature  that  appear  at  that  time  of  the  day,  all 
the  crudities  that  are  left  in  your  stomach,  and  all  the  obstructions 
that  are  left  in  your  brains.  Then  return  to  your  studies,  and 
bend  your  whole  soul  to  the  institutes  of  the  law  and  the  reports 
of  cases  that  have  been  adjudged  by  the  rules  in  the  institutes ;  let 
no  trifling  diversion,  or  amusement,  or  company,  decoy  you  from 
your  book;  that  is,  let  no  girl,  no  gun,  no  cards,  no  flutes,  no 
violins,  no  dress,  no  tobacco,  no  laziness,  decoy  you  from  your 
books.  But  keep  your  law  book  or  some  point  of  law  in  your 
mind  at  least  six  hours  in  a  day.  Labor  to  get  distinct  ideas  of 
law,  right,  wrong,  justice,  equity;  search  for  them  in  your  own 
mind,  in  Roman,  Grecian,  French,  English  treatises  of  natural, 
civil,  common,  statute  law ;  aim  at  an  exact  knowledge  of  the 
nature,  end,  and  means  of  government;  compare  the  different 
forms  of  it  with  each  other,  and  each  of  them  with  their  effects 
on  public  and  private  happiness.  Study  Seneca,  Cicero,  and  all 
other  good  moral  writers ;  study  Montesquieu,  Bolingbroke,  Vin- 
nius,  &c,  and  all  other  good  civil  writers." 

Here  are  two  nights  and  one  day  and  a  half  spent  in  softening, 
enervating,  dissipating  series  of  hustling,  prattling,  poetry,  love, 


1  Read  "The  Works  of  John  Adams;  with  a  Life  of  the  Author;  Notes  and 
Illustrations  by  his  Grandson,  Charles  Francis  Adams,"  10  volumes. 

2  From  his  Diary,  dated  Braintree,  January  3,  1759. 


58 


JOHN  ADAMS. 


courtship,  marriage ;  during  all  this  time  I  was  seduced  into  the 
course  of  unmanly  pleasures  that  Vice  describes  to  Hercules,  for- 
getful of  the  glorious  promises  of  fame,  immortality,  and  a  good 
conscience,  which  Virtue  makes  to  the  same  hero  as  rewards  of  a 
hardy,  toilsome,  watchful  life  in  the  service  of  mankind.  I  could 
reflect  with  more  satisfaction  on  an  equal  space  of  time  spent  in  a 
painful  research  of  the  principles  of  law,  or  a  resolute  attempt  of 
the  powers  of  eloquence.  But  where  is  my  attention  ?  Is  it  fixed 
from  sunrise  to  midnight  on  Grecian,  Koman,  Gallic,  British  law, 
history,  virtue,  eloquence?  I  don't  see  clearly  the  objects  that  I 
am  after  j  they  are  often  out  of  sight ;  motes,  atoms,  feathers,  are 
blown  into  my  eyes  and  blind  me.  Who  can  see  distinctly  the 
course  he  is  to  take  and  the  objects  that  he  pursues,  when  in  the 
midst  of  a  whirlwind  of  dust,  straws,  atoms,  and  feathers  ? 

THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

FROM  A  LETTER  DATED  THE  THIRD  OF  JULY. 

Yesterday1  the  greatest  question  was  decided  which  ever  was 
debated  in  America,  and  a  greater,  perhaps,  never  was  nor  will  be 
decided  among  men.  A  resolution  was  passed,  without  one  dis- 
senting colony,  "  that  these  United  Colonies  are,  and  of  right  ought 
to  be,  free  and  independent  States,  and  as  such  they  have,  and  of 
right  ought  to  have,  full  power  to  make  war,  conclude  peace,  esta- 
blish commerce,  and  to  do  all  other  acts  and  things  which  other 
States  may  rightfully  do."  You  will  see,  in  a  few  days,  a  Decla- 
ration setting  forth  the  causes  which  have  impelled  us  to  this 
mighty  revolution,  and  the  reasons  which  will  justify  it  in  the 
sight  of  God  and  man.  A  plan  of  confederation  will  be  taken  up 
in  a  few  days. 

When  I  look  back  to  the  year  1761,  and  recollect  the  argument 
concerning  writs  of  assistance  in  the  superior  court,  which  I  have 
hitherto  considered  as  the  commencement  of  this  controversy  be- 
tween Great  Britain  and  America,  and  run  through  the  whole 
period,  from  that  time  to  this,  and  recollect  the  series  of  political 
events,  the  chain  of  causes  and  effects,  I  am  surprised  at  the  sud- 
denness as  well  as  greatness  of  this  revolution.  Britain  has  been 
filled  with  folly,  and  America  with  wisdom ;  at  least,  this  is  my 
judgment.  Time  must  determine.  It  is  the  will  of  Heaven  that 
the  two  countries  should  be  sundered  forever.  It  may  be  the  will 
of  Heaven  that  America  should  suffer  calamities  still  more  wasting, 


1  The  practice  has  been  to  celebrate  the  4th  of  July,  the  day  upon  which  the 
form  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence  was  agreed  to,  rather  than  the  2d,  the 
day  upon  which  the  resolution,  making  that  declaration,  was  determined  upon  by 
the  Congress. 


FRANCIS  HOPKINSON. 


and  distresses  yet  more  dreadful.  If  this  is  to  be  the  case,  it  will 
have  this  good  effect  at  least.  It  will  inspire  us  with  many  virtues 
which  we  have  not,  and  correct  many  errors,  follies,  and  vices 
which  threaten  to  disturb,  dishonor,  and  destroy  us.  The  furnace 
of  affliction  produces  refinement  in  states  as  well  as  individuals.  And 
the  new  governments  we  are  assuming  in  every  part  will  require 
a  purification  from  our  vices,  and  an  augmentation  of  our  virtues, 
or  they  will  be  no  blessings.  The  people  will  have  unbounded 
power,  and  the  people  are  extremely  addicted  to  corruption  and 
venality,  as  well  as  the  great.  But  I  must  submit  all  my  hopes 
and  fears  to  an  overruling  Providence,  in  which,  unfashionable 
as  the  faith  may  be,  I  firmly  believe. 

FROM  ANOTHER  LETTER  OP  THE  SAME  DATE. 

But  the  day  is  past.  The  second  day  of  July,  1776,  will  be  the 
most  memorable  epocha  in  the  history  of  America.  I  am  apt  to 
believe  that  it  will  be  celebrated  by  succeeding  generations  as  the 
great  anniversary  festival.  It  ought  to  be  commemorated,  as 
the  day  of  deliverance,  by  solemn  acts  of  devotion  to  God  Almighty. 
It  ought  to  be  solemnized  with  pomp  and  parade,  with  shows, 
games,  sports,  guns,  bells,  bonfires,  and  illuminations  from  one  end 
of  the  continent  to  the  other,  from  this  time  forward  for  ever- 
more. 

You  will  think  me  transported  with  enthusiasm ;  but  I  am  not. 
I  am  well  aware  of  the  toil,  and  blood,  and  treasure  that  it  will 
cost  us  to  maintain  this  Declaration,  and  support  and  defend  these 
States.  Yet,  through  all  the  gloom,  I  can  see  the  rays  of  ravish- 
ing light  and  glory.  I  can  see  that  the  end  is  more  than  worth 
all  the  means ;  and  that  posterity  will  triumph  in  that  day's  trans- 
action, even  although  we  should  rue  it,  which  I  trust  in  God  we 
shall  not. 


FRANCIS  HOPKIXSOX,  1737—1791. 

Francis  Hopkinson,  the  son  of  Thomas  Hopkinson,  an  English  gentleman 
who  emigrated  to  the  colonies  in  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth  century,  was 
born  in  Philadelphia  in  1737.  His  father  dying  when  he  was  quite  young,  his 
education  devolved  upon  his  mother,  who  is  said  to  have  been  a  woman  of  more 
than  common  powers  of  mind,  and  who  took  every  pains  to  foster  the  genius  and 
to  cultivate  the  talents  which  she  saw  her  son  possessed,  as  well  as  to  instruct  him 
in  the  pure  principles  of  Christian  morals.  From  school  he  was  sent  to  the  Col- 
lege of  Philadelphia,  afterwards  the  "University  of  Pennsylvania," and  then  com- 
menced the  study  of  law,  and,  after  the  usual  period,  entered  upon  its  practice. 
In  1766,  he  went  to  England,  where  he  remained  two  years.    On  his  return  he 


60 


FRANCIS  HOPKINSON. 


married  Miss  Arm  Borden,  of  Bordentown,  N.  J.,  in  which  place  he  established 
himself  in  his  profession.  His  legal  attainments,  general  knowledge,  and  ardent 
patriotism  soon  acquired  for  him  a  high  reputation,  and  in  1776  he  was  chosen 
by  the  State  of  New  Jersey  as  one  of  her  representatives  in  Congress,  and  in  this 
capacity  he  signed  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  In  1779,  he  succeeded 
George  Boss  as  Judge  of  the  Admiralty  of  the  State  of  Pennsylvania,  and  held 
the  position  for  ten  years,  until  the  organization  of  the  Federal  Government,  when 
he  received  from  General  Washington  a  commission  as  Judge  of  the  United 
States.  In  this  office  he  continued  till  his  death,  which  took  place  on  the  9th  of 
May,  1791. 

Great  as  Judge  Hopkinson's  reputation  was  as  an  advocate  while  at  the  bar, 
and  distinguished  as  he  was  for  learning,  judgment,  and  integrity  when  upon 
the  bench,  he  was,  perhaps,  more  celebrated  as  a  man  of  letters,  of  general  know- 
ledge, of  fine  taste,  but,  above  all,  for  his  then  unrivalled  powers  of  wit  and  satire. 
Dr.  Rush,  after  speaking  of  his  varied  attainments,  says : — "  But  his  forte  was 
humor  and  satire,  in  both  of  which  he  was  not  surpassed  by  Lucian,  Swift,  or 
Babelais.  These  extraordinary  powers  were  consecrated  to  the  advancement  of 
the  interests  of  patriotism,  virtue,  and  science."  This  praise  maybe  too  strong;  and 
yet  we  hardly  know  where  to  find  papers  of  more  exquisite  humor  than  among  the 
writings  of  Francis  Hopkinson.  His  paper  on  the  Ambiguity  of  the  English  Lan- 
guage, to  show  the  ridiculous  mistakes  that  often  occur  from  words  of  similar 
sounds,  used  the  one  for  the  other;  on  White-  Washing;  on  A  Typographical 
Method  of  Conducting  a  Quarrel,  which  made  friends  of  two  fierce  newspaper  com- 
batants ;  The  New  Roof,  an  allegory  in  favor  of  the  Federal  Constitution ;  the 
Specimen  of  a  Collegiate  Examination,  to  turn  certain  branches,  and  the  modes  of 
studying  them,  into  ridicule ;  and  The  Battle  of  the  Kegs,  are  all  pieces  which, 
while  they  are  fully  equal  to  any  of  Swift's  writings  for  wit,  have  nothing  at  all 
in  them  of  Swift's  vulgarity. 

SPECIMEN  OF  A  COLLEGIATE  EXAMINATION. 

METAPHYSICS. 

Professor.  What  is  a  salt-box  ? 
Student.  It  is  a  box  made  to  contain  salt. 
Prof.  How  is  it  divided  ? 
Stu.  Into  a  salt-box  and  a  box  of  salt. 
Prof.  Very  well !  show  the  distinction. 

Stu.  A  salt-box  maybe  where  there  is  no  salt;  but  salt  is  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  the  existence  of  a  box  of  salt. 

Prof.  Are  not  salt-boxes  otherwise  divided  ? 

Stu.  Yes  j  by  a  partition. 

Prof.  What  is  the  use  of  this  partition  ? 

Stu.  To  separate  the  coarse  salt  from  the  fine. 

Prof.  How  ?  think  a  little. 

Stu.  To  separate  the  fine  salt  from  the  coarse. 

Prof.  To  be  sure  j  it  is  to  separate  the  fine  from  the  coarse ; 
but  are  not  salt-boxes  yet  otherwise  distinguished  ? 


FRANCIS  HOPKINSON. 


61 


Stu.  Tes  ;  into  possible,  probable,  and  positive. 
Prof.  Define  these  several  kinds  of  salt-boxes. 
Stu.  A  possible  salt-box  is  a  salt-box  yet  unsold  in  the  hands 
of  the  joiner. 
Prof.  Why  so  ? 

Stu.  Because  it  hath  never  yet  become  a  salt-box  in  fact, 
having  never  had  any  salt  in  it ;  and  it  may  possibly  be  applied  to 
some  other  use. 

Prof.  Very  true;  for  a  salt-box  which  never  had,  hath  not 
now,  and  perhaps  never  may  have,  any  salt  in  it,  can  only  be 
termed  a  possible  salt-box.    What  is  a  probable  salt-box? 

Stu.  It  is  a  salt-box  in  the  hand  of  one  going  to  a  shop  to  buy 
salt,  and  who  hath  sixpence  in  his  pocket  to  pay  the  grocer  j  and 
a  positive  salt-box  is  one  which  hath  actually  and  bona  fide  got 
salt  in  it. 

Prof.  Very  good  : — but  is  there  no  instance  of  a  positive  salt- 
box,  which  hath  no  salt  in  it  ? 
Stu.  I  know  of  none. 

Prof.  Yes :  there  is  one  mentioned  by  some  authors :  it  is 
where  a  box  hath  by  long  use  been  so  impregnated  with  salt,  that, 
although  all  the  salt  hath  been  long  since  emptied  out,  it  may  yet 
be  called  a  salt-box,  with  the  same  propriety  that  we  say  a  salt- 
herring,  salt  beef,  &c.  And  in  this  sense,  any  box  that  may  have 
accidentally,  or  otherwise,  been  long  steeped  in  brine,  may  be 
termed  positively  a  salt-box,  although  never  designed  for  the  pur- 
pose of  keeping  salt.  But  tell  me,  what  other  division  of  salt- 
boxes  do  you  recollect  ? 

Stu.  They  are  further  divided  into  substantive  and  pendant : 
a  substantive  salt-box  is  that  which  stands  by  itself  on  the  table  or 
dresser ;  and  a  pendant  is  that  which  hangs  upon  a  nail  against 
the  wall. 

Prof.  What  is  the  idea  of  a  salt-box  ? 

Stu.  It  is  that  image  which  the  mind  conceives  of  a  salt-box 
when  no  salt-box  is  present. 

Prof.  What  is  the  abstract  idea  of  a  salt-box  ? 

Stu.  It  is  the  idea  of  a  salt-box  abstracted  from  the  idea  of  a 
box,  or  of  salt,  or  of  a  salt-box,  or  of  a  box  of  salt. 

Prof.  Very  right ;  and  by  these  means  you  acquire  a  most  per- 
fect knowledge  of  a  salt-box ;  but  tell  me,  is  the  idea  of  a  salt-box 
a  salt  idea  ? 

Stu.  Not  unless  the  ideal  box  hath  ideal  salt  in  it. 

Prof.  True;  and  therefore  an  abstract  idea  cannot  be  either 
salt  or  fresh,  round  or  square,  long  or  short ;  for  a  true  abstract 
idea  must  be  entirely  free  of  all  adjuncts.  And  this  shows  the 
difference  between  a  salt  idea  and  an  idea  of  salt.  Is  an  aptitude 
to  hold  salt  an  essential  or  an  accidental  property  of  a  salt-box  ? 

6 


02 


FRANCIS  HOPKINSON. 


Stu.  It  is  essential;  but  if  there  should  be  a  crack  in  the  bot- 
tom of  the  box,  the  aptitude  to  spill  salt  would  be  termed  an  acci- 
dental property  of  that  salt-box. 

Prof.  Very  well !  very  well  indeed ! — What  is  the  salt  called 
with  respect  to  the  box  ? 

Stu.  It  is  called  its  contents. 

Prof.  And  why  so  ? 

Stu.  Because  the  cook  is  content  quo  ad  hoc  to  find  plenty  of 
salt  in  the  box. 

Prof.  You  are  very  right — I  see  you  have  not  misspent  your 
time  :  but  let  us  now  proceed  to 

LOGIC. 

Prof.  How  many  parts  are  there  in  a  salt-box  ? 
Stu.  Three.    Bottom,  top,  and  sides. 
Prof.  How  many  modes  are  there  in  salt-boxes  ? 
Stu.  Four.    The  formal,  the  substantial,  the  accidental,  and 
the  topsy-turvy. 

Prof.  Define  these  several  modes. 

Stu.  The  formal  respects  the  figure  or  shape  of  the  box,  such 
as  round,  square,  oblong,  and  so  forth ;  the  substantial  respects  the 
work  of  the  joiner;  and  the  accidental  depends  upon  the  string 
by  which  the  box  is  hung  against  the  wall. 

Prof.  Very  well ;  and  what  are  the  consequences  of  the  acci- 
dental mode  ? 

Stu.  If  the  string  should  break  the  box  would  fall,  the  salt  be 
spilt,  the  salt-box  broken,  and  the  cook  in  a  bitter  passion ;  and 
this  is  the  accidental  mode  with  its  consequences. 

Prof.  How  do  you  distinguish  between  the  top  and  bottom  of 
a  salt-box  ? 

Stu.  The  top  of  a  box  is  that  part  which  is  uppermost,  and  the 
bottom  that  part  which  is  lowest  in  all  positions. 

Prof.  You  should  rather  say  the  lowest  part  is  the  bottom  and 
the  uppermost  part  is  the  top.  How  is  it,  then,  if  the  bottom 
should  be  the  uppermost  ? 

Stu.  The  top  would  then  be  the  lowermost ;  and  so  the  bottom 
would  become  the  top,  and  the  top  would  become  the  bottom ;  and 
this  is  called  the  topsy-turvy  mode,  which  is  nearly  allied  to  the 
accidental,  and  frequently  arises  from  it. 

Prof.  Very  good ;  but  are  not  salt-boxes  sometimes  single,  and 
sometimes  double  ? 

Stu.  Yes. 

Prof.  Well,  then,  mention  the  several  combinations  of  salt- 
boxes  with  respect  to  their  having  salt  or  not. 

Stu.  They  are  divided  into  single  salt-boxes  having  salt ;  single 
salt-boxes  having  no  salt ;  double  salt-boxes  having  salt ;  double 


FRANCIS  HOPKINSON.  63 

salt-boxes  having  no  salt;  and  single  double  salt-boxes  having 
salt  and  no  salt. 

Prof.  Hold  !  hold  !  you  are  going  too  far. 

ON  WHITE-WASHING.1 

Dear  Sir  : — The  peculiar  customs  of  every  country  appear  to 
strangers  awkward  and  absurd  j  but  the  inhabitants  consider  them  as 
very  proper  and  even  necessary.  Long  habit  imposes  on  the  under- 
standing, and  reconciles  it  to  any  thing  that  is  not  manifestly  per- 
nicious or  immediately  destructive. 

I  have  read  somewhere  of  a  nation  (in  Africa,  I  think,)  which 
is  governed  by  twelve  counsellors.  When  these  counsellors  are  to 
meet  on  public  business,  twelve  large  earthen  jars  are  set  in  two 
rows,  and  filled  with  water.  The  counsellors  enter  the  apartment 
one  after  another,  stark  naked,  and  each  leaps  into  a  jar,  where  he 
sits  up  to  the  chin  in  water.  When  the  jars  are  all  filled  with 
counsellors,  they  proceed  to  deliberate  on  the  great  concerns  of  the 
nation.  This,  to  be  sure,  forms  a  very  grotesque  scene  j  but  the 
object  is  to  transact  the  public  business  :  they  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  do  it  in  this  way,  and  therefore  it  appears  to  them  the 
most  rational  and  convenient  way.  Indeed,  if  we  consider  it  im- 
partially, there  seems  to  be  no  reason  why  a  counsellor  may  not  be 
as  wise  in  an  earthen  jar  as  in  an  elbow-chair;  or  why  the  good  of 
the  people  may  not  be  as  maturely  considered  in  the  one  as  in  the 
other. 

The  established  manners  of  every  country  are  the  standards  of 
propriety  with  the  people  who  have  adopted  them;  and  every 
nation  assumes  the  right  of  considering  all  deviations  therefrom  as 
barbarisms  and  absurdities. 

I  have  discovered  but  few  national  singularities  amongst  the 
people  of  these  new  States.  Their  customs  and  manners  are 
nearly  the  same  with  those  of  England,  which  they  have  long 
been  used  to  copy.  I  have,  however,  observed  one  custom  which, 
for  aught  I  know,  is  peculiar  to  this  country.  An  account  of  it 
will  serve  to  fill  up  the  remainder  of  this  sheet,  and  may  afford 
you  some  amusement. 

When  a  young  couple  are  about  to  enter  on  the  matrimonial 
state,  a  never-failing  article  in  the  marriage  treaty  is,  that  the 
lady  shall  have  and  enjoy  the  free  and  unmolested  exercise  of  the 
rights  of  white-washing,  with  all  its  ceremonials,  privileges, 
and  appurtenances.  You  will  wonder  what  this  privilege  of  white- 
washing is.  I  will  endeavor  to  give  you  an  idea  of  the  ceremony 
as  I  have  seen  it  performed. 


1  A  letter  from  a  gentleman  in  America  to  his  friend  in  Europe. 


FRANCIS  HOPKINSON. 


There  is  no  season  of  the  year  in  which  the  lady  may  not,  if  she 
pleases,  claim  her  privilege ;  but  the  latter  end  of  May  is  gene- 
rally fixed  upon  for  the  purpose.  The  attentive  husband  may 
judge,  by  certain  prognostics,  when  the  storm  is  nigh  at  hand. 
If  the  lady  grows  uncommonly  fretful,  finds  fault  with  the  ser- 
vants, is  discontented  with  the  children,  and  complains  much 
of  the  nastiness  of  every  thing  about  her ;  these  are  symptoms 
which  ought  not  to  be  neglected,  yet  they  sometimes  go  off  with- 
out any  further  effect.  But  if,  when  the  husband  rises  in  the 
morning,  he  should  observe  in  the  yard  a  wheelbarrow  with  a 
quantity  of  lime  in  it,  or  should  see  certain  buckets  filled  with  a 
solution  of  lime  in  water,  there  is  no  time  for  hesitation.  He  im- 
mediately locks  up  the  apartment  or  closet  where  his  papers  and 
private  property  are  kept,  and,  putting  the  key  in  his  pocket, 
betakes  himself  to  flight.  A  husband,  however  beloved,  becomes  a 
perfect  nuisance  during  this  season  of  female  rage.  His  authority 
is  superseded,  his  commission  suspended,  and  the  very  scullion 
who  cleans  the  brasses  in  the  kitchen  becomes  of  more  importance 
than  he.  He  has  nothing  for  it  but  to  abdicate  for  a  time,  and 
run  from  an  evil  which  he  can  neither  prevent  nor  mollify. 

The  husband  gone,  the  ceremony  begins.  The  walls  are  stripped 
of  their  furniture;  paintings,  prints,  and  looking-glasses  lie  in 
huddled  heaps  about  the  floors ;  the  curtains  are  torn  from  their 
testers,  the  beds  crammed  into  windows ;  chairs  and  tables,  bed- 
steads and  cradles  crowd  the  yard  •  and  the  garden-fence  bends 
beneath  the  weight  of  carpets,  blankets,  cloth  cloaks,  old  coats, 
under-petticoats,  and  ragged  breeches.  Here  may  be  seen  the 
lumber  of  the  kitchen,  forming  a  dark  and  confused  mass  for  the 
foreground  of  the  picture ;  gridirons  and  frying-pans,  rusty  shovels 
and  broken  tongs,  joint-stools,  and  the  fractured  remains  of  rush- 
bottomed  chairs.  There,  a  closet  has  disgorged  its  bowels, — 
riveted  plates  and  dishes,  halves  of  china  bowls,  cracked  tumblers, 
broken  wineglasses,  phials  of  forgotten  physic,  papers  of  unknown 
powders,  seeds  and  dried  herbs,  tops  of  teapots,  and  stoppers  of 
departed  decanters;  from  the  rag-hole  in  the  garret  to  the  rat- 
hole  in  the  cellar,  no  place  escapes  unrummaged.  It  would  seem 
as  if  the  day  of  general  doom  was  come,  and  the  utensils  of  the 
house  were  dragged  forth  to  judgment. 

This  ceremony  completed,  and  the  house  thoroughly  evacuated, 
the  next  operation  is  to  smear  the  walls  and  ceilings  with  brushes, 
dipped  in  a  solution  of  lime,  called  white-wash  ;  to  pour  buckets 
of  water  over  every  floor,  and  scratch  all  the  partitions  and  wain- 
scots with  hard  brushes,  charged  with  soft  soap  and  stone-cutter's 
sand. 

The  windows  by  no  means  escape  the  general  deluge.  A  ser- 
vant scrambles  out  upon  the  pent-house;  at  the  risk  of  her  neck, 


FRANCIS  HOPKINSON. 


65 


and,  with  a  mug  in  her  hand  and  a  bucket  within  reach,  dashes 
innumerable  gallons  of  water  against  the  glass  panes,  to  the  great 
annoyance  of  passengers  in  the  street. 

I  have  been  told  that  an  action  at  law  was  once  brought  against 
one  of  these  water-nymphs  by  a  person  who  had  a  new  suit  of 
clothes  spoiled  by  this  operation  :  but,  after  long  argument,  it  was 
determined  that  no  damages  could  be  awarded,  inasmuch  as  the 
defendant  was  in  the  exercise  of  a  legal  right,  and  not  answerable 
for  the  consequences.  And  so  the  poor  gentleman  was  doubly 
non-suited ;  for  he  lost  both  his  suit  of  clothes  and  his  suit  at  law. 

I  know  a  gentleman  here  who  is  fond  of  accounting  for  every 
thing  in  a  philosophical  way.  He  considers  this,  which  I  call 
a  custom,  as  a  real,  periodical  disease,  peculiar  to  the  climate. 
His  train  of  reasoning  is  whimsical  and  ingenious but  I  am  not 
at  leisure  to  give  you  the  detail.  The  result  was,  that  he  found 
the  distemper  to  be  incurable ;  but,  after  much  study,  he  thought 
he  had  discovered  a  method  to  divert  the  evil  he  could  not  sub- 
due. For  this  purpose,  he  caused  a  small  building,  about  twelve 
feet  square,  to  be  erected  in  his  garden,  and  furnished  with  some 
ordinary  chairs  and  tables,  and  a  few  prints  of  the  cheapest  sort. 
His  hope  was  that,  when  the  white-washing  frenzy  seized  the 
females  of  his  family,  they  might  repair  to  this  apartment,  and 
scrub,  and  scour,  and  smear  to  their  hearts'  content,  and  so  spend 
the  violence  of  the  disease  in  this  outpost,  whilst  he  enjoyed  him- 
self in  quiet  at  head-quarters.  But  the  experiment  did  not  answer 
his  expectation.  It  was  impossible  it  should,  since  a  principal 
part  of  the  gratification  consists  in  the  lady's  having  an  uncon- 
trolled right  to  torment  her  husband,  at  least  once  in  every  year ; 
to  turn  him  out  of  doors,  and  take  the  reins  of  government  into 
her  own  hands. 

MISTAKE  VERSUS  BLUNDER.1 

This  was  an  action  on  the  statute  of  Patrick  4,  chap.  16,  called 
The  Statute  of  Nails,  which  prohibits  all  subjects  within  the 
realm  from  cutting  or  paring  their  nails  on  a  Friday,  under  the 
penalty  of  twenty  shillings  for  every  offence,  to  be  recovered  by 
the  overseers  of  the  poor,  for  the  use  of  the  poor  of  the  county  in 
which  the  offence  should  be  committed.  Mistake  and  others  were 
overseers  of  the  poor  for  the  county  of  Antrim,  and  brought  their 
action  under  the  statute  against  the  defendant.  And  it  was  in 
proof  that  the  defendant  had  pared  his  thumb-nails  and  his  great 

toe-nails  on  Friday,  to  wit,  on  Friday,  the  day  of  , 

at  twelve  o'clock  in  the  night  of  the  same  day. 


1  This  is  a  case  cited  in  the  most  humorous  paper,  entitled  "Specimen  of  a 
Modern  Lawsuit." 


6* 


66 


FRANCIS  HOPKINSON. 


Counsel  for  the  defendant  demurred  to  the  facts,  observing  that, 
as  this  was  a  penal  law,  it  ought  to  be  strictly  construed.  And 
thereupon  took  three  points  of  defence,  viz.  :  First,  it  was  urged 
that  night  is  not  day,  and  the  statute  expressly  says  Fri-day,  and 
not  Fri-night ;  and  the  proof  is  that  the  cutting  was  at  night, 
Secondly,  it  was  contended  that  twelve  o'clock  on  Friday  night  is. 
in  fact,  the  beginning  of  Saturday  morning,  and  therefore  not 
within  the  statute.  And,  thirdly,  that  the  words  of  the  statute 
are  ungues  digitorum — Anglice — the  nails  of  the  fingers,  and 
the  testimony  only  respects  thumbs  and  great  toes. 

The  jury  gave  in  a  special  verdict;  whereupon,  after  long  ad- 
visement, the  judges  were  unanimously  of  opinion,  on  the  first 
point,  that,  in  construction  of  law,  day  is  night  and  night  is  day; 
because  a  day  consists  of  twenty-four  hours,  and  the  law  will  not 
allow  of  fractions  of  a  day;  dc  minimis  non  curat  lex;  in  Eng- 
lish, the  law  don't  stand  upon  trifles.  On  the  second  point,  that 
twelve  o'clock  at  night,  being  the  precise  line  of  division  between 
Friday  night  and  Saturday  morning,  is  a  portion  or  point  of  time 
which  may  be  considered  as  belonging  to  both,  or  to  either,  or  to 
neither,  at  the  discretion  of  the  court.  And,  thirdly,  that,  in 
construction  of  law,  fingers  are  thumbs  and  thumbs  are  fingers, 
and  thumbs  and  fingers  are  great  toes  and  little  toes,  and  great 
toes  and  little  toes  are  thumbs  and  fingers;  and  so  judgment  for 
the  plaintiff. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  KEGS.1 

Gallants,  attend  and  hear  a  friend 

Trill  forth  harmonious  ditty  ; 
Strange  things  I'll  tell  which  late  befell 

In  Philadelphia  city. 

'Twas  early  day,  as  poets  say, 

Just  when  the  sun  was  rising, 
A  soldier  stood  on  a«log  of  wood, 

And  saw  a  thing  surprising. 

As  in  amaze  he  stood  to  gaze, 

The  truth  can't  be  denied,  sir, 
He  spied  a  score  of  kegs  or  more 

Come  floating  down  the  tide,  sir. 

A  sailor  too,  in  jerkin  blue, 

This  strange  appearance  viewing, 
First  rubb'd  his  eyes,  in  great  surprise, 

Then  said  some  mischief 's  brewing. 


1  This  ballad  was  occasioned  by  a  real  incident.  Certain  machines,  in  the  form 
of  kegs,  charged  with  gunpowder,  were  sent  down  the  river  to  annoy  the  British 
shipping  then  at  Philadelphia.  The  danger  of  these  machines  being  discovered, 
the  British  manned  the  wharves  and  shipping,  and  discharged  their  small  arms 
and  cannons  at  every  thing  they  saw  floating  in  the  river  during  the  ebb  tide. 


FRANCIS  HOPKINSON. 


These  kegs,  I'm  told,  the  rebels  hold 
Pack'd  up  like  pickled  herring ; 

And  they're  come  down  t'  attack  the  town, 
In  this  new  way  of  ferrying. 

The  soldier  flew,  the  sailor  too, 
And  scar'd  almost  to  death,  sir, 

Wore  out  their  shoes,  to  spread  the  news, 
And  ran  till  out  of  breath,  sir. 

Now  up  and  down  throughout  the  town 
Most  frantic  scenes  were  acted ; 

And  some  ran  here,  and  others  there, 
Like  men  almost  distracted. 

Some  fire  cried,  which  some  denied, 
But  said  the  earth  had  quaked ; 

And  girls  and  boys,  with  hideous  noise, 
Ran  through  the  streets  half  naked. 

From  sleep  Sir  William  starts  upright, 

Awak'd  by  such  a  clatter ; 
He  rubs  both  eyes,  and  boldly  cries, 

For  God's  sake,  what's  the  matter  ? 

At  his  bedside  he  then  espied 

Sir  Erskine  at  command,  sir ; 
Upon  one  foot  he  had  one  boot, 

And  th'  other  in  his  hand,  sir. 

"Arise,  arise,"  Sir  Erskine  cries, 
"  The  rebels — more's  the  pity — 

Without  a  boat  are  all  afloat, 
And  rang'd  before  the  city. 

"  The  motley  crew,  in  vessels  new, 
With  Satan  for  their  guide,  sir, 

Pack'd  up  in  bags,  or  wooden  kegs, 
Come  driving  down  the  tide,  sir. 

"  Therefore  prepare  for  bloody  war, 
These  kegs  must  all  be  routed, 

Or  surely  we  despised  shall  be, 
And  British  courage  doubted." 

The  royal  band  now  ready  stand, 
All  rang'd  in  dread  array,  sir, 

With  stomach  stout  to  see  it  out, 
And  make  a  bloody  day,  sir. 

The  cannons  roar  from  shore  to  shore, 
The  small  arms  make  a  rattle ; 

Since  wars  began  I'm  sure  no  man 
E'er  saw  so  strange  a  battle. 

The  rebel  dales,  the  rebel  vales, 

With  rebel  trees  surrounded  ; 
The  distant  wood,  the  hills  and  floods, 

With  rebel  echoes  sounded. 


68 


JAMES  WILSON. 


The  fish  below  swam  to  and  fro, 

Attack'd  from  ev'ry  quarter ; 
Why  sure,  thought  they,  the  devil's  to  pay 

'Mongst  folks  above  the  water. 

The  kegs,  'tis  said,  tho'  strongly  made 
Of  rebel  staves  and  hoops,  sir, 

Could  not  oppose  their  powerful  foes, 
The  conq'ring  British  troops,  sir. 

From  morn  to  night  these  men  of  might 

Display'd  amazing  courage ; 
And  when  the  sun  was  fairly  down, 

Retir'd  to  sup  their  porridge. 

An  hundred  men  with  each  a  pen, 

Or  more,  upon  my  word,  sir, 
It  is  most  true  would  be  too  few 

Their  valor  to  record,  sir. 

Such  feats  did  they  perform  that  day 
Against  these  wicked  kegs,  sir, 

That  years  to  come,  if  they  get  home, 
They'll  make  their  boast  and  brags,  sir. 


JAMES  WILSON,  1742—1798. 

James  Wilson  was  born  in  the  lowlands  of  Scotland  about  the  year  1742. 
After  leaving  the  grammar-school,  he  studied  at  the  Universities  of  Glasgow  and 
Edinburgh,  and,  without  determining  upon  any  profession,  he  resolved  to  emi- 
grate to  this  country.  In  the  beginning  of  1766,  he  reached  Philadelphia.  Soon 
after,  he  entered,  as  a  student  of  law,  the  office  of  John  Dickinson,  and  in  two 
years  was  admitted  to  the  bar.  He  first  settled  in  Beading,  but  soon  removed  to 
Carlisle,  where  he  became  quite  eminent  as  a  counsellor,  and  had  much  practice 
previous  to  the  Revolutionary  struggle.  In  1775,  by  the  unanimous  voice  of  tho 
General  Assembly,  he  was  elected,  with  Benjamin  Franklin  and  Thomas  Willing, 
to  the  second  Continental  Congress,  and  was  re-elected  in  the  next  year,  when  be 
affixed  his  name  to  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  In  1778,  he  removed  to 
Philadelphia,  where  he  continued  to  reside  for  the  remainder  of  bis  life. 

From  his  distinguished  talents  and  unremitting  industry,  Mr.  Wilson  rose 
higher  every  year  in  public  estimation,  and  was  soon  considered  at  the  head  of 
his  profession.  In  1782,  he  was  again  elected  to  Congress,  and  in  1787  was  one 
of  the  delegates  to  the  convention  that  met  in  Philadelphia  to  form  our  present 
Constitution.  He  took  an  active  part  in  the  debates,  and  by  some  was  considered 
the  ablest  member  of  that  distinguished  body.  In  the  latter  part  of  the  same 
year,  he  was  elected  to  the  State  Convention  of  Pennsylvania  that  met  to  ratify 
the  Constitution.  As  he  was  the  only  member  of  the  State  Convention  who  had  a 
seat  in  the  General  Convention,  he  was,  of  course,  the  most  prominent  member  in 
it,  and  with  consummate  ability  defended  the  Constitution  from  the  attacks  of  its 
enemies. 


JAMES  WILSON. 


6fj 


On  the  4th  of  July,  1788,  Mr.  Wilson  was  selected  to  deliver  the  oration  on  the 
occasion  of  the  famous  procession  formed  at  Philadelphia  to  celebrate  the  adop- 
tion of  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  j  and  in  October  of  the  next  year  was 
appointed  by  Washington  one  of  the  Judges  of  the  Supreme  Court  as  first  organized 
under  the  present  Constitution;1  in  which  office  he  continued  till  his  death.  In 
1790,  the  Law  professorship  of  the  College  of  Philadelphia  was  established,  and 
Mr.  Wilson  was  appointed  the  first  professor.  The  course  of  lectures  which  he 
delivered  in  this  and  the  two  succeeding  years  may  be  found  in  his  works,  pub- 
lished in  1804  in  three  octavo  volumes.  He  was  now  the  acknowledged  head  of 
the  Philadelphia  bar, — learned  as  a  man,  profound  as  a  lawyer,  and  distinguished 
for  his  attainments  in  political  science.  In  private  life  he  was  warmly  esteemed 
for  his  social  and  domestic  virtues,  as  well  as  for  his  incorruptible  integrity.  He 
continued  to  exercise  the  duties  of  his  office  till  the  year  of  his  death,  which  took 
place  on  the  28th  of  August,  1798,  at  Edenton,  North  Carolina,  while  on  a  circuit 
in  his  judicial  character. 

THE  EXCELLENCE  OF  OUR  CONSTITUTION. 

I  confess  that  I  am  not  a  blind  admirer  of  this  plan  of  govern- 
ment, and  that  there  are  some  parts  of  it  which,  if  my  wish  had 
prevailed,  would  certainly  have  been  altered.  But,  when  I  reflect 
how  widely  men  differ  in  their  opinions,  and  that  every  man  (and 
the  observation  applies  likewise  to  every  State)  has  an  equal  pre- 
tension to  assert  his  own,  I  am  satisfied  that  any  thing  nearer  to 
perfection  could  not  have  been  accomplished.  If  there  are  errors, 
it  should  be  remembered  that  the  seeds  of  reformation  are  sown  in 
the  work  itself,  and  the  concurrence  of  two-thirds  of  the  Congress 
may,  at  any  time,  introduce  alterations  and  amendments.  Regard- 
ing it,  then,  in  every  point  of  view,  with  a  candid  and  disinterested 
mind,  I  am  bold  to  assert  that  it  is  the  best  form  of  govern- 
ment WHICH  HAS  EVER  BEEN  OFFERED  TO  THE  WORLD. 

THE  PEOPLE  THE  SOURCE  OF  ALL  POWER. 

Oft  have  I  viewed,  with  silent  pleasure  and  admiration,  with 
what  force  and  prevalence,  through  the  United  States,  the  supreme 
power  resides  in  the  people ;  and  that  they  never  part  with  it.  It 
may  be  called  the  Panacea  in  politics.    There  can  be  no  disorder 


1  Washington,  in  his  letter  on  the  occasion,  thus  wrote: — "Regarding  the  due 
administration  of  justice  as  the  strongest  cement  of  good  government,  I  have  con- 
sidered the  first  organization  of  the  judicial  department  as  essential  to  the  happi- 
ness of  the  people  and  to  the  stability  of  the  political  system.  Under  this  im- 
pression, it  has  been  with  me  an  invariable  object  of  anxious  solicitude  to  select 
the  fittest  characters  to  expound  the  laws  and  to  dispense  justice."  At  the  head 
of  this  department,  deemed  by  himself  so  important,  he  placed  that  learned  jurist, 
incorruptible  patriot,  and  Christian  statesman,  John  Jay,  of  N.Y.,  and  nominated 
as  his  associates  James  Wilson,  of  Penn.,  John  Rdtledge,  of  S.  C,  William 
Cusiiing,  of  Mass.,  Robert  Harrison,  of  Md.,  and  John  Blair,  of  Va. 


70 


JAMES  WILSON. 


in  the  community  but  may  here  receive  a  radical  cure.  If  the 
error  be  in  the  legislature,  it  may  be  corrected  by  the  constitution ; 
if  in  the  constitution,  it  may  be  corrected  by  the  people.  There  is 
a  remedy,  therefore,  for  every  distemper  in  government,  if  the 
people  are  not  wanting  to  themselves;  but  for  a  people  wanting  to 
themselves,  there  is  no  remedy.  From  their  power,  as  we  have 
seen,  there  is  no  appeal  •  to  their  error,  there  is  no  superior  prin- 
ciple of  correction. 

There  are  three  simple  species  of  government :  Monarchy,  where 
the  supreme  power  is  in  a  single  person  :  Aristocracy,  where  the 
supreme  power  is  in  a  select  assembly,  the  members  of  which  either 
fill  up,  by  election,  the  vacancies  in  their  own  body,  or  succeed  to 
their  places  in  it  by  inheritance,  property,  or  in  respect  of  some 
personal  right  or  qualification  :  a  Republic  or  Democracy,  where 
the  people  at  large  retain  the  supreme  power,  and  act  either  col- 
lectively or  by  representation. 

Each  of  these  species  of  government  has  its  advantages  and  dis- 
advantages. 

The  advantages  of  a  Monarchy  are  strength,  dispatch,  secrecy, 
unity  of  counsel.  Its  disadvantages  are  tyranny,  expense,  igno- 
rance of  the  situation  and  wants  of  the  people,  insecurity,  unne- 
cessary wars,  evils  attending  elections  or  successions. 

The  advantages  of  Aristocracy  are  wisdom,  arising  from  expe- 
rience and  education.  Its  disadvantages  are  dissensions  among 
themselves,  oppression  to  the  lower  orders. 

The  advantages  of  Democracy  are  liberty )  equal,  cautious,  and 
salutary  laws,  public  spirit,  frugality,  peace,  opportunities  of  ex- 
citing and  producing  the  abilities  of  the  best  citizens.  Its  disad- 
vantages are  dissensions,  the  delay  and  disclosure  of  public  coun- 
sels, the  imbecility  of  public  measures,  retarded  by  the  necessity 
of  a  numerous  consent. 

A  government  may  be  composed  of  two  or  more  of  the  simple 
forms  above  mentioned.  Such  is  the  British  government.  It 
would  be  an  improper  government  for  the  United  States,  because 
it  is  inadequate  to  such  an  extent  of  territory,  and  because  it  is 
suited  to  an  establishment  of  diiferent  orders  of  men. 

What  is  the  nature  and  kind  of  that  government  which  has 
been  proposed  for  the  United  States  by  the  late  convention  ? 
In  its  principle  it  is  purely  democratical ;  but  that  principle 
is  applied  in  different  forms,  in  order  to  obtain  the  advantages, 
and  exclude  the  inconveniences,  of  the  simple  modes  of  govern- 
ment. 

If  we  take  an  extended  and  accurate  view  of  it,  we  shall  find 
the  streams  of  power  running  in  different  directions,  in  different 
dimensions,  and  at  different  heights ;  watering,  adorning,  and  fer- 
tilizing the  fields  and  meadows  through  which  their  courses  are 


JAMES  WILSON. 


71 


led  j  but  if  we  trace  them,  we  shall  discover  that  they  all  originally 
flow  from  one  abundant  fountain. 

In  this  CONSTITUTION  all  authority  is  derived  from  the  PEOPLjK. 

THE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CHARACTER  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION. 

Yv  ith  respect  to  the  clause1  restricting  Congress  from  prohibit- 
ing the  migration  or  importation  of  such  persons  as  any  of  the 
States  now  existing  shall  think  proper  to  admit,  prior  to  the  year 
1808,  the  honorable  gentleman  says,  that  this  clause  is  not  only 
dark,  but  intended  to  grant  to  Congress,  for  that  time,  the  power 
to  admit  the  importation  of  slaves.  No  such  thing  was  intended ; 
but  I  will  tell  you  what  was  done,  and  it  gives  me  high  pleasure 
that  so  much  was  done.  Under  the  present  confederation,  the  States 
may  admit  the  importation  of  slaves  as  long  as  they  please ;  but  by 
this  article,  after  the  year  1808  the  Congress  will  have  power  to 
prohibit  such  importation,  notwithstanding  the  disposition  of  any 
State  to  the  contrary.  I  consider  this  as  laying  the  foundation 
for  banishing  slavery  out  of  this  country ;  and  though  the  period 
is  more  distant  than  I  could  wish,  yet  it  will  produce  the  same 
kind,  gradual  change,  which  was  pursued  in  Pennsylvania.  It  is 
with  much  satisfaction  I  view  this  power  in  the  general  govern- 
ment whereby  they  may  lay  an  interdiction  on  this  reproachful 
trade  :  but  an  immediate  advantage  is  also  obtained ;  for  a  tax  or 
duty  may  be  imposed  on  such  importation,  not  exceeding  ten  dol- 
lars for  each  person  ;  and  this,  sir,  operates  as  a  partial  prohibition : 
it  was  all  that  could  be  obtained.  I  am  sorry  it  was  no  more ;  but 
from  this  I  think  there  is  reason  to  hope  that  yet  a  few  years,  and 
it  will  be  prohibited  altogether ;  and,  in  the  mean  time,  the  new 
States  which  arc  to  be  formed,  luill  be  under  the  control  of  Con- 
gress in  this  particular,  and  slaves  will  never  be  introduced 
amongst  them  . 

So  far,  therefore,  as  this  clause  operates,  it  presents  us  with  the 
pleasing  prospect  that  the  rights  of  mankind  will  be  acknowledged 
and  established  throughout  the  Union. 

If  there  was  no  other  lovely  feature  in  the  constitution  but  this 
one,  it  would  diffuse  a  beauty  over  its  whole  countenance.  Yet 
the  lapse  of  a  few  years,  and  Congress  will  have  power  to  extermi- 
nate slavery  from  within  our  borders. 


1  Article  I.,  Section  IX.  The  migration  or  importation  of  such  persons  as  any 
of  the  States  uow  existing  shall  think  proper  to  admit,  shall  not  be  prohibited  by 
the  Congress  prior  to  the  year  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  eight;  but  a  tax 
or  duty  may  be  imposed  on  such  importation  not  exceeding  ten  dollars  for  each 
person. 


72 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON,  1743—1826. 

Thomas  Jefferson,  descended  from  a  family  which  had  heen  long  settled  in 
his  native  State,  was  born  at  Shadwell,  Albemarle  county,  Virginia,  on  the  2d  of 
April,  1743.  After  finishing  his  collegiate  course  of  education  at  William's  and 
Mary's  College,  he  commenced  the  study  of  the  law  with  the  celebrated  George 
\\rythe,  afterwards  Chancellor  of  the  State.  He  was  called  to  the  bar  in  1766; 
and  in  1769  was  a  member  of  the  Legislature  of  Virginia.  On  the  12th  cf  March, 
1773,  he  was  appointed  a  member  of  the  first  committee  of  correspondence  esta- 
blished by  the  Colonial  Legislatures ;  and  the  next  year  he  wrote  and  published 
his  Summary  View  of  the  Rights  of  British  America.  It  was  a  bold  and  manly 
document,  ably  setting  forth  our  own  rights,  and  pointing  out  clearly  the  various 
ways  in  which  they  had  been  violated  by  the  British  Government.  On  the  27th 
of  March,  1775,  he  was  elected  one  of  the  members  to  represent  Virginia  in  the 
General  Congress  of  the  Confederated  Colonies,  already  assembled  at  Philadelphia, 
and  took  his  seat  in  this  assembly  on  the  21st  of  June.  So  early  did  he  become 
known  for  his  ability,  that,  in  a  few  days  after  his  arrival,  he  was  made  a  member 
of  a  committee  appointed  to  draw  up  a  declaration  setting  forth  the  causes  and 
necessity  of  resorting  to  arms. 

With  the  year  1776,  the  affairs  of  the  colonies  began  to  assume  an  aspect  of 
more  energy,  with  aims  more  definite.  When,  therefore,  the  subject  of  our  inde- 
pendence was  brought  before  Congress  in  June,  it  met  with  a  hearty  response  in 
that  body,  and  a  committee  was  appointed  to  prepare  a  declaration  "  that  these 
United  Colonies  are,  and  of  right  ought  to  be,  free  and  independent  States;  that 
they  are  absolved  from  all  allegiance  to  the  British  Crown,  and  that  all  political 
connection  between  them  and  the  State  of  Great  Britain  is,  and  ought  to  be, 
totally  dissolved."  This  committee  consisted  of  Thomas  Jefferson,  John  Adams, 
Benjamin  Franklin,  Roger  Sherman,  and  R.  R.  Livingston;  and  to  Mr.  Jeffer- 
son, the  chairman,  was  assigned  the  important  duty  of  preparing  the  draft  of  the 
document.  On  the  28th  of  June,  the  Declaration  of  Independence  (the  report  of 
the  committee)  was  presented  to  Congress  and  read;  on  the  first,  second,  and 
third  of  July,  it  was  fully  discussed  in  committee  of  the  whole ;  and  on  the  fourth 
it  was  adopted  in  its  present  form,  many  alterations  having  been  made  in  tho 
draft  as  it  was  first  presented  by  the  committee. 

During  the  summer  of  this  year,  (1776,)  Mr.  Jefferson  took  an  active  part  in 
the  deliberations  and  business  of  Congress ;  but  in  the  fall,  owing  to  his  ill  health, 
the  situation  of  his  family,  and  the  embarrassed  condition  of  things  in  Virginia, 
he  felt  it  his  duty  to  return  to  his  own  State,  and  devote  himself  to  her  service. 
Though  his  public  duties  were  arduous,  he  found  time  to  write,  in  1781,  his  Notes 
onVirginia, — the  work  by  which,  next  to  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  he  is 
most  favorably  known.  In  June,  1783,  Mr.  Jefferson  was  again  elected  a  dele- 
gate to  Congress  from  Virginia,  and  of  course  took  a  prominent  part  in  the  delibe- 
rations of  that  body.  An  opportunity  soon  offered  itself  of  expressing  again,  as 
he  had  already  so  frequently  done,  his  detestation  of  slavery,  and  his  earnest  de- 
sire for  the  entire  abolition  of  it  in  the  United  States.  Being  appointed,  in  April, 
1784,  chairman  of  a  committee  to  which  was  assigned  the  task  of  forming  a  plan 
for  the  temporary  government  of  the  Western  Territory,  he  introduced  into  it  the 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 


'  (lowing  clause: — "That,  after  the  year  1800,  there  shall  be  neither  slavery 
r  -ir  involuntary  servitude  in  any  of  the  said  States,  otherwise  than  in  punish- 
ment of  crimes  whereof  the  party  shall  have  been  convicted  to  have  been  per- 
sonally guilty."  When  the  report  of  the  committee  was  presented  to  Congress, 
these  words  were  stricken  out.1 

Having  been  chosen  by  Congress  commissioner  to  negotiate  treaties  with  the 
states  of  Europe,  in  conjunction  with  John  Adams  and  Benjamin  Franklin,  he 
sailed  in  July,  1784,  and  joined  his  colleagues  at  Paris.  They  were  not,  however, 
very  successful,  treaties  having  been  formed  with  but  two  governments,  Morocco 
and  Prussia.  On  the  10th  of  March,  1785,  Mr.  Jefferson  was  unanimously  ap- 
pointed by  Congress  to  succeed  Dr.  Franklin  as  minister-plenipotentiary  at  the 
court  of  Versailles.  He  remained  in  France  until  the  latter  part  of  1789,  when  he 
returned,  and  was,  upon  the  foi'mation  of  the  new  government,  nominated  by  Pre- 
sident Washington  as  Secretary  of  State.  Finding,  however,  the  views  of  Wash- 
ington and  the  greater  portion  of  his  cabinet  essentially  different  from  his  o*wn, 
he  resigned  this  position,  and  retired  into  private  life,  devoting  himself  to  the 
education  of  his  family,  the  cultivation  of  his  estate,  and  the  pursuit  of  his  philo- 
sophical studies.  In  September,  1796,  when  General  Washington  announced  his 
determination  to  renounce  public  life,  the  two  parties  into  which  the  nation  was 
divided — the  Federalists  and  Democrats,2  or  "  Republicans,"  as  then  called — 
brought  forward  their  favorite  candidates.  John  Adams  was  supported  by  the 
former,  and  Thomas  Jefferson  by  the  latter.  Mr.  Adams  was  elected,  and 
entered  upon  the  duties  of  his  office  the  4th  of  March,  1797.  Such,  however,  were 
the  changes  in  public  sentiment,  that,  after  four  years,  Mr.  Jefferson  was  elected 
President. 

The  leading  events  of  Mr.  Jefferson's  administration  were  the  purchase  of 
Louisiana3  from  France ;  the  expedition  of  Lewis  and  Clarke,  west  of  the  Rocky 


1  I  may  say  that  it  is  a  good  thing  that  this  clause  was  stricken  out;  because 
three  years  after,  when  the  subject  of  the  government  of  the  Territories  was  under 
discussion,  and  when  Mr.  Jefferson  was  in  France,  the  celebrated  "Ordinance  of 
1787"  was  presented  by  Nathan  Dane,  of  Massachusetts,  in  which  a  similar  pro- 
viso was  introduced  and  carried,  to  take  effect  immediately,  and  not  to  be 
put  off  to  the  year  1800.  AVhile,  therefore,  great  credit  is  due  to  Mr.  Jeffer- 
son for  being  the  first  to  assert  the  noble  principle  of  freedom,  it  is  an  undoubted 
historical  fact  that  Nathan  Dane  has  the  honor  of  being  the  author  of  the  "  Ordi- 
nance of  1787,"  and  that  to  Rufus  King,  of  New  York,  and  indirectly  to  Timothy 
Pickering,  of  Massachusetts,  belongs  the  suggestion  of  the  provisos  contained  in 
that  "  Ordinance"  against  slavery,  and  for  aids  to  religion  and  knowledge.  For  a 
full  account  of  this  interesting  subject,  read  "  Life  and  Correspondence  of  Rufus 
King,  by  his  Son,  Charles  King,  LL.D." 

2  Of  the  Democratic  party  Jefferson  was  the  efficient  promoter  at  the  beginning, 
and  may  be  considered  its  founder.  Washington,  as  the  head  of  the  Federalists, 
became  the  object  of  hatred  to  the  Democrats,  and  upon  him  all  the  vials  of  their 
wrath  were  poured.  Jefferson,  as  is  now  known,  gave  too  much  encouragement 
to  some  of  these  defamers,  the  most  prominent  of  whom  were  Genet,  the  impudent 
French  minister,  Freneau,  the  poet  and  editor,  and  Thomas  Paine,  whose  name  is 
synonymous  with  infamy. 

3  From  this  territory,  bought  for  fifteen  millions  of  dollars,  tbree  new  slave 
States  have  been  formed.  Had  the  principles  of  the  Ordinance  of  1787  been  ap- 
plied to  this  region,  what  untold  blessings  would  have  accrued  to  our  country ! 
The  further  extension  of  slavery  would  have  been  arrested,  and  that  anomaly  in 
our  system  would  probably  have  died  out  before  the  death  of  Jefferson. 


74 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 


Mountains,  to  the  mouth  of  Columbia  River;  and  the  "Embargo"  But  comment 
upon  these  measures  would  here  be  out  of  place.  At  the  close  of  his  second  term, 
1S09,  Mr.  Jefferson  withdrew  from  public  affairs,  and  resided  at  Monticello,  his 
country-seat  in  Virginia.  He  did  not,  however,  lead  an  idle  life ;  he  took  a  deep 
interest  in  the  cause  of  education  in  his  native  State,  and  was  the  means  of  esta- 
blishing its  celebrated  university.  It  is  painful  to  add  that,  in  the  latter  years  of 
his  life,  he  suffered  from  pecuniary  embarrassments.  In  1815  he  sold  his  library, 
of  about  7000  volumes,  to  Congress,  for  twenty  thousand  dollars.  His  last 
days  were  passed  in  rural  enjoyments,  and  with  powers  unimpaired  for  the 
enjoyment  of  mental  pleasures ;  and  he  passed  away  calmly  on  the  4th  of  July, 
1826,  just  fifty  yeai's  from  the  date  of  his  signing  the  Declaration  of  Indepen- 
dence. 

In  person  Mr.  Jefferson  was  six  feet  two  inches  high,  erect  and  well  formed, 
though  thin ;  his  eyes  were  light,  and  full  of  intelligence ;  his  complexion  fair, 
and  his  countenance  remarkably  expressive.  In  conversation,  he  was  cheerful 
and  enthusiastic,  and  his  language  was  remarkable  for  vivacity  and  correctness. 
His  manners  were  simple  and  unaffected,  combined,  however,  with  much  native 
but  unobtrusive  dignity. 

The  chief  glory  of  Mr.  Jefferson's  character  was  his  ardent  love  of  liberty  for 
all  men,  irrespective  of  color.  This  is  clearly  evinced  in  the  preamble  of  the  De- 
claration of  Independence,  which  he  wrote ;  in  the  principles  of  the  Ordinance  of 
1787,  which  he  originated ;  and  in  several  passages  in  his  Notes  on  Virginia, 
wherein  he  pictures,  in  his  own  nervous  language,  the  demoralizing  influences  of 
slavery.1 

THE  RIGHTS  OF  MAN.2 

We  hold  these  truths  to  be  self-evident :  that  all  men  are 
created  equal  j  that  they  are  endowed  by  their  Creator  with  cer- 
tain unalienable  rights;  that  among  these  are  life,  liberty,  and 
the  pursuit  of  happiness ;  that,  to  secure  these  rights,  govern- 
ments are  instituted  among  men,  deriving  their  just  powers  from 
the  consent  of  the  governed ;  that,  whenever  any  form  of  govern- 
ment becomes  destructive  of  these  ends,  it  is  the  right  of  the 
people  to  alter  or  to  abolish  it,  and  to  institute  a  new  government, 


1  Read  articles  on  Jefferson  in  N.  Am.  Rev.,  xxx.  511,  xxxix.  238,  xl.  170 ; 
Am.  Quarterly,  vi.  494,  vii.  123 :  also  Biographies  by  Lee,  Tucker,  and  Ran- 
dolph. A  new  life,  by  Henry  S.  Randall,  in  three  volumes,  has  lately  been 
published;  but  it  is  of  a  character  so  thoroughly  partisan,  that  it  never  can  bo 
regarded  by  unprejudiced  minds  as  of  authority.  It  quietly  assumes  that  the 
"  Democratic"  party  of  modern  times  is  identical  with  the  old  "  Republican" 
party  led  by  Jefferson;  than  which  nothing  could  be  more  erroneous.  For  what- 
ever may  have  been  the  errors  of  Jefferson,  and  some  other  leaders  of  the  "  Repub- 
lican" party  of  that  day,  they  were  thoroughly  and  avowedly  anti-slavery.  The 
young  men  of  our  country  who  desire  to  have  a  full  view  of  Mr.  Jefferson's  cha- 
racter should  read  what  is  said  of  him  in  such  works  as  Fisher  Ames's  Life  and 
Letters;  Goodrich's  Recollections;  Griswold's  Republican  Court;  Hildreth's  United 
States;  Sullivan's  Works,  &c.  &c. 

2  From  the  Preamble  to  the  Declaration  of  Independence. 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 


7--) 


laying  its  foundation  on  such  principles,  and  organizing  its  powers 
in  such  form,  as  to  them  shall  seem  most  likely  to  effect  their 
safety  and  happiness.  Prudence,  indeed,  will  dictate  that  govern- 
ments long  established  should  not  be  changed  for  light  and  tran- 
sient causes;  and,  accordingly,  all  experience  hath  shown  that 
mankind  are  more  disposed  to  suffer,  while  evils  are  sufferable, 
than  to  right  themselves  by  abolishing  the  forms  to  which  they 
are  accustomed.  But  when  a  long  train  of  abuses  and  usurpa- 
tions, pursuing  invariably  the  same  object,  evinces  a  design  to  re- 
duce them  under  absolute  despotism,  it  is  their  right,  it  is  their 
duty,  to  throw  off  such  government,  and  to  provide  new  guards 
for  their  future  security. 

PASSAGE  OF  THE  POTOMAC  THROUGH  THE  BLUE  RIDGE. 

The  passage  of  the  Potomac  through  the  Blue  Ridge  is  perhaps 
one  of  the  most  stupendous  scenes  in  nature.  You  stand  on  a 
very  high  point  of  land.  On  your  right  comes  up  the  Shenan- 
doah, having  ranged  along  the  foot  of  the  mountain  a  hundred 
miles  to  seek  a  vent.  On  your  left  approaches  the  Potomac,  seek- 
ing a  passage  also.  In  the  moment  of  their  junction,  they  rush 
together  against  the  mountain,  rend  it  asunder,  and  pass  off  to  the 
sea.  The  first  glance  at  this  scene  hurries  our  senses  into  the 
opinion  that  this  earth  has  been  created  in  time;  that  the  moun- 
tains were  formed  first ;  that  the  rivers  began  to  flow  afterwards ; 
that,  in  this  place  particularly,  they  have  been  dammed  up  by  the 
Blue  Ridge  of  mountains,  and  have  formed  an  ocean  which  filled 
the  whole  valley;  that,  continuing  to  rise,  they  have  at  length 
broken  over  at  this  spot,  and  have  torn  the  mountain  down  from 
its  summit  to  its  base.  The  piles  of  rock  on  each  hand,  but  par- 
ticularly on  the  Shenandoah,  the  evident  marks  of  their  disrup- 
ture  and  avulsion  from  their  beds  by  the  most  powerful  agents  of 
nature,  corroborate  the  impression.  But  the  distant  finishing 
which  Nature  has  given  to  the  picture  is  of  a  very  different  cha- 
racter. It  is  a  true  contrast  to  the  foreground.  It  is  as  placid 
and  delightful  as  that  is  wild  and  tremendous.  For,  the  mountain 
being  cloven  asunder,  she  presents  to  your  eye,  through  the  cleft, 
a  small  catch  of  smooth  blue  horizon,  at  an  infinite  distance  in  the 
plain  country,  inviting  you,  as  it  were,  from  the  riot  and  tumult 
roaring  around,  to  pass  through  the  breach,  and  participate  of  the 
calm  below.  Here  the  eye  ultimately  composes  itself;  and  that 
way,  too,  the  road  happens  actually  to  lead.  You  cross  the  Poto- 
mac above  its  junction,  pass  along  its  side  through  the  base  of  the 
mountain  for  three  miles,  its  terrible  precipices  hanging  in  frag- 
ments over  you,  and  within  about  twenty  miles  reach  Frederick- 
town,  and  the  fine  country  round  that.    This  scene  is  worth  a 


76 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 


voyage  across  the  Atlantic.  Yet  here,  as  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  Natural  Bridge,  are  people  who  have  passed  their  lives 
within  half  a  dozen  miles,  and  have  never  been  to  survey  these 
monuments  of  a  war  between  rivers  and  mountains,  which  must 
have  shaken  the  earth  itself  to  its  centre. 

INFLUENCE  OF  SLAVERY. 

The  whole  commerce  between  master  and  slave  is  a  perpetual 
exercise  of  the  most  boisterous  passions;  the  most  unremitting 
despotism  on  the  one  part,  and  degrading  submissions  on  the 
other.  Our  children  see  this,  and  learn  to  imitate  it ;  for  man  is 
an  imitative  animal.  This  quality  is  the  germ  of  all  education  in 
him.  From  his  cradle  to  his  grave  he  is  learning  to  do  what  he 
sees  others  do.  If  a  parent  could  find  no  motive,  either  in  his  philan- 
thropy or  his  self-love,  for  restraining  the  intemperance  of  passion 
towards  his  slave,  it  should  always  be  a  sufficient  one  that  his 
child  is  present.  But  generally  it  is  not  sufficient.  The  parent 
storms,  the  child  looks  on,  catches  the  lineaments  of  wrath,  puts 
on  the  same  airs  in  the  circle  of  smaller  slaves,  gives  loose  to  his 
worst  passions,  and  thus  nursed,  educated,  and  daily  exercised  in 
tyranny,  cannot  but  be  stamped  by  it  with  odious  peculiarities. 
The  man  must  be  a  prodigy  who  can  retain  his  manners  and 
morals  undepraved  by  such  circumstances.  And  with  what  exe- 
cration should  the  statesman  be  loaded,  who,  permitting  one-half 
the  citizens  thus  to  trample  on  the  rights  of  the  other,  transforms 
those  into  despots,  and  these  into  enemies,  destroys  the  morals  of 
the  one  part,  and  the  amor  patriae,  of  the  other  !  For  if  the  slave 
can  have  a  country  in  this  world,  it  must  be  any  other  in  prefer- 
ence to  that  in  which  he  is  born  to  live  and  labor  for  another;  in 
which  he  must  lock  up  the  faculties  of  his  nature,  contribute  as  far 
as  depends  on  his  individual  endeavors  to  the  evanishment  of  the 
human  race,  or  entail  his  own  miserable  condition  on  the  endless 
generations  proceeding  from  him.  With  the  morals  of  the  people, 
their  industry  also  is  destroyed.  For  in  a  warm  climate  no  man 
will  labor  for  himself  who  can  make  another  labor  for  him.  This 
is  so  true,  that  of  the  proprietors  of  slaves  a  very  small  proportion 
indeed  are  ever  seen  to  labor.  And  can  the  liberties  of  a  nation 
be  thought  secure  when  we  have  removed  their  only  firm  basis, — 
a  conviction  in  the  minds  of  the  people  that  these  liberties  are  the 
gift  of  God  ? — that  they  are  not  to  be  violated  but  with  his  wrath  ? 
Indeed,  I  tremble  for  my  country  when  I  reflect  that  God  is  just ; 
that  his  justice  cannot  sleep  forever;  that,  considering  numbers, 
nature,  and  natural  means  only,  a  revolution  of  the  wheel  of  for- 
tune, an  exchange  of  situation,  is  among  possible  events;  that 
it  may  become  probable   by  supernatural  interference !  The 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 


77 


Almighty  has  no  attribute  which  can  take  side  with  us  in  such  a 
contest. 

What  an  incomprehensible  machine  is  man,  who  can  endure 
toil,  famine,  stripes,  imprisonment,  and  death  itself,  in  vindication 
of  his  own  liberty,  and  the  next  moment  be  deaf  to  all  those  mo- 
tives whose  power  supported  him  through  his  trial,  and  inflict 
upon  his  fellow-men  a  bondage,  one  hour  of  which  is  fraught  with 
more  misery  than  ages  of  that  which  he  rose  in  rebellion  to  oppose  ! 
But  we  must  wait  with  patience  the  workings  of  an  overruling 
Providence,  and  hope  that  that  is  preparing  the  deliverance  of 
these  our  suffering  brethren.  When  the  measure  of  their  tears 
shall  be  full,  doubtless  a  God  of  justice  will  awaken  to  their  dis- 
tress, and  by  diffusing  a  light  and  liberality  among  their  oppressors, 
or  at  length  by  his  exterminating  thunder,  manifest  his  attention 
to  things  of  this  world,  and  that  they  are  not  left  to  the  guidance 
of  blind  fatality. 

Notes  on  Virginia. 
A  DECALOGUE  OF  CANONS  FOR  PRACTICAL  LIFE. 

1.  Never  put  off  till  to-morrow  what  you  can  do  to-day. 

2.  Never  trouble  another  for  what  you  can  do  yourself. 

3.  Never  spend  your  money  before  you  have  it. 

4.  Never  buy  what  you  do  not  want,  because  it  is  cheap  :  it  will 

be  dear  to  you. 

5.  Pride  costs  us  more  than  hunger,  thirst,  and  cold. 

6.  We  never  repent  of  having  eaten  too  little. 

7.  Nothing  is  troublesome  that  we  do  willingly. 

8.  How  much  pain  have  cost  us  the  evils  that  have  never  hap- 

pened. 

9.  Take  things  always  by  their  smooth  handle. 

10.  When  angry,  count  ten  before  you  speak ;  if  very  angry,  an 
hundred. 

HIS  DYING  COUNCIL.1 

This  letter  will,  to  you,  be  as  one  from  the  dead.  The  writer 
will  be  in  the  grave  before  you  can  weigh  its  counsels.  Your 
affectionate  and  excellent  father  has  requested  that  I  would  ad- 
dress to  you  something  which  might  possibly  have  a  favorable 
influence  on  the  course  of  life  you  have  to  run ;  and  I  too,  as  a 
namesake,  feel  an  interest  in  that  course.  Few  words  will  be 
necessary,  with  good  dispositions  on  your  part.  Adore  God. 
Reverence  and  cherish  your  parents.  Love  your  neighbor  as 
yourself,  and  your  country  more  than  yourself.    Be  just.  Be 


Letter  to  Thomas  Jefferson  Smith. 
7«- 


7* 


BENJAMIN  RUSH. 


true.  Murmur  not  at  the  ways  of  Providence.  So  shall  the  life 
into  which  you  have  entered  be  the  portal  to  one  of  eternal  and 
inenable  bliss.  And,  if  to  the  dead  it  is  permitted  to  care  for 
the  things  of  this  world,  every  action  of  your  life  will  be  under 
my  regard.  Farewell. 

Monticello,  February  21,  1826. 


BENJAMIN  BUSH,  1745—1813. 

Bexjamix  Bush,  M.D.,  one  of  the  most  eminent  physicians  of  our  country,  was 
born  at  Byberry,  near  Philadelphia,  on  the  24th  of  December,  1745.  He  was 
early  destined  by  his  parents  for  professional  life,  and  he  graduated  at  Princeton 
College  in  1760.  After  spending  six  years  in  Philadelphia  in  the  study  of  medi- 
cine, he  went  to  Edinburgh  for  the  further  prosecution  of  his  studies,  and  re- 
mained there  till  the  spring  of  1768,  and  then  went  to  France.  In  the  fall  of  that 
year  he  returned  to  Philadelphia,  and  the  next  year  was  elected  Professor  of  Che- 
mistry in  the  college  of  that  city.  In  1791,  the  college  was  merged  in  a  univer- 
sity, and  Dr.  Bush  was  appointed  "  Professor  of  the  Institutes  and  Practice  of 
Medicine  and  of  Clinical  Practice"  in  the  University  of  Pennsylvania. 

During  the  prevalence  of  the  yellow  fever  in  Philadelphia,  in  1793,  the  labors 
of  Dr.  Bush  were  as  unremitting  as  they  were  successful  in  endeavoring  to  miti- 
gate the  horrors  of  this  scourge.  But  these  labors  both  of  mind  and  body,  by 
night  and  day,  nearly  cost  him  his  life.  At  the  close  of  the  season,  he  himself  was 
attacked  by  the  disease,  and  for  some  days  he  lingered  between  life  and  death. 
Happily  his  valuable  life  was  saved,  to  be  devoted  yet  many  more  years  to  the 
cause  of  science  and  philanthropy. 

It  is  astonishing  how,  with  such  a  large  private  practice,  Dr.  Bush  was  enabled 
to  do  so  much  outside  of  his  profession.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Congress 
which,  in  1776,  published  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  and  of  course  affixed 
his  name  to  that  memorable  instrument.  In  1777,  he  was  appointed  Physician- 
General  for  the  Middle  Department  of  the  Military  Hospitals,  and  in  1787  was  a 
member  of  the  Convention  of  Pennsylvania  for  ratifying  the  Federal  Constitution, 
which  he  advocated  with  great  ability.  After  the  establishment  of  the  federal 
government,  he  withdrew  himself  altogether  from  public  life,  and  devoted  his  time 
to  his  profession,  and  to  the  claims  of  humanity.  The  only  office  he  accepted  as 
a  reward  for  his  many  services,  and  which  he  held  for  fourteen  years,  was  that  of 
Treasurer  of  the  United  States  Mint. 

But  it  is  as  a  philanthropist,  and  as  the  friend  of  every  thing  that  tends  to  the 
improvement  of  man,  that  his  memory  will  ever  be  most  warmly  cherished.  He 
was  President  of  the  Pennsylvania  Society  for  the  Abolition  of  Slavery,  and  as 
early  as  1774  wrote  two  essays  upon  the  guilt  and  danger  of  our  national  sin,  to 
which  he  remained  inflexibly  opposed  until  the  day  of  his  death.  He  was  also 
Vice-President  and  one  of  the  founders  of  the  Philadelphia  Bible  Society,  and  one 
of  the  Vice-Presidents  of  the  American  Philosophical  Society.  He  took  a  warm 
interest  in  the  establishment  of  the  Philadelphia  Dispensary,  in  1786,  and  served 


BENJAMIN  RUSH. 


79 


for  many  years  as  one  of  its  physicians.  He  was  the  principal  agent  in  founding 
Dickinson  College,  at  Carlisle,  and  in  bringing  from  Scotland  that  eminent  scholar 
and  divine,  the  Rev.  Charles  Nisbet,  D.D.,  to  preside  over  that  institution.  He 
was  one  of  the  first  to  advocate  the  establishment  of  free  schools,  and  wrote  seve- 
ral able  essays  to  show  their  importance.  He  also  took  early  ground  against  the 
multiplicity  of  capital  punishments,  and  lived  to  see  the  effect  of  his  labors  when, 
in  1794,  the  Legislature  of  Pennsylvania  abolished  death  as  a  punishment  for  all 
crimes  except  for  that  of  murder  in  the  first  degree. 

Dr.  Rush  was  also  one  of  the  earliest  friends  of  the  temperance  reform.  His 
Inquiry  into  the  Effects  of  Ardent  Spirits  upon  the  Body  and  Hind  was  published  in 
pamphlet  form,  had  an  extensive  circulation,  and  was  productive  of  great  good. 
He  also  published  an  essay  against  tobacco,  and  exhibited  a  frightful  catalogue 
of  ills  to  health  and  morals  arising  from  the  use  of  that  filthy  and  disgusting 
weed.  His  last  work,  published  a  year  before  his  death,  entitled  Medical  Inquiries 
and  Observations  iqyon  the  Diseases  of  the  J/tW,  has  been  pronounced,  by  very  respect- 
able authority,  "  at  once  a  metaphysical  treatise  on  the  human  understanding ;  a 
physiological  theory  of  organic  and  thinking  life ;  a  code  of  pure  morals  and 
religion ;  a  book  of  the  best  maxims  to  promote  wisdom  and  happiness ;  in  fine,  a 
collection  of  classical,  polite,  poetical,  and  sound  literature." 

Dr.  Rush  terminated  his  long  and  useful  life,  after  a  few  days'  illness  of  typhus 
fever,  on  the  19th  of  April,  1813,  in  the  sixty-eighth  year  of  his  age.  As  a  gen- 
tleman, distinguished  for  ease  and  affability  of  manners ;  as  a  scholar,  versed  in 
ancient  and  modern  learning;  as  a  physician,  adorning  by  his  character  and 
genius  the  profession  to  which  he  gave  the  best  energies  of  his  life ;  as  a  philan- 
thropist, interested  in  all  that  tends  to  elevate  and  bless  man ;  and  as  a  Christian, 
"doing  justly,  loving  mercy,  and  walking  humbly  before  God,"  the  name  of  Dr. 
Rush  will  ever  be  cherished  as  one  of  the  brightest  and  best  in  our  country's  his- 
tory. 

The  following  extracts  will  give  some  idea  of  Dr.  Rush's  style  and  manner,  and 
of  the  subjects  in  which  he  was  particularly  interested : — 

FEMALE  EDUCATION. 

It  is  agreeable  to  observe  how  differently  modern  writers,  and 
the  inspired  author  of  the  Proverbs,  describe  a  fine  woman.  The 
former  confine  their  praises  chiefly  to  personal  charms  and  orna- 
mental accomplishments,  while  the  latter  celebrates  only  the  vir- 
tues of  a  valuable  mistress  of  a  family  and  a  useful  member  of 
society.  The  one  is  perfectly  acquainted  with  all  the  fashionable 
languages  of  Europe ;  the  other  "  opens  her  mouth  with  wisdom/' 
and  is  perfectly  acquainted  with  all  the  uses  of  the  needle,  the 
distaff,  and  the  loom.  The  business  of  the  one  is  pleasure ;  the 
pleasure  of  the  other  is  business.  The  one  is  admired  abroad ; 
the  other  is  honored  and  beloved  at  home.  "  Her  children  arise 
up  and  call  her  blessed,  her  husband  also,  and  he  praiseth  her." 
There  is  no  fame  in  the  world  equal  to  this  j  nor  is  there  a  note 
iD  music  half  so  delightful  as  the  respectful  language  with  which 


so 


BENJAMIN  RUSH. 


a  grateful  son  or  daughter  perpetuates  the  memory  of  a  sensible 
and  affectionate  mother. 

A  philosopher  once  said  :  "  Let  me  make  all  the  ballads  of  a 
country,  and  I  care  not  who  makes  its  laws."  He  might  with 
more  propriety  have  said,  Let  the  ladies  of  a  country  be  educated 
properly,  and  they  will  not  only  make  and  administer  its  laws, 
but  form  its  manners  and  character.  It  would  require  a  lively 
imagination  to  describe,  or  even  to  comprehend,  the  happiness  of 
a  country  where  knowledge  and  virtue  were  generally  diffused 
among  the  female  sex.  Our  young  men  would  then  be  restrained 
from  vice  by  the  terror  of  being  banished  from  their  company. 
The  loud  laugh  and  the  malignant  smile,  at  the  expense  of  inno- 
cence or  of  personal  infirmities, — the  feats  of  successful  mimicry, 
— and  the  low-priced  wit  which  is  borrowed  from  a  misapplication 
of  Scripture  phrases,  would  no  more  be  considered  as  recommend- 
ations to  the  society  of  the  ladies.  A  double  entendre,  in  their 
presence,  would  then  exclude  a  gentleman  forever  from  the  com- 
pany of  both  sexes,  and  probably  oblige  him  to  seek  an  asylum 
from  contempt  in  a  foreign  country.  The  influence  of  female 
education  would  be  still  more  extensive  and  useful  in  domestic 
life.  The  obligations  of  gentlemen  to  qualify  themselves  by 
knowledge  and  industry  to  discharge  the  duties  of  benevolence 
would  be  increased  by  marriage ;  and  the  patriot,  the  hero,  and 
the  legislator  would  find  the  sweetest  reward  of  their  toils  in  the 
approbation  and  applause  of  their  wives.  Children  would  discover 
the  marks  of  maternal  prudence  and  wisdom  in  every  station  of 
life ;  for  it  has  been  remarked  that  there  have  been  few  great  or 
good  men  who  have  not  been  blessed  with  wise  and  prudent 
mothers.  Cyrus  was  taught  to  revere  the  gods  by  his  mother, 
Mandane ;  Samuel  was  devoted  to  his  prophetic  office,  before  he 
was  born,  by  his  mother,  Hannah ;  Constantine  was  rescued  from 
paganism  by  his  mother,  Constantia ;  and  Edward  the  Sixth  in- 
herited those  great  and  excellent  qualities  which  made  him  the 
delight  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived  from  his  mother,  Lady  Jane 
Seymour.  Many  other  instances  might  be  mentioned,  if  neces- 
sary, from  ancient  and  modern  history,  to  establish  the  truth  of 
this  proposition. 

I  am  not  enthusiastical  upon  the  subject  of  education.  In  the 
ordinary  course  of  human  affairs,  we  shall  probably  too  soon  follow 
the  footsteps  of  the  nations  of  Europe,  in  manners  and  vices.  The 
first  marks  we  shall  perceive  of  our  declension  will  appear  among 
our  women.  Their  idleness,  ignorance,  and  profligacy  will  be  the 
harbingers  of  our  ruin.  Then  will  the  character  and  performance 
of  a  buffoon  on  the  theatre  be  the  subject  of  more  conversation 
and  praise  than  the  patriot  or  the  minister  of  the  gospel ;  then 
will  our  language  and  pronunciation  be  enfeebled  and  corrupted 


BENJAMIN  RUSH. 


81 


by  a  flood  of  French  and  Italian  words ;  then  will  the  history  of 
romantic  amours  be  preferred  to  the  immortal  writings  of  Addison, 
Hawkesworth,  and  Johnson ;  then  will  our  churches  be  neglected, 
and  the  name  of  the  Supreme  Being  never  be  called  upon  but  in  pro- 
fane exclamations ;  then  will  our  Sundays  be  appropriated  only  to 
feasts  and  concerts ;  and  then  will  begin  all  that  train  of  domestic 
and  political  calamities.  But  I  forbear.  The  prospect  is  so  pain- 
ful that  I  cannot  help  silently  imploring  the  great  Arbiter  of 
human  affairs  to  interpose  his  almighty  goodness,  and  to  deliver 
us  from  these  evils,  that  at  least  one  spot  of  the  earth  may  be  re- 
served as  a  monument  of  the  effects  of  good  education,  in  order  to 
show  in  some  degree  what  our  species  was  before  the  fall,  and 
what  it  shall  be  after  its  restoration. 

THE  USE  OF  TOBACCO. 

Were  it  possible  for  a  being  who  had  resided  upon  our  globe  to 
visit  the  inhabitants  of  a  planet  where  reason  governed,  and  to 
tell  them  that  a  vile  weed  was  in  general  use  among  the  in- 
habitants of  the  globe  it  had  left,  which  afforded  no  nourishment; 
that  this  weed  was  cultivated  with  immense  care ;  that  it  was  an 
important  article  of  commerce  ;  that  the  want  of  it  produced  real 
misery  ;  that  its  taste  was  extremely  nauseous ;  that  it  was  un- 
friendly to  health  and  morals  ;  and  that  its  use  was  attended  with 
a  considerable  loss  of  time  and  property;  the  account  would  be 
thought  incredible,  and  the  author  of  it  would  probably  be  ex- 
cluded from  society  for  relating  a  story  of  so  improbable  a  nature. 
In  no  one  view  is  it  possible  to  contemplate  the  creature  man  in 
a  more  absurd  and  ridiculous  light  than  in  his  attachment  to 

TOBACCO. 

The  progress  of  habit  in  the  use  of  Tobacco  is  exactly  the  same 
as  in  the  use  of  spirituous  liquors.  The  slaves  of  it  begin  by 
using  it  only  after  dinner;  then,  during  the  whole  afternoon  and 
evening;  afterwards  before  dinner,  then  before  breakfast,  and 
finally,  during  the  whole  night.  I  knew  a  lady  who  had  passed 
through  all  these  stages,  who  used  to  wake  regularly  two  or  three 
times  every  night  to  compose  her  system  with  fresh  doses  of  snuff. 

The  appetite  for  Tobacco  is  wholly  artificial.  No  person  was 
ever  born  with  a  relish  for  it ;  even  in  those  persons  who  are 
much  attached  to  it,  nature  frequently  recovers  her  disrelish  to  it. 
It  ceases  to  be  agreeable  in  every  febrile  indisposition.  This  is 
so  invariably  true,  that  a  disrelish  to  it  is  often  a  sign  of  an  ap- 
proaching, and  a  return  of  the  appetite  for  it,  a  sign  of  a  depart- 
ing fever.  I  proceed  now  to  mention  some  of  the  influences  of 
the  habitual  use  of  Tobacco  upon  morals. 

1.  One  of  the  usual  effects  of  smoking  and  chewing,  is  thirst. 


S2 


BENJAMIN  RUSH. 


This  thirst  cannot  be  allayed  by  water ;  for  no  sedative  or  even 
insipid  liquor  will  be  relished  after  the  mouth  and  throat  have 
been  exposed  to  the  stimulus  of  the  smoke  or  juice  of  Tobacco. 
A  desire,  of  course,  is  excited  for  strong  drinks,  and  these,  when 
taken  between  meals,  soon  lead  to  intemperance  and  drunkenness. 

2.  The  use  of  Tobacco,  more  especially  in  smoking,  disposes  to 
idleness,  and  idleness  has  been  considered  as  the  root  of  all  evil. 
"An  idle  man's  brain/'  says  the  celebrated  and  original  Mr. 
Bunyan,  "  is  the  devil's  workshop." 

3.  The  use  of  Tobacco  is  necessarily  connected  with  the  neglect 
of  cleanliness. 

4.  Tobacco,  more  especially  when  used  in  smoking,  is  gene- 
rally offensive  to  those  people  who  do  not  use  it..  To  smoke  in 
company,  under  such  circumstances,  is  a  breach  of  good  manners ; 
now,  manners  have  an  influence  upon  morals.  They  may  be  con- 
sidered as  the  outposts  of  virtue.  A  habit  of  offending  the  senses 
of  friends  or  strangers  by  the  use  of  Tobacco  cannot  therefore  be 
indulged  with  innocence.  It  produces  a  want  of  respect  for  our 
fellow-creatures,  and  this  always  disposes  to  unkind  and  unjust 
behavior  towards  them.  Who  ever  knew  a  rude  man  completely 
or  uniformly  moral  ?  *  *  * 

I  shall  conclude  these  observations  by  relating  an  anecdote  of 
the  late  Dr.  Franklin.  A  few  months  before  his  death,  he  declared 
to  one  of  his  friends  that  he  had  never  used  Tobacco  in  any  way 
in  the  course  of  his  long  life,  and  that  he  was  disposed  to  believe 
there  was  not  much  advantage  to  be  derived  from  it,  for  that  he 
had  never  met  with  a  man  who  used  it  who  advised  him  to  follow 
his  example. 

THE  BIBLE  AS  A  SCHOOL-BOOK. 

Before  I  state  my  arguments  in  favor  of  teaching  children  to 
read  by  means  of  the  Bible,  I  shall  assume  the  five  following 
propositions : — 

I.  That  Christianity  is  the  only  true  and  perfect  religion,  and 
that  in  proportion  as  mankind  adopt  its  principles  and  obey  its 
precepts,  they  will  be  wise  and  happy. 

II.  That  a  better  knowledge  of  this  religion  is  to  be  acquired 
by  reading  the  Bible  than  in  any  other  way. 

III.  That  the  Bible  contains  more  knowledge  necessary  to  man 
in  his  present  state  than  any  other  book  in  the  world. 

IY.  That  knowledge  is  most  durable,  and  religious  instruction 
most  useful,  when  imparted  in  early  life. 

V.  That  the  Bible,  when  not  read  in  schools,  is  seldom  read  in 
any  subsequent  period  of  life. 

My  arguments  in  favor  of  the  use  of  the  Bible  as  a  school-book 
are  founded,  first,  in  the  constitution  of  the  human  mind.  The 


BENJAMIN  RUSH. 


8:] 


memory  is  the  first  faculty  which  opens  in  the  minds  of  children. 
Of  how  much  consequence,  then,  must  it  be,  to  impress  it  with 
the  great  truths  of  Christianity  before  it  is  preoccupied  with  less 
interesting  subjects  !  There  is  also  a  peculiar  aptitude  in  the 
minds  of  children  for  religious  knowledge.  I  have  constantly 
found  them,  in  the  first  six  or  seven  years  of  their  lives,  more  in- 
quisitive upon  religious  subjects  than  upon  any  others ;  and  an 
ingenious  instructor  of  youth  has  informed  me  that  he  has  found 
young  children  more  capable  of  receiving  just  ideas  upon  the 
most  difficult  tenets  of  religion  than  upon  the  most  simple 
branches  of  human  knowledge. 

There  is  a  wonderful  property  in  the  memory  which  enables  it, 
in  old  age,  to  recover  the  knowledge  it  had  acquired  in  early  life, 
after  it  had  been  apparently  forgotten  for  forty  or  fifty  years.  Of 
how  much  consequence,  then,  must  it  be,  to  fill  the  mind  with 
that  species  of  knowledge,  in  childhood  and  youth,  which,  when 
recalled  in  the  decline  of  life,  will  support  the  soul  under  the  in- 
firmities of  age,  and  smooth  the  avenues  of  approaching  death  ! 
The  Bible  is  the  only  book  which  is  capable  of  affording  this  sup- 
port to  old  age ;  and  it  is  for  this  reason  that  we  find  it  resorted 
to  with  so  much  diligence  and  pleasure  by  such  old  people  as  have 
read  it  in  early  life.  I  can  recollect  many  instances  of  this  kind, 
in  persons  who  discovered  no  attachment  to  the  Bible  in  the  meri- 
dian of  their  lives,  who  have,  notwithstanding,  spent  the  evening 
of  them  in  reading  no  other  book. 

My  second  argument  in  favor  of  the  use  of  the  Bible  in  schools, 
is  founded  upon  an  implied  command  of  Grod,  and  upon  the  prac- 
tice of  several  of  the  wisest  nations  of  the  world.  In  the  sixth 
chapter  of  Deuteronomy,  we  find  the  following  words,  which  are 
directly  to  my  purpose : — "  And  thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy 
God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  with  all  thy  soul,  and  with  all  thy 
might.  And  these  words  which  I  command  thee  this  day,  shall 
be  in  thine  heart.  And  thou  shalt  teach  them  diligently  unto  thy 
children,  and  shalt  talk  of  them  when  thou  sittest  in  thine  house, 
and  when  thou  walkest  by  the  way,  and  when  thou  liest  down, 
and  when  thou  risest  up."  *  *  * 

I  have  heard  it  proposed  that  a  portion  of  the  Bible  should  be 
read  every  day  by  the  master,  as  a  means  of  instructing  children 
in  it.  But  this  is  a  poor  substitute  for  obliging  children  to  read 
it  as  a  school-book;  for,  by  this  means,  we  insensibly  engrave,  as 
it  were,  its  contents  upon  their  minds  •  and  it  has  been  remarked 
that  children,  instructed  in  this  way  in  the  Scriptures,  seldom 
forget  any  part  of  them.  They  have  the  same  advantage  over 
those  persons  who  have  only  heard  the  Scriptures  read  by  a  mas- 
ter, that  a  man  who  has  worked  with  the  tools  of  a  mechanical 
employment  for  several  years,  has  over  the  man  who  has  only 


84 


LINDLEY  MURRAY. 


stood  a  few  hours  in  the  workshop,  and  seen  the  same  business 
carried  on  by  other  people. 

I  think  I  am  not  too  sanguine  in  believing  that  education,  con- 
ducted in  this  manner,  would,  in  the  course  of  two  generations, 
eradicate  infidelity  from  among  us,  and  render  civil  government 
scarcely  necessary  in  our  country. 

In  contemplating  the  political  institutions  of  the  United  States, 
I  lament  that  we  waste  so  much  time  and  money  in  punishing 
crimes,  and  take  so  little  pains  to  prevent  them.  We  profess  to 
be  republicans,  and  yet  we  neglect  the  only  means  of  establishing 
and  perpetuating  our  republican  forms  of  government, — that  is, 
the  universal  education  of  our  youth  in  the  principles  of  Chris- 
tianity by  means  of  the  Bible ;  for  this  divine  Book,  above  all 
others,  favors  that  equality  among  mankind,  that  respect  for  just 
laws,  and  all  those  sober  and  frugal  virtues  which  constitute  the 
soul  of  republicanism. 


LINDLEY  MURRAY,  1745—1826. 

No  work  which  treats  of  American  literature  should  fail  to  notice  him  whoso  . 
works  on  English  philology  have  been  the  standard  educational  books  on  both 
sides  of  the  Atlantic  for  half  a  century.  Lindley  Murray  was  born  at  Swatara, 
near  Lancaster,  Pennsylvania,  in  1745.  He  was  quite  young  when  his  father,  an 
enterprising  trader  and  miller,  removed  to  New  York,  and  there  established  him- 
self as  a  merchant.  Lindley  had,  very  early,  a  great  ardor  in  the  pursuit  of 
knowledge;  and,  after  being  a  few  years  in  his  father's  counting-room,  he  deter- 
mined to  enter  the  legal  pi-ofession,  for  which  he  had  long  felt  an  inclination ;  and 
his  father  gave  him  permission  to  prepare  himself  for  it.  He  entered  the  office 
of  his  father's  counsellor,  Benjamin  Kissam,  Esq.,  and  was  for  some  time  a  fellow- 
student  of  the  illustrious  John  Jay. 

After  remaining  four  years  in  Mr.  Kissam's  office,  Mr.  Murray  was  admitted  to 
the  bar,  and  entered  upon  the  practice  of  his  profession ;  and  the  next  year 
he  formed  a  happy  matrimonial  connection;  but  soon  his  father,  whose  health 
was  feeble,  went  to  England  on  business,  and  in  a  year  sent  for  his  son  to  join 
him.  He  did  so,  and  the  united  families  remained  some  time  in  that  country. 
In  1771,  however,  our  author  returned  to  New  York,  and  resumed  the  profession 
of  law,  which  he  practised  on  the  principles  of  the  strictest  Christian  benevolence, 
always  urging  a  peaceable  settlement  of  difficulties  in  every  case  where  it  was  at 
all  practicable.  At  the  commencement  of  the  Revolutionary  struggle,  being  in 
poor  health,  he  removed  to  Long  Island ;  and,  after  residing  there  four  years, 
having  much  improved,  he  returned  to  New  York,  and  entered  into  mercantile 
pursuits.  He  was  very  successful,  and  had  acquired  sufficient  to  make  him  inde- 
pendent of  business,  when  he  was  attacked  by  a  disease  that  completely  debili- 
tated his  whole  muscular  system.  His  physicians  believed  that  the  climate  of 
England  would  be  more  favorable  to  his  health,  and  accordingly  he  and  his  wife 


LINDLEY  MURRAY. 


S5 


embarked  for  that  country  in  1784.  He  selected  as  his  residence  the  village  of 
Holdgate,  within  a  mile  of  York.  His  health  seemed  to  improve  for  a  short  time, 
and  he  was  enabled  to  walk  a  little  in  his  garden ;  but  finally  he  had  to  give  that 
up  and  take  exercise  in  his  carriage.  At  length  he  was  compelled  to  relinquish 
this  also,  and  from  1809  till  his  decease — sixteen  years — he  was  wholly  confined 
to  the  house.  But  his  bodily  sufferings  were  the  means  of  chastening  his  spirit 
and  strengthening  those  feelings  of  piety  and  devotion  which  he  had  long 
cherished.  An  American1  who  visited  him  in  1819  remarks,  "Though  so  weuk 
as  scarcely  able  to  bear  his  own  weight,  he  has  been  enabled,  by  the  power  of  a 
strong  and  well-balanced  mind,  and  by  the  exercise  of  the  Christian  virtues,  to 
gain  a  complete  ascendency  over  himself,  and  to  exhibit  an  instance  of  meekness, 
patience,  and  humility  which  affords,  I  may  truly  say,  one  of  the  most  edifying 
examples  I  have  ever  beheld."  On  the  16th  of  February,  1826,  this  eminently 
good  man  closed  his  earthly  career. 

Few  authors  have  so  wide-spread  a  fame  as  Lindley  Murray,  and  few  have  had 
so  many  readers.  His  first  publication  Avas  The  Power  of  Religion  on  the  Mind, — 
a  treatise  of  great  excellence,  which  was  very  favorably  received,  and  passed 
through  numerous  editions.  His  next  work  was  his  English  Grammar,  which  was 
soon  followed  by  his  English  Reader;  and  it  is  doubtless  the  fact  that  no  other 
school-books  have  ever  enjoyed  so  wide  a  circulation.  He  afterwards  published 
au  Introduction  and  a  Sequel  to  the  Reader,  an  octavo  edition  of  his  Grammar, 
and  several  other  minor  works  on  the  English  language. 

The  following  prose  extracts  are  from  a  series  of  letters  of  an  autobiographical 
character. 

MODERATION  IX  ONE'S  DESIRES. 

My  views  and  wishes,  with  regard  to  property,  were,  in  every 
period  of  life,  contained  within  a  very  moderate  compass.  I  was 
early  persuaded  that,  though  "  a  competence  is  vital  to  content,"  I 
ought  not  to  annex  to  that  term  the  idea  of  much  property.  And 
I  determined  that  when  I  should  acquire  enough  to  enable  me  to 
maintain  and  provide  for  my  family,  in  a  respectable  and  mode- 
rate manner,  and  this  according  to  real  and  rational,  not  imaginary 
and  fantastic  wants,  and  a  little  to  spare  for  the  necessities  of 
others,  I  would  decline  the  pursuits  of  property,  and  devote  a 
great  part  of  my  time,  in  some  way  or  other,  to  the  benefit  of  my 
fellow-creatures,  within  the  sphere  of  my  abilities  to  serve  them. 
I  perceived  that  the  desire  of  great  possessions  generally  expands 
with  the  gradual  acquisition  and  the  full  attainment  of  them ;  and 
I  imagined  that  charity  and  a  generous  application  do  not  suffi- 
ciently correspond  with  the  increase  of  property.  I  thought,  too, 
that  procuring  great  wealth  has  a  tendency  to  produce  an  elated 
independence  of  mind,  little  connected  with  that  humility  which 
is  the  ground  of  all  our  virtues ;  that  a  busy  and  anxious  pursuit 
of  it  often  excludes  views  and  reflections  of  infinite  importance, 


1  Prof.  Griscom. 

8 


86 


LINDLEY  MURRAY. 


and  leaves  but  little  time  to  acquire  that  treasure  which  would 
make  us  rich  indeed.  I  was  inclined  to  think  that  a  wish  for 
personal  distinction  a  desire  of  providing  too  abundantly  for  their 
children,  and  a  powerful  habit  of  accumulation,  are  the  motives 
which  commonly  actuate  men  in  the  acquisition  of  great  wealth. 
The  strenuous  endeavors  of  many  persons  to  vindicate  this  pur- 
suit, on  the  ground  that  the  idea  of  a  competency  is  indefinite,  and 
that  the  more  we  gain,  the  more  good  we  may  do  with  it,  did  not 
make  much  impression  upon  me.  I  fancied  that,  in  general,  ex- 
perience did  not  correspond  with  this  plausible  reasoning;  and  I 
was  persuaded  that  a  truly  sincere  mind  could  be  at  no  loss  to  dis- 
cern the  just  limits  between  a  safe  and  competent  portion  and  a 
dangerous  profusion  of  the  good  things  of  life.  These  views  of 
the  subject  I  reduced  to  practice;  and  terminated  my  mercantile 
concerns  when  I  had  acquired  a  moderate  competency. 

EMPLOYMENT  ESSENTIAL  TO  HEALTH. 

In  the  course  of  my  literary  labors,  I  found  that  the  mental 
exercise  which  accompanied  them  was  not  a  little  beneficial  to  my 
health.  The  motives  which  excited  me  to  write,  and  the  objects 
which  I  hoped  to  accomplish,  were  of  a  nature  calculated  to  cheer 
the  mind,  and  to  give  the  animal  spirits  a  salutary  impulse.  I  am 
persuaded  that,  if  I  had  suffered  my  time  to  pass  away,  with  little 
or  no  employment,  my  health  would  have  been  still  more  im- 
paired, my  spirits  depressed,  and,  perhaps,  my  life  considerably 
shortened.  I  have,  therefore,  reason  to  deem  it  a  happiness,  and 
a  source  of  gratitude  to  Divine  Providence,  that  I  was  enabled, 
under  my  bodily  weakness  and  confinement,  to  turn  my  attention 
to  the  subjects  which  have  for  so  many  years  afforded  me  abun- 
dant occupation.  I  think  it  is  incumbent  upon  us,  whatever  may 
be  our  privations,  to  cast  our  eyes  around,  and  endeavor  to  dis- 
cover whether  there  are  not  some  means  yet  left  us  of  doing  good 
to  ourselves  and  to  others ;  that  our  lights  may,  in  some  degree, 
shine  in  every  situation,  and,  if  possible,  be  extinguished  only 
with  our  lives.  The  quantum  of  good  which,  under  such  circum- 
stances, we  do,  ought  not  to  disturb  or  affect  us.  If  we  perform 
what  we  are  able  to  perform,  how  little  soever  it  may  be,  it  is 
enough ;  it  will  be  acceptable  in  the  sight  of  Him  who  knows  how 
to  estimate  exactly  all  our  actions,  by  comparing  them  with  our 
disposition  and  ability. 

THE  BLESSINGS  OF  AFFLICTION. 

I  consider  myself  as  under  deep  obligations  to  God  for  the 
trials  and  afflictions  with  which  he  has  been  pleased  to  visit  me, 


DAVID  RAMSEY. 


87 


as  well  as  for  the  prosperous  events  of  my  life.  They  have  been 
the  corrections  and  restraints  of  a  wise  and  merciful  Father;  and 
may  justly  be  ranked  among  the  number  of  my  choicest  blessings. 
I  am  firmly  persuaded  that  cross  occurrences  and  adverse  situa- 
tions may  be  improved  by  us  to  the  happiest  purposes.  The  spirit 
of  resignation  to  the  will  of  Heaven,  which  they  inculcate,  and 
the  virtuous  exertions  to  which  they  prompt  us,  in  order  to  make 
the  best  of  our  condition,  not  only  often  greatly  amend  it,  but 
confer  on  the  mind  a  strength  and  elevation  which  dispose  it  to 
survey  with  less  attachment  the  transient  things  of  time,  and  to 
desire  more  earnestly  the  eternal  happiness  of  another  world. 


DAVID  RAMSEY,  1749—1815. 

David  Ramsey,  the  historian  of  the  Revolution,  was  horn  in  Lancaster  County, 
Pennsylvania,  on  the  2d  of  April,  1749.  His  father,  James  Ramsey,  was  a  re- 
spectable farmer,  who  had  emigrated  from  Ireland,  and  by  the  diligent  culti- 
vation of  his  farm  was  enabled  to  educate  a  numerous  family.  A  Protestant 
Christian,  he  early  sowed  the  seeds  of  religion  in  the  minds  of  his  children,  and 
lived  to  see  the  happy  fruits  of  his  care  and  labor.  Our  author  when  a  youth 
showed  great  quickness  of  intellect,  and,  after  going  through  the  usual  pre- 
paratory studies,  entered  Princeton  College,  where  he  graduated  in  1765,  being 
only  sixteen  years  of  age.  After  teaching  for  two  years,  he  commenced  the  study 
of  medicine  in  Philadelphia,  under  Dr.  Rush,  and  in  1772  entered  upon  its 
practice  in  Maryland.  The  next  year  he  removed  to  Charleston,  S.  C,  and 
rose  rapidly  to  eminence  in  his  profession  and  in  the  respect  of  the  community.1 
His  talents,  business  habits,  and  industry  eminently  qualified  him  for  an  active 
part  in  public  affairs,  and  from  the  time  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence  to 
the  close  of  the  war  he  was  a  member  of  the  Legislature  of  South  Carolina.  In 
February,  1782,  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the  Continental  Congress,  and  again 
in  1785.  The  next  year  he  returned  to  Charleston,  and  again  entered  the  walks 
of  private  life. 

From  the  beginning  to  the  close  of  the  war,  Dr.  Ramsey  had  been  carefully 
collecting  materials  for  its  history,  and  in  1785  published  his  History  of  the  Revo- 
lution in  South  Carolina.  Five  years  after,  in  1790,  when  he  had  studied  the  sub- 
ject more  thoroughly,  and  had  gained  much  valuable  information  from  many  dis- 
tinguished actors  in  its  scenes,  he  published  his  History  of  the  American  Revolu- 
tion, which  was  received  with  universal  approbation.    In  1801,  he  published  his 


1  On  his  going  to  Charleston,  Dr.  Rush  wrote  a  commendatory  letter,  to  aid  him 
in  his  profession,  in  which  he  says,  "It  is  saying  but  little  of  him  to  tell  you  that  he 
is  far  superior  to  any  person  we  ever  graduated  at  our  college ;  his  abilities  are  not 
only  good,  but  great ;  his  talents  and  knowledge  universal.  *  *  *  Joined  to  all 
these,  he  is  sound  in  his  principles,  strict,  nay  more,  severe  in  his  morals.  He 
writes,  talks,  and — what  is  more — lives  well." 


88 


DAVID  RAMSEY. 


Life  of  Washington,  which  still  maintains  a  high  reputation.  In  1808,  he  gave  t<* 
the  world  a  History  of  South  Carolina,  in  two  volumes  octavo.  Besides  these 
historical  works,  he  published  a  number  of  essays  connected  with  his  profession; 
a  Biographical  Chart,  to  facilitate  the  study  of  history;  and  a  Eulogium  on  .Dr. 
Rush.  He  had  made  preparations  for  publishing  a  larger  historical  work  upon 
our  country,  when  he  was  suddenly  deprived  of  life,  being  shot  by  a  lunatic,  in  the 
streets  of  Charleston,  on  the  8th  of  May,  1815. 

WASHINGTON  RESIGNING  HIS  COMMISSION. 

The  hour  now  approached  in  which  it  became  necessary  for  the 
American  chief  to  take  leave  of  his  officers,  who  had  been  endeared 
to  him  by  a  long  series  of  common  sufferings  and  dangers.  This 
was  done  in  a  solemn  manner.  The  officers  having  previously 
assembled  for  the  purpose,  General  Washington  joined  them,  and, 
calling  for  a  glass  of  wine,  thus  addressed  them  : — "With  a  heart 
full  of  love  and  gratitude,  I  now  take  leave  of  you.  I  most  de- 
voutly wish  that  your  latter  days  may  be  as  prosperous  and  happy 
as  your  former  ones  have  been  glorious  and  honorable/'  Having 
drank,  he  added,  "  I  cannot  come  to  each  of  you  to  take  my  leave, 
but  shall  be  obliged  to  you  if  each  of  you  will  come  and  take  me 
by  the  hand."  General  Knox,  being  next,  turned  to  him.  In- 
capable of  utterance,  Washington  grasped  his  hand,  and  embraced 
him.  The  officers  came  up  successively,  and  he  took  an  affection- 
ate leave  of  each  of  them.  Not  a  word  was  articulated  on  either 
side.  A  majestic  silence  prevailed.  The  tear  of  sensibility  glis- 
tened in  every  eye.  The  tenderness  of  the  scene  exceeded  all 
description.  When  the  last  of  the  officers  had  taken  his  leave, 
Washington  left  the  room,  and  passed  through  the  corps  of  light 
infantry  to  the  place  of  embarkation.  The  officers  followed  in  a 
solemn,  mute  procession,  with  dejected  countenances.  On  his 
entering  the  barge  to  cross  the  North  Kiver,  he  turned  towards 
the  companions  of  his  glory,  and,  by  waving  his  hat,  bid  them  a 
silent  adieu.  Some  of  them  answered  this  last  signal  of  respect 
and  affection  with  tears ;  and  all  of  them  gazed  upon  the  barge 
which  conveyed  him  from  their  sight  till  they  could  no  longer 
distinguish  in  it  the  person  of  their  beloved  commander-in-chief. 

The  army  being  disbanded,  Washington  proceeded  to  Annapolis, 
then  the  seat  of  Congress,  to  resign  his  commission.  On  his  way 
thither,  he,  of  his  own  accord,  delivered  to  the  comptroller  of 
accounts  in  Philadelphia  an  account  of  the  expenditure  of  all  the 
public  money  he  had  ever  received.  This  was  in  his  own  hand- 
writing, and  every  entry  was  made  in  a  very  particular  manner. 
Vouchers  were  produced  for  every  item,  except  for  secret  intelli- 
gence and  services,  which  amounted  to  no  more  than  1982  pounds, 
10  shillings  sterling.    The  whole  which,  in  the  course  of  eight 


JOHN  TRUMBULL. 


89 


years  of  war,  had  passed  through  his  hands,  amounted  only  to 
14,479  pounds,  18  shillings,  9  pence  sterling.  Nothing  was 
charged  or  retained  for  personal  services;  and  actual  disburse- 
ments had  been  managed  with  such  economy  and  fidelity,  that 
they  were  all  covered  by  the  above  moderate  sum. 

After  accounting  for  all  his  expenditures  of  public  money, 
(secret-service  money,  for  obvious  reasons,  excepted,)  with  all  the 
exactness  which  established  forms  required  from  the  inferior 
officers  of  his  army,  he  hastened  to  resign  into  the  hands  of  the 
fathers  of  his  country  the  powers  with  which  they  had  invested 
him.  This  was  done  in  a  public  audience.  Congress  received 
him  as  the  founder  and  guardian  of  the  republic.  While  he  ap- 
peared before  them,  they  silently  retraced  the  scenes  of  danger 
and  distress  through  which  they  had  passed  together.  They  re- 
called to  mind  the  blessings  of  freedom  and  peace  purchased  by 
his  arm.  They  gazed  with  wonder  on  their  fellow-citizen,  who 
appeared  more  great  and  worthy  of  esteem  in  resigning  his  power 
than  he  had  done  in  gloriously  using  it.  Every  heart  was  big 
with  emotion.  Tears  of  admiration  and  gratitude  burst  from 
every  eye.  The  general  sympathy  was  felt  by  the  resigning  hero, 
and  wet  his  cheek  with  a  nianly  tear.  *  *  * 

His  own  sensations,  after  retiring  from  public  business,  are  thus 
expressed  in  his  letters  : — "  I  am  just  beginning  to  experience  the 
ease  and  freedom  from  public  cares,  which,  however  desirable,  it 
takes  some  time  to  realize  j  for,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  it  is 
nevertheless  true,  that  it  was  not  until  lately  I  could  get  the 
better  of  my  usual  custom  of  ruminating,  as  soon  as  I  awoke  in 
the  morning,  on  the  business  of  the  ensuing  day;  and  of  my  sur- 
prise on  rinding,  after  revolving  many  things  in  my  mind,  that  I 
was  no  longer  a  public  man,  or  had  any  thing  to  do  with  public 
transactions.  I  feel  as  I  conceive  a  wearied  traveller  must  do,  who, 
after  treading  many  a  painful  step  with  a  heavy  burden  on  his 
shoulders,  is  eased  of  the  latter,  having  reached  the  haven  to 
which  all  the  former  were  directed,  and,  from  his  housetop,  is 
looking  back,  and  tracing  with  an  eager  eye  the  meanders  by 
which  he  escaped  the  quicksands  and  mires  which  lay  in  his  way, 
and  into  which  none  but  the  all-powerful  Guide  and  Dispenser  of 
human  events  could  have  prevented  his  falling." 


JOHN"  TRUMBULL,  1750—1831. 

John  Trumbull,  the  author  of  the  celebrated  poem  McFingal,  was  born  in 
Waterbury,  Connecticut,  on  the  21th  of  April,  1750.  His  father  was  a  Congrega- 
tional clergyman,  of  a  family  distinguished  in  the  literary  and  political  annals  of 

8* 


90  JOHN  TRUMBULL. 

Connecticut,  and  fitted  his  son  for  Yale  College,  where  he  graduated  in  1767,  the 
first  in  his  class  for  genius  and  attainments,  though  but  seventeen  years  of  age. 
He  then  remained  three  years  at  college  as  a  resident  graduate,  devoting  himself 
principally  to  the  study  of  polite  letters,  and  forming  many  valuable  acquaint- 
ances, among  whom  was  Timothy  Dwight,  afterwards  President  of  the  college. 
In  1771,  Trumbull  and  Dwight  were  elected  tutors  of  the  college,  and  exerted  all 
their  energies  to  introduce  an  improved  system  of  study  and  discipline  in  the 
institution. 

In  1772,  Trumbull  published  the  first  part  of  The  Progress  of  Dulness, — a 
satirical  poem  in  Hudibrastic  verse,  exposing  to  ridicule  the  absurd  methods  of 
education  that  then  prevailed.  Tom  Brainless,  a  dunce,  is  sent  to  college,  and, 
with  a  little  smattering  of  Latin  and  Greek,  is  transferred  to  a  country  minister  to 
study  theology,  and  in  due  time  is  "  ground  out"  a  preacher.  In  the  second  part 
a  blow  is  aimed  at  the  coxcombry  of  fashionable  life  in  the  person  of  Dick  Hair- 
brain,  a  conceited  and  idle  fop.  The  third  part  describes  the  life  and  fortunes  of 
Miss  Harriet  Simper,  who  in  ignorance  and  folly,  if  not  in  hooped  rotundity,  is 
the  counterpart  of  the  said  Hairbrain,  by  whose  charms  she  is  captivated.  But, 
failing  in  her  efforts,  she  consoles  herself  in  later  years  with  the  love  of  the  pro- 
ound  Brainless,  and  their  marriage  concludes  the  poem. 

THE  FOP'S  DECLINE. 

How  pale  the  palsied  fop  appears, 

Low  shivering  in  the  vale  of  years ; 

The  ghost  of  all  his  former  days, 

"When  folly  lent  the  ear  of  praise, 

And  beaux  with  pleased  attention  hung 

On  accents  of  his  chatt'ring  tongue. 

Now  all  those  days  of  pleasure  o'er, 

That  chatt'ring  tongue  must  prate  no  more. 

From  every  place  that  bless'd  his  hopes, 

He's  elbow'd  out  by  younger  fops. 

Each  pleasing  thought  unknown,  that  cheers 

The  sadness  of  declining  years, 

In  lonely  age  he  sinks  forlorn, 

Of  all,  and  even  himself,  the  scorn. 

The  coxcomb's  course  were  gay  and  clever, 
Would  health  and  money  last  forever, 
Did  conscience  never  break  the  charm, 
Nor  fear  of  future  worlds  alarm. 
But  oh,  since  youth  and  years  decay, 
And  life's  vain  follies  fleet  away, 
Since  age  has  no  respect  for  beaux, 
And  death  the  gaudy  scene  must  close, — 
Happy  the  man,  whose  early  bloom 
Provides  for  endless  years  to  come  ; 
That  learning  seeks,  whose  useful  gain 
Kepays  the  course  of  studious  pain ; 
Whose  fame  the  thankful  age  shall  raise, 
And  future  times  repeat  its  praise ; 
Attains  that  heartfelt  peace  of  mind, 
To  all  the  will  of  Heaven  resign'd, 


JOHN  TRUMBULL. 


91 


Which  calms  in  youth,  the  blast  of  rage, 
Adds  sweetest  hope  to  sinking  age, 
AVith  valued  use  prolongs  the  breath, 
And  gives  a  placid  smile  to  death. 


THE  BELLE. 


Thus  Harriet,  rising  on  the  stage, 
Learns  all  the  arts  that  please  the  age ; 
And  studies  well,  as  fits  her  station, 
The  trade  of  politics  and  fashion : 
A  judge  of  modes  in  silks  and  satins, 
From  tassels  down  to  clogs  and  pattens ; 
A  genius,  that  can  calculate 
When  modes  of  dress  are  out  of  date ; 
Cast  the  nativity  with  ease 
Of  gowns,  and  sacks,  and  negligees ; 
And  tell,  exact  to  half  a  minute, 
What's  out  of  fashion  and  what's  in  it. 

On  Sunday,  see  the  haughty  maid 
In  all  the  glare  of  dress  array'd, 
Deck'd  in  her  most  fantastic  gown, 
Because  a  stranger's  come  to  town 
Heedless  at  church  she  spends  the  day, 
For  homelier  folks  may  serve  to  pray, 
And  for  devotion  those  may  go, 
Who  can  have  nothing  else  to  do. 
Beauties  at  church  may  spend  their  care  in 
Far  other  work  than  pious  hearing ; 
They've  beaux  to  conquer,  belles  to  rival ; 
To  make  them  serious  were  uncivil. 
For,  like  the  preacher,  they  each  Sunday 
Must  do  their  whole  week's  work  in  one  day. 

As  though  they  meant  to  take  by  blows 
Th'  opposing  galleries  of  beaux,1 
To  church  the  female  squadron  move, 
All  arm'd  with  weapons  used  in  love. 
Like  color'd  ensigns  gay  and  fair, 
High  caps  rise  floating  in  the  air ; 
Bright  silk,  its  varied  radiance  flings, 
And  streamers  wave  in  kissing-strings  ; 
Each  bears  th'  artill'ry  of  her  charms, 
Like  training  bands  at  viewing  arms. 


While  acting  as  tutor,  Trumbull  gave  all  his  leisure  time  to  the  study  of  law, 
and  in  1773  was  admitted  to  the  bar  of  Connecticut;  and  soon  his  professional 
prospects  were  very  flattering.  But  his  heart  was  always  more  in  literature  than 
in  law.  In  1775,  he  published  the  first  part  of  McFingal,  and  when  he  removed 
with  his  family2  to  Hartford,  in  1781,  he  completed  it.   This  poem,  in  four  cantos, 


1  Young  people  of  different  sexes  used  then  to  sit  in  the  opposite  galleries. 

2  In  1776,  he  was  married  to  Miss  Sarah  Hubbard,  daughter  of  Leverett 
Hubbard. 


02 


JOHN  TRUMBULL. 


which  had  such  great  celebrity  in  its  day,  is  in  the  Hudibrastic  vein,  and  an  ad- 
mirable imitation  of  the  great  satire  of  Butler.  Its  hero  is  a  Scottish  justice  of 
the  peace,  a  high  Tory,  residing  near  Boston ;  and  the  first  two  cantos  are  chiefly 
occupied  with  a  discussion  at  a  "Town  Meeting"  between  him  and  one  Honorious, 
a  stanch  Whig,  who  takes  the  American  side  in  politics.  The  meeting  ends  in  a 
riot.  In  the  third  canto,  McFingal  is  seized  by  the  mob,  tried  at  the  foot  of  the 
"  Liberty  Pole,"  convicted  of  Toryism,  and  sentenced  to  "  tar  and  feathers."  In 
the  fourth  and  last  canto,  McFingal  assembles  his  Tory  friends  in  a  cellar,  ha- 
rangues them  upon  their  disastrous  prospects,  and,  by  virtue  of  his  second-sight, 
foretells  the  calamities  that  would  befall  the  British  arms,  and  the  sure  success  of 
the  cause  of  freedom.  His  speech  is  suddenly  interrupted  by  an  invasion  of  his 
old  enemies,  the  company  is  dispersed,  the  hero  escapes  to  Boston,  and  the  poem 
closes. 

CHARACTER  OF  MCFINGAL. 

When  Yankees,1  skill' d  in  martial  rule 
First  put  the  British  troops  to  school, 
Instructed  them  in  warlike  trade, 
And  new  manoeuvres  of  parade, 
The  true  war-dance  of  Yankee  reels, 
And  manual  exercise  of  heels  ; 
Made  them  give  u]),  like  saints  complete, 
The  arm  of  flesh,  and  trust  the  feet, 
And  work,  like  Christians  undissembling, 
Salvation  out,  by  fear  and  trembling ; 
Taught  Percy  fashionable  races, 
And  modern  modes  of  Chevy-Chases  :2 
From  Boston,  in  his  best  array, 
Great  Squire  McFingal  took  his  way, 
And  graced  with  ensigns  of  renown, 
Steer'd  homeward  to  his  native  toAvn. 

His  high  descent  our  heralds  trace 
From  Ossian's3  famed  Fingalian  race : 
For  though  their  name  some  part  may  lack, 
Old  Fingal  spelt  it  with  a  Mac  ; 
Which  great  McPherson,  with  submission, 
We  hope  will  add  the  next  edition. 

His  fathers  flourish'd  in  the  Highlands 
Of  Scotia's  fog-benighted  islands ; 
Whence  gain'd  our  'squire  two  gifts  by  right, 
Rebellion,  and  the  second-sight. 
Of  these,  the  first,  in  ancient  days, 
Had  gain'd  the  noblest  palm  of  praise, 


1  Yankees, — a  term  formerly  of  derision,  but  now  merely  of  distinction,  given  to 
the  people  of  the  four  Eastern  States. — Lon.  Edit. 

2  Lord  Percy  commanded  the  party  that  was  first  opposed  to  the  Americans  at 
Lexington.  This  allusion  to  the  family  renown  of  Chevy-Chase  arose  from  the 
precipitate  manner  of  his  lordship's  quitting  the  field  of  battle  and  returning  to 
Boston. — Lon.  Edit. 

3  See  Fingal,  an  ancient  epic  poem,  published  as  the  work  of  Ossian,  a  Cale- 
donian bard  of  the  third  century,  by  James  McPherson.  The  complete  name  of 
Ossian,  according  to  the  Scottish  nomenclature,  will  be  Ossian  McFingal. 


JOHN  TRUMBULL. 


93 


'Gainst  kings  stood  forth,  and  many  a  crown'd  head 
With  terror  of  its  might  confounded.  *  *  * 

Nor  less  avail'd  his  optic  sleight, 
And  Scottish  gift  of  second-sight.1 
No  ancient  sibyl,  famed  in  rhyme, 
Saw  deeper  in  the  womb  of  time ; 
No  block  in  old  Dodona's  grove 
Could  ever  more  orac'lar  prove. 
Nor  only  saw  he  all  that  could  be, 
But  much  that  never  was,  nor  would  be ; 
Whereby  all  prophets  far  outwent  he, 
Though  former  days  produced  a  plenty : 
For  any  man  with  half  an  eye 
What  stands  before  him  can  espy  ; 
But  optics  sharp  it  needs,  I  ween, 
To  see  what  is  not  to  be  seen. 

McFINGAL's  VISION  OF  AMERICAN  GREATNESS. 

And  see,  (sight  hateful  and  tormenting!) 
This  rebel  Empire,  proud  and  vaunting, 
From  anarchy  shall  change  her  crasis, 
And  fix  her  power  on  firmer  basis ; 
To  glory,  wealth,  and  fame  ascend, 
Her  commerce  wake,  her  realms  extend ; 
Where  now  the  panther  guards  his  den, 
Her  desert  forests  swarm  with  men ; 
Gay  cities,  towers,  and  columns  rise, 
And  dazzling  temples  meet  the  skies  : 
Her  pines,  descending  to  the  main, 
2    In  triumph  spread  the  wat'ry  plain, 
Ride  inland  seas  with  fav'ring  gales, 
And  crowd  her  port  with  whitening  sails: 
Till  to  the  skirts  of  western  day, 
The  peopled  regions  own  her  sway. 

These  specimens  will  give  the  reader  some  idea  of  the  merits  of  two  poems  that, 
in  their  day,  had  a  wide  celebrity,  hut  which  are  now  very  little  read. 

After  filling  many  honorable  offices,  in  1801  Trumbull  was  appointed  a  Judge 
of  the  Superior  Court.  In  1820,  a  collection  of  his  poems  was  made,  in  two 
volumes  octavo,  to  which  he  prefixed  a  memoir.  In  1825,  he  removed  to  Detroit, 
to  reside  with  his  daughter,  the  wife  of  Hon.  William  Woodbridge,  with  whom  he 
remained  till  the  time  of  his  death,  which  took  place  in  May,  1831. 

Judge  Trumbull  maintained  through  life  an  honorable  and  upright  character, 
ilsa  scholar,  a  wit,  a  gentleman,  he  was  greatly  admired  by  all  who  knew  him, 
and  he  has  left  a  name  which  must  always  sustain  a  conspicuous  place  in  the 
early  history  of  American  letters.2 


1  They  who  wish  to  understand  the  nature  and  modus  operandi  of  the  Highland 
vision  by  second-sight,  may  consult  the  profound  Johnson,  in  his  "  Tour  to  the 
Hebrides,"  Lon.  Edit. 

2  President  Dwight  thus  writes  of  Trumbull's  poem : — "  It  may  be  observed, 
without  any  partiality,  that  McFingal  is  not  inferior  in  wit  and  humor  to  Hudi- 


94 


JOHN  LEDYARD. 


JOHN  LEDYARD,  1751—1788. 

John  Ledyard,  the  celebrated  traveller,  was  born  at  Groton,  Connecticut,  in 
tbe  year  1751.  His  father  died  when  he  was  quite  young,  leaving  his  mother  with 
four  children,  in  very  straitened  circumstances.  She  is  described  as  a  woman  of 
many  excellencies  of  mind  and  character,  well  informed,  resolute,  generous, 
amiable,  and,  above  all,  eminent  for  piety.  Such  a  mother  is  a  priceless  treasure; 
and  Ledyard  preserved  to  the  end  of  his  life  a  warm  and  most  devoted  affection 
for  her.  After  a  few  years,  he  was  taken  to  Hartford  by  his  grandfather,  and 
placed  in  a  grammar-school.  At  the  age  of  twenty-one,  he  went  to  Dartmouth 
College,  with  a  view  of  qualifying  himself  to  become  a  missionary  among  the 
Indians.  But  this  project  was  soon  abandoned,  and  Ledyard,  after  remaining  at 
college  about  a  year,  returned  to  his  father's  house,  sailing  down  the  Connecticut 
to  Hartford  in  a  canoe  which  he  made  from  the  trunk  of  a  tree.  So  early  did  his 
roving  spirit  manifest  itself. 

Soon  after  this  adventure,  he  resolved  to  go  to  sea,  and  accordingly  entered, 
as  a  common  sailor,  a  vessel  at  New  London,  bound  for  Gibraltar.  He  returned 
home  again  after  a  year,  but,  having  no  means  of  support,  concluded  to  go  to 
England  in  search  of  some  rich  relations  of  his  own  name  in  London.  He  sailed 
from  New  York  for  Plymouth,  and  thence,  without  a  penny  in  his  pocket,  walked 
to  London,  begging  enough  for  subsistence  on  the  road.  When  he  arrived  at  the 
metropolis,  he  found  one  of  the  persons  of  whom  he  was  in  quest ;  but  so  coldly 
and  distrustfully  was  he  received,  that  the  spirit  of  Ledyard  would  not  allow 
him  to  sue  for  any  favors. 

Just  at  this  time,  Captain  Cook  was  making  preparations  for  his  third  and  last 
voyage  around  the  world.  Ledyard  offered  his  services  to  the  renowned  navigator, 
who  was  so  much  pleased  with  his  manner  and  appearance,  and  with  his  enthu- 
siasm for  travel,  that  he  immediately  took  him  into  his  service,  and  appointed  him 
corporal  of  marines.  The  expedition  left  England  on  the  12th  of  July,  1776,  and 
returned  after  an  absence  of  four  years  and  three  months.  Ledyard  kept  a  jour- 
nal of  the  voyage ;  and  his  account  of  the  scene  at  the  Sandwich  Islands,  which 
resulted  in  the  death  of  Captain  Cook,  is  particularly  valuable,  as  he  was  near  his 
person  at  the  time  of  the  skirmish  with  the  natives.  For  two  years  after  his  return 
to  England  he  continued  in  the  British  navy,  though  in  what  capacity  it  is  not 
known;  and  in  December,  1782,  he  came  home  to  visit  his  mother  and  friends. 
His  restless  spirit,  however,  could  not  long  be  tranquil,  and  he  projected  a  voyage 
to  the  Northwest  coast  for  furs ;  but,  after  trying  in  vain  a  whole  year  to  persuade 
some  merchants  in  New  York  and  Boston  to  embark  in  the  enterprise,  he  sailed 


bras,  and  in  every  other  respect  is  superior.  It  has  a  regular  plan,  in  which  all 
the  parts  are  well  proportioned  and  connected.  The  subject  is  fairly  proposed, 
and  the  story  conducted  correctly  through  a  series  of  advancements  and  retarda- 
tions to  a  catastrophe  which  is  natural  and  complete.  The  versification  is  far 
better,  the  poetry  is  in  several  instances  in  a  good  degree  elegant,  and  in  some 
even  sublime." 

"  Trumbull  was  undoubtedly  the  most  conspicuous  literary  character  of  his  day 
in  this  country.  His  society  was  much  sought,  and  he  was  the  nucleus  of  a  band 
of  brilliant  geniuses,  including  Dwight,  Hopkins,  Alsop,  Humphreys,  &c." — 
Goodrich's  Recollections. 


JOHN  LEDYARD. 


95 


for  France.  There  he  met  with  such  continued  disappointments  as  would  have 
broken  down  any  one  who  had  not  his  persevering,  adventurous  spirit;  but  we 
find  him  the  next  year  projecting  a  journey  across  Russia  and  Siberia  to  Okhotsk, 
which  was  warmly  approved  of  by  Sir  Joseph  Banks  and  other  gentlemen  of 
science  in  London. 

In  December,  1786,  Ledyard  left  London  for  Hamburg,  to  set  out  on  his  hyper- 
borean tour.  He  arrived  in  Copenhagen  in  January,  thence  sailed  to  Stock- 
holm, and  reached  St.  Petersburg  by  the  20th  of  March.  Here  he  suffered  many 
vexatious  delays  before  he  could  get  his  passport  from  the  Empress  to  travel 
through  her  dominions.  He  at  length  left  the  imperial  city  on  the  1st  of  June,  in 
company  with  Mr.  William  Brown,  a  Scotch  physician,  who  was  going  to  the  pro- 
vince of  Kolyvan,  in  the  employment  of  the  Empress.  In  six  days  the  party 
arrived  at  Moscow,  where  they  stayed  but  one  day.  They  hired  a  person  to  go 
with  them  to  Kazan,  a  distance  of  550  miles,  and  drive  their  kibitka  with  three 
horses.  "Kibitka  travelling,"  says  Ledyard,  in  his  journal,  "is  the  remains  of 
caravan  travelling ;  it  is  your  only  home ;  it  is  like  a  ship  at  sea."  They  stayed 
a  week  at  Kazan,  and  then  commenced  their  journey  to  Tobolsk,  where  they 
arrived  on  the  11th  of  July.  They  remained  here  but  three  days,  and  then  con- 
tinued their  journey  to  Barnaul,  the  capital  of  the  province  of  Kolyvan. 

At  this  place  Ledyard  was  to  leave  Dr.  Brown  and  proceed  alone.  He,  there- 
fore, was  prevailed  upon  to  remain  here  a  week,  and  enjoy  the  hospitalities  of  the 
society.    In  his  journal  he  writes  thus  of 

THE  TARTARS  AND  RUSSIANS. 

The  nice  gradation  by  which  I  pass  from  civilization  to  incivi- 
lization  appears  in  every  thing, — in  manners,  dress,  language; 
and  particularly  in  that  remarkable  and  important  circumstance, 
color,  which,  I  am  now  fully  convinced,  originates  from  natural 
causes,  and  is  the  effect  of  external  and  local  circumstances.  I 
think  the  same  of  feature.  I  see  here  among  the  Tartars  the 
large  mouth,  the  thick  lip,  the  broad,  flat  nose,  as  well  as  in 
Africa.  I  see  also  in  the  same  village  as  great  a  difference  of 
complexion,  from  the  fair  hair,  fair  skin,  and  white  eyes,  to  the 
olive,  the  black  jetty  hair  and  eyes;  and  these  all  of  the  same 
language,  same  dress,  and,  I  suppose,  same  tribe.  I  have  fre- 
quently observed  in  Russian  villages,  obscure  and  dirty,  mean  and 
poor,  that  the  women  of  the  peasantry  paint  their  faces,  both  red 
and  white.  I  have  had  occasion,  from  this  and  other  circum- 
stances, to  suppose  that  the  Russians  are  a  people  who  have  been 
early  attached  to  luxury.  The  contour  of  their  manners  is 
Asiatic,  and  not  European.  The  Tartars  are  universally  neater 
than  the  Russians,  particularly  in  their  houses.  The  Tartar,  how- 
ever situated,  is  a  voluptuary ;  and  it  is  an  original  and  striking 
trait  in  their  character,  from  the  Grand  Seignior,  to  him  who 
pitches  his  tent  on  the  wild  frontiers  of  Russia  and  China,  that 


96 


JOHN  LEDYARD. 


the}'  are  more  addicted  to  real  sensual  pleasure  than  any  other 
people. 

After  spending  a  week  very  agreeably  at  Barnaul,  Lc<Jyard  made  preparations 
for  resuming  his  journey,  and  reached  Yakutsk,  on  the  Lena,  on  the  18th  of 
September.  Here  he  was  told  by  the  authorities  that  the  journey  to  Okhotsk  at 
that  season  was  impracticable, — a  mild  manner  of  telling  him  that  he  must  not  go. 
He  therefore  resolved  to  make  the  best  use  of  his  time,  and  lost  no  opportunity 
of  gaining  all  the  knowledge  he  could  of  the  country  and  the  people.  The  fol- 
lowing are  two  extracts  from  his  journal  at  this  place  : — 

PHYSIOGNOMY  OF  THE  TARTARS. 

The  Tartar  face,  in  the  first  impression  it  gives,  approaches 
nearer  to  the  African  than  the  European ;  and  this  impression  is 
strengthened  on  a  more  deliberate  examination  of  the  individual 
features  and  whole  compages  of  the  countenance ;  yet  it  is  very 
different  from  an  African  face.  The  nose  forms  a  strong  feature 
in  the  human  face.  I  have  seen  instances  among  the  Kalmuks 
where  the  nose,  between  the  eyes,  has  been  much  flatter  and 
broader  than  I  have  ever  witnessed  in  Negroes,  and  some  few  in- 
stances where  it  has  been  as  broad  over  the  nostrils  quite  to  the 
end;  but  the  nostrils  in  any  case  are  much  smaller  than  in 
Negroes.  Where  I  have  seen  those  noses,  they  were  accompanied 
with  a  large  mouth  and  thick  lips;  and  these  people  were  genuine 
Kalmuk  Tartars.  The  nose  protuberates  but  little  from  the  face, 
and  is  shorter  than  that  of  the  European.  The  eyes  universally 
are  at  a  great  distance  from  each  other,  and  very  small ;  at  each 
corner  of  the  eye  the  skin  projects  over  the  ball;  the  part  appears 
swelled ;  the  eyelids  go  in  nearly  a  straight  line  from  corner  to 
corner.  When  open,  the  eye  appears  as  in  a  square  frame.  The 
mouth  generally,  however,  is  of  a  middling  size,  and  the  lips  thin. 
The  next  remarkable  features  are  the  cheek  bones.  These,  like 
the  eyes,  are  very  remote  from  each  other,  high,  broad,  and  withal 
project  a  little  forward.  The  face  is  flat.  When  I  look  at  a 
Tartar  en  profile,  I  can  hardly  see  the  nose  between  the  eyes,  and 
if  he  blow  a  coal  of  fire,  I  cannot  see  the  nose  at  all.  The  face  is 
then  like  an  inflated  bladder.  The  forehead  is  narrow  and  low. 
The  face  has  a  fresh  color,  and  on  the  cheek  bones  there  is  com- 
monly a  good  ruddy  hue. 

The  Tartars,  from  time  immemorial,  (I  mean  the  Asiatic  Tar- 
tars,) have  been  a  people  of  a  wandering  disposition.  Their  con- 
verse has  been  more  among  the  beasts  of  the  forest  than  among 
men ;  and  when  among  men,  it  has  only  been  those  of  their  own 
nation.  They  have  ever  been  savages,  averse  to  civilization,  and 
have  never,  until  very  lately,  mingled  with  other  nations,  and  now 


JOHN  LEDYARD. 


97 


rarely.  Whatever  cause  may  have  originated  their  peculiarities 
of  features,  the  reason  why  they  still  continue,  is  their  secluded 
way  of  life,  which  has  preserved  them  from  mixing  with  other 
people.  I  am  ignorant  how  far  a  constant  society  with  beasts  may 
operate  in  changing  the  features ;  but  I  am  persuaded  that  this 
circumstance,  together  with  an  uncultivated  state  of  mind, — if  we 
consider  a  long  and  uninterrupted  succession  of  ages, — must 
account,  in  some  degree,  for  this  remarkable  singularity. 

WOMAN. 

I  have  observed  among  all  nations  that  the  women  ornament 
themselves  more  than  tbe  men;  that,  wherever  found,  they  are 
the  same  kind,  civil,  obliging,  humane,  tender  beings ;  that  they 
are  ever  inclined  to  be  gay  and  cheerful,  timorous  and  modest. 
They  do  not  hesitate,  like  man,  to  perform  a  hospitable  or  gene- 
rous action ;  not  haughty,  nor  arrogant,  nor  supercilious,  but  full 
of  courtesy  and  fond  of  society ;  industrious,  economical,  ingenu- 
ous ;  more  liable  in  general  to  err  than  man,  but  in  general  also 
more  virtuous,  and  performing  more  good  actions  than  he.  I  never 
addressed  myself  in  the  language  of  decency  and  friendship  to  a 
woman,  whether  civilized  or  savage,  without  receiving  a  decent 
and  friendly  answer.  With  man  it  has  often  been  otherwise. 
In  wandering  over  the  barren  plains  of  inhospitable  Denmark, 
through  honest  Sweden,  frozen  Lapland,  rude  and  churlish  Fin- 
land, unprincipled  Russia,  and  the  wide-spread  regions  of  the 
wandering  Tartar, — if  hungry,  dry,  cold,  wet,  or  sick,  woman  has 
ever  been  friendly  to  me,  and  uniformly  so ;  and  to  add  to  this 
virtue,  so  worthy  of  the  appellation  of  benevolence,  these  actions 
have  been  performed  in  so  free  and  so  kind  a  manner,  that,  if  I 
was  dry,  I  drank  the  sweet  draught,  and,  if  hungry,  ate  the  coarse 
morsel,  with  a  double  relish. 

On  the  29th  of  December  Ledyard  left  Yakutsk  to  return  to  Irkutsk,  which  he 
reached  in  seventeen  days.  Here,  by  an  order  from  the  Empress,  he  was  arrested, 
under  the  pretence  of  his  being  a  spy,  and  was  conducted  by  two  guai-ds,  with  all 
the  speed  with  which  horses  and  sledges  could  convey  him,  to  Moscow,  exposed 
to  the  extreme  rigors  of  a  Siberian  winter,  and  thence  to  Poland.  Here  he  was 
set  at  liberty,  and  told  that  if  he  ever  entered  Russia  again  it  would  be  at  the  cost 
of  his  life.    While  on  the  journey,  he  thus  writes  on  the 

BLESSINGS  OF  LIBERTY. 

Though  born  in  the  freest  of  the  civilized  countries,  yet,  in 
the  present  state  of  privation,  I  have  a  more  exquisite  sense  of  the 
amiable,  the  immortal  nature  of  liberty  than  I  ever  had  before. 

9 


98 


JAMES  MADISON. 


It  would  be  excellently  qualifying  if  every  man  who  is  called  to 
preside  over  the  liberties  of  a  people  should  once — it  would  be 
enough — actually  be  deprived  of  his  liberty  unjustly.  He  would 
be  avaricious  of  it  more  than  of  any  other  earthly  possession.  I 
could  love  a  country  and  its  inhabitants  if  it  were  a  country  of 
freedom.  There  are  two  kinds  of  people  I  could  anathematize 
with  a  better  weapon  than  St.  Peter's, — those  who  dare  deprive 
others  of  their  liberty,  and  those  who  suffer  others  to  do  it. 

From  Poland  he  went  to  London,  where  he  was  received  with  great  cordiality 
hy  that  munificent  patron  of  letters  and  science,  Sir  Joseph  Banks.  He  had  not 
been  in  London  a  day,  before  a  plan  was  proposed  to  him  to  explore  Central 
Africa;  and  being  asked  when  he  would  be  ready  to  set  out,  "To-morrow  morn- 
ing," was  the  prompt  answer;  and,  the  preparations  for  his  journey  having  been 
made,  he  left  London  on  the  30th  of  June,  under  the  patronage  of  the  "African 
Association."  He  went  first  to  Paris,  thence  to  Marseilles,  thence  sailed  to  Alex- 
andria, and  arrived  at  Cairo  on  the  19th  of  August.  Here,  after  having  spent 
three  months  in  making  every  inquiry  and  preparation  for  his  hazardous  journey, 
just  as  he  was  about  starting,  he  was  attacked  by  a  bilious  fever.  The  best  medi- 
cal skill  of  Cairo  was  called  to  his  aid,  but  without  effect,  and  in  November,  1788, 
in  the  thirty-eighth  year  of  his  age,  he  closed  his  life  of  vicissitude  and  toil  at  the 
moment  when  he  imagined  his  severest  cares  were  over,  and  when  the  prospects 
before  him  were  more  flattering  than  they  had  been  at  any  former  period. 

Such  was  the  end  of  one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  men,  in  whom  the  spirit 
of  romantic  adventure  was  ever  conspicuous.  That  he  accomplished  little  com- 
pared with  the  magnitude  of  his  designs  seems  to  have  been  his  misfortune,  not 
his  fault.  The  acts  of  his  life  demand  notice  less  on  account  of  their  results  than 
of  the  spirit  with  which  they  were  performed,  and  the  uncommon  traits  of  character 
which  prompted  to  their  execution.  Such  instances  of  decision,  energy,  perse- 
verance, fortitude,  and  enterprise  have  rarely  been  witnessed  in  the  same  indi- 
vidual ;  and,  in  the  exercise  of  these  high  attributes  of  mind,  his  example  cannot 
be  too  much  admired  or  imitated.1 


JAMES  MADISON,  1751—1836. 

James  Madison,  the  fourth  President  of  the  United  States,  was  born  in  Orange 
County,  Virginia,  on  the  5th  of  March,  (0.  S.,)  1751.  After  the  usual  preparatory 
studies,  he  entered  Princeton  College  in  1767,  and  graduated  in  1771.  While  at 
college,  he  studied  so  intensely  as  to  impair  his  health,  which  it  took  some  years 
to  recover  after  his  return  home;  during  which  he  devoted  a  portion  of  his  time  to 
reading  law  and  miscellaneous  literature.  In  1776,  he  was  elected  a  member  of 
the  General  Assembly  of  his  native  State.   The  next  year  he  was  appointed  by  the 


1  Read  Sparks's  Life  of  Ledyard;  Quarterly  Review,  xxxviii.  85;  North  Amer. 
Rev.,  xxvii.  360 ;  Amer.  Quar.,  iii.  88. 


JAMES  MADISON. 


99 


Assembly  a  member  of  the  Council  of  State,  which  position  he  held  till  1779,  when 
he  was  elected  a  delegate  to  the  Continental  Congress,  of  which  he  continued  a 
member  till  1784.  In  1787,  he  was  elected  a  member  of  Congress,  and  in  the 
same  year  a  delegate  to  the  Convention  at  Philadelphia  which  formed  the  present 
Constitution  of  the  United  States.  Of  the  debates  of  this  remarkable  body,  he  is 
the  only  one  who  preserved  the  records,  which  were  published  after  his  death,  and 
are  among  the  most  valuable  materials  of  our  country's  history.1  In  the  interval 
between  the  close  of  the  Convention  and  the  meeting  of  the  State  Conventions  to 
sanction  the  Federal  Constitution,  Mr.  Madison,  in  conjunction  with  Alexander 
Hamilton  and  John  Jay,  wrote  a  series  of  articles  in  the  public  prints  in  favor  of 
the  Constitution,  which  were  afterwards  collected  in  a  volume,  entitled  The 
Federalist,2  and  which,  for  half  a  century,  was  a  text-book  in  our  best  colleges. 
On  the  adoption  of  the  Constitution,  he  was  elected  a  representative  to  Congress, 
and  continued  a  member  till  1797,  the  end  of  Washington's  administration. 

On  the  accession  of  Mr.  Jefferson  to  the  Presidency,  in  1801,  Mr.  Madison  was 
appointed  Secretary  of  State,  which  office  he  held  during  the  eight  years  of  Mr. 
Jefferson's  administration;  and  in  1809  he  succeeded  his  friend  and  coadjutor  as 
President  of  the  United  States.  After  having  filled  the  office  for  two  terms,  he  re- 
tired to  his  seat,  Montpelier,  where  he  passed  his  remaining  j-ears,  chiefly  as  a  private 
citizen,  declining  political  office,  except  that  he  acted  as  visitor  and  rector  of  the 
University  of  Virginia,  and  as  a  member  of  the  State  Convention  to  amend  the 
Constitution  of  Virginia.  He  died  on  the  28th  of  June,  1S36,  distinguished  for 
his  talents  and  acquirements,  for  the  important  offices  which  he  had  filled,  and  for 
his  virtues  in  private  life. 

OUR  COUNTRY'S  RESPONSIBILITIES  TO  THE  WORLD. 

Let  it  be  remembered,  that  it  lias  ever  been  the  pride  and  boast 
of  America  that  the  rights  for  which  she  contended  were  the  rights 
of  human  nature.  By  the  blessing  of  the  Author  of  these  rights 
on  the  means  exerted  for  their  defence,  they  have  prevailed  over 
all  opposition.  *  *  *  No  instance  has  heretofore  occurred,  nor 
can  any  instance  be  expected  hereafter  to  occur,  in  which  the  un- 
adulterated forms  of  republican  government  can  pretend  to  so  fair 
an  opportunity  of  justifying  themselves  by  their  fruits.  In  this 
view,  the  citizens  of  the  United  States  are  responsible  for  the 
greatest  trust  ever  confided  to  a  political  society.  If  justice, 
good  faith,  honor,  gratitude,  and  all  the  other  qualities  which 
ennoble  the  character  of  a  nation  and  fulfil  the  ends  of  govern- 


1  Many  of  the  views  advocated  by  Mr.  Madison  in  the  Convention  for  framing 
the  Constitution  will  ever  be  an  honor  to  his  character.  He  thought  the  clause 
allowing  the  "importation  of  such  persons  as  any  State  might  think  proper,"  till 
1808,  ''dishonorable  to  the  American  character."  And  again,  "Mr.  Madison 
thought  it  wrong  to  admit  in  the  Constitution  the  idea  that  there  could  be  property 
in  men." 

2  Of  the  eighty-five  numbers  of  the  "  Federalist,"  five  were  written  by  Jay,  four- 
teen by  Madison,  two  by  Hamilton  and  Madison,  and  sixty-four  by  Hamilton. 
See  the  Life  of  Hamilton  for  a  more  particular  account. 


100 


JAMES  MADISON. 


nient,  be  the  fruits  of  our  establishments,  the  cause  of  liberty  will 
acquire  a  dignity  and  lustre  which  it  has  never  yet  enjoyed;  and 
an  example  will  be  set  which  cannot  but  have  the  most  favorable 
influence  on  the  rights  of  mankind.  If,  on  the  other  side,  our 
governments  should  be  unfortunately  blotted  with  the  reverse  of 
these  cardinal  and  essential  virtues,  the  great  cause  which  we 
have  engaged  to  vindicate  will  be  dishonored  and  betrayed ;  the 
last  and  fairest  experiment  in  favor  of  the  rights  of  human  nature 
will  be  turned  against  them ;  and  their  patrons  and  friends  ex- 
posed to  be  insulted  and  silenced  by  the  votaries  of  tyranny  and 
usurpation. 

AN  APPEAL  FOR  THE  UNION. 

I  submit  to  you,  my  fellow-citizens,  these  considerations,  in  full 
confidence  that  the  good  sense  which  has  so  often  marked  your 
decisions  will  allow  them  their  due  weight  and  effect;  and  that 
you  will  never  suffer  difficulties,  however  formidable  in  appear- 
ance, or  however  fashionable  the  error  on  which  they  may  be 
founded,  to  drive  you  into  the  gloomy  and  perilous  scenes  into 
which  the  advocates  for  disunion  would  conduct  you.  Hearken 
not  to  the  unnatural  voice  which  tells  you  that  the  people  of 
America,  knit  together  as  they  are  by  so  many  cords  of  affection, 
can  no  longer  live  together  as  members  of  the  same  family ;  can  no 
longer  continue  the  mutual  guardians  of  their  mutual  happiness ;  can 
no  longer  be  fellow-citizens  of  one  great,  respectable,  and  flourish- 
ing empire.  Hearken  not  to  the  voice  which  petulantly  tells  you 
that  the  form  of  government  recommended  for  your  adoption  is  a 
novelty  in  the  political  world ;  that  it  has  never  yet  had  a  place  in 
the  theories  of  the  wildest  projectors;  that  it  rashly  attempts  what 
it  is  impossible  to  accomplish.  No,  my  countrymen,  shut  your 
ears  against  this  unhallowed  language.  Shut  your  hearts  against 
the  poison  which  it  conveys ;  the  kindred  blood  which  flows  in 
the  veins  of  American  citizens,  the  mingled  blood  which  they 
have  shed  in  defence  of  their  sacred  rights,  consecrate  their 
union,  and  excite  horror  at  the  idea  of  their  becoming  aliens, 
rivals,  enemies.  And  if  novelties  are  to  be  shunned,  believe  me, 
the  most  alarming  of  all  novelties,  the  most  wild  of  all  projects, 
the  most  rash  of  all  attempts,  is  that  of  rending  us  in  pieces  in 
order  to  preserve  our  liberties  and  promote  our  happiness.  But 
why  is  the  experiment  of  an  extended  republic  to  be  rejected, 
merely  because  it  may  comprise  what  is  new  ?  Is  it  not  the  glory 
of  the  people  of  America  that,  whilst  they  have  paid  a  decent  re- 
gard to  the  opinions  of  former  times  and  other  nations,  they  have 
not  suffered  a  blind  veneration  for  antiquity,  for  custom,  or  for 
names,  to  overrule  the  suggestions  of  their  own  good  sense,  the 
knowledge  of  their  own  situation,  and  the  lessons  of  their  own 


ST.  GEORGE  TUCKER. 


101 


experience  ?  To  this  manly  spirit  posterity  will  be  indebted  for 
the  possession,  and  the  world  for  the  example,  of  the  numerous 
innovations  displayed  on  the  American  theatre  in  favor  of  private 
rights  and  public  happiness.  Had  no  important  step  been  taken 
by  the  leaders  of  the  Revolution,  for  which  a  precedent  could  not 
be  discovered ;  had  no  government  been  established,  of  which  an 
exact  model  did  not  present  itself,  the  people  of  the  United  States 
might,  at  this  moment,  have  been  numbered  among  the  melan- 
choly victims  of  misguided  counsels;  must  at  best  have  been 
laboring  under  the  weight  of  some  of  those  forms  which  have 
crushed  the  liberties  of  the  rest  of  mankind.  Happily  for  Ame- 
rica, happily,  we  trust,  for  the  whole  human  race,  they  pursued  a 
new  and  more  noble  course.  They  accomplished  a  revolution 
which  has  no  parallel  in  the  annals  of  human  society.  They 
reared  fabrics  of  government  which  have  no  model  on  the  face  of 
the  globe.  They  formed  the  design  of  a  great  confederacy,  which 
it  is  incumbent  on  their  successors  to  improve  and  perpetuate. 
If  their  works  betray  imperfections,  we  wonder  at  the  fewness  of 
them.  If  they  erred  most  in  the  structure  of  the  Union,  this  was 
the  work  most  difficult  to  be  executed  \  this  is  the  work  which  has 
been  new-modelled  by  the  act  of  your  Convention,  and  it  is  that 
act  on  which  you  are  now  to  deliberate  and  decide. 


ST.  GEORGE  TUCKER,  1752—1827. 

St.  George  Tucker  was  a  native  of  Bermuda;  but,  emigrating  to  Virginia  in 
his  youth,  he  completed  his  education  at  William  and  Mary  College.  He  entered 
the  judiciary  of  the  State  as  a  Judge  of  the  General  Court,  and  was  afterwards 
promoted  to  the  Court  of  Appeals,  of  which  he  became  President.  Resigning  this 
post  in  1811,  he  was  soon  after  brought  into  the  Federal  Judiciary  as  a  judge 
of  the  United  States  District  Court  in  Eastern  Virginia,  which  appointment  he  held 
till  his  death,  which  occurred  in  November,  1827,  in  the  seventy-sixth  year  of  his 
age. 

He  was  distinguished  for  his  scholastic  acquirements,  his  taste  and  wit,  and  was 
greatly  endeared  to  the  society  of  his  friends  by  a  warm-hearted,  impulsive  nature, 
which  gave  a  peculiar  strength  to  his  attachments.  Of  his  numerous  minor 
poetical  pieces,  all  distinguished  by  ease  and  grace,  the  most  pleasing  is  that 
entitled 

DAYS  OF  MY  YOUTH. 

Days  of  my  youth,  ye  have  glided  away : 
Hairs  of  my  youth,  ye  are  frosted  and  gray : 
Eyes  of  my  youth,  your  keen  sight  is  no  more : 
Cheeks  of  my  youth,  ye  are  furrow'd  all  o'er : 
Strength  of  my  youth,  all  your  vigor  is  gone : 
Thoughts  of  my  youth,  your  gay  visions  are  flown. 
9* 


102 


TIMOTHY  DWIGHT. 


Days  of  my  youth,  I  wish  not  your  recall  : 
Hairs  of  my  youth,  I'm  content  ye  should  fall : 
Eyes  of  my  youth,  you  much  evil  have  seen : 
Cheeks  of  my  youth,  bathed  in  tears  you  have  Ibeen  : 
Thoughts  of  my  youth,  you  have  led  me  astray : 
Strength  of  my  youth,  why  lament  your  decay  ? 

Days  of  my  age,  ye  will  shortly  be  past : 
Pains  of  my  age,  yet  a  while  you  can  last : 
Joys  of  my  age,  in  true  wisdom  delight: 
Eyes  of  my  age,  be  religion  your  light : 
Thoughts  of  my  age,  dread  ye  not  the  cold  sod: 
Hopes  of  my  age,  be  ye  fix'd  on  your  God. 


TIMOTHY  DWIGHT,  1752—1817. 

Timothy  Dwight,  the  son  of  Timothy  and  Mary  Dwight,  was  horn  at  North- 
ampton, Massachusetts,  on  the  1 1th  of  May,  1752.  His  father  was  a  man  of  sound 
and  vigorous  intellect;  and  his  mother,  the  daughter  of  the  celebrated  Jonathan 
Edwards,  inherited  no  small  share  of  her  father's  intellectual  powers.  At  a  very 
early  age  he  showed  uncommon  powers  of  mind,  being  able  to  read  in  the  Bible 
fluently  at  the  age  of  four,  and  at  six  commencing  the  study  of  Latin.  In  1765, 
he  entered  Yale  College,  being  familiar  not  only  with  the  requirements  for  entering, 
— though  these  were  low  then  compared  with  what  they  now  are, — but  with  most 
of  the  classical  authors  that  were  read  during  the  first  half  of  his  collegiate  course. 
He  was  not,  therefore,  very  studious  for  the  first  two  years  j  but  for  this  com- 
parative indolence  he  atoned  in  his  junior  and  senior  years,  studying  with  an 
intensity  that  left  no  time  unemployed.  In  consequence  of  his  excessive  appli- 
cation, his  eyes  became  seriously  affected,  and  a  permanent  weakness  of  sight 
was  induced,  so  that  to  the  close  of  life  he  could  read  but  little,  and  that  only 
occasionally. 

After  leaving  college,  he  taught  a  grammar-school  in  New  Haven,  and  in  1771 
was  chosen  tutor  in  Yale  College,  in  which  office  he  continued  with  high  reputa- 
tion for  six  years.  While  here,  in  1774,  he  finished  his  poem,  The  Conquest  of 
Canaan,  though  it  was  not  published  till  eleven  years  after.  In  March,  1777,  he 
married  the  daughter  of  Benjamin  Woolsey,  of  Long  Island.  By  her  he  had  eight 
sons,  six  of  whom  survived  him.  In  June  he  was  licensed  as  a  preacher,  and  in 
September  was  appointed  chaplain  to  a  brigade  in  General  Putnam's  division,  in 
which  capacity  he  continued  about  a  year.  In  1778,  his  father  dying,  he  removed 
to  Northampton,  to  console  his  mother  and  provide  for  her  numerous  family,  to 
whose  support  he  contributed  for  five  years,  from  a  scanty  income  obtained  by 
preaching  and  teaching,  and  occasionally  laboring  on  a  farm.  In  1783,  he  was 
ordained  over  a  parish  in  Greenfield,  where  he  continued  for  twelve  years.  In 
1785,  he  published  his  Conquest  of  Canaan,  and,  in  1794,  his  poem  called  Green- 
field Hill,  in  seven  parts.  After  the  death  of  Dr.  Stiles,  he  was  chosen  President 
of  Yale  College,  and  was  inaugurated  in  September,  1795,  which  office,  together 
with  the  professorship  of  theology,  he  continued  to  fill  for  the  remainder  of  his 


TIMOTHY  D WIGHT. 


103 


life.  While  discharging  the  duties  of  these  offices,  he  prepared  his  sermons  od 
systematic  theology,  on  which  his  fame  chiefly  rests,  entitled  Theology  Explained 
and  Defended  in  a  Series  of  Sermons,  in  five  volumes.  This  admirable  and  com- 
prehensive system  of  divinity  has  passed  through  many  editions  in  England,  as 
well  as  in  our  own  country.  In  his  college  vacations,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  jour- 
neying; and  to  this  we  owe  his  Travels  in  New  England  and  Xew  York,  published 
after  his  death,  in  four  volumes.1  He  died  January  11th,  1817,  aged  sixty-four, 
having  been  President  of  the  College  twenty-one  years. 

Pleasing  as  Dr.  Dwight  is  as  a  poet,  and  learned  and  eloquent  as  he  was  as  a 
divine,  it  is  as  President  of  Yale  College  that  he  was  most  valued,  and  honored,  and 
loved  while  living,  and  as  such  is  embalmed  in  the  hearts  of  the  large  number  of 
scholars,  divines,  and  statesmen  still  living,  who  were  instructed  by  him  in  their 
collegiate  course.  He  had  the  remarkable  faculty  of  winning  the  affections  and 
commanding  the  most  profound  respect  of  the  young  men  who  came  under  his 
influence,  while  he  poured  forth  his  instructions  in  a  most  impressive  eloquence, 
from  a  mind  stored  with  the  treasures  of  ancient  and  modern  learning.  And 
knowing,  as  we  do,  that  for  the  last  twenty  years  of  his  life  he  could  scarcely 
use  his  eyes  at  all,  our  wonder  increases  that  he  accomplished  so  much.  But 
what  cannot  singleness  of  aim,  determined  purpose,  and  unremitting  industry 
effect  ?2 

DUELLING. 

Life,  to  man,  is  his  all.  On  it  every  thing  is  suspended  which 
man  can  call  his  own, — his  enjoyments,  his  hopes,  his  usefulness, 
and  his  salvation.  Our  own  life  is  to  us,  therefore,  invaluable. 
As  we  are  most  reasonably  required  to  love  our  neighbor  as  our- 
selves, his  life  ought,  in  our  estimation,  to  possess  the  same  value. 
In  conformity  to  these  views,  mankind  have  universally  regarded 
those  who  have  violently  deprived  others  of  life  with  supreme 


1  Another  of  Dr.  Dwight's  writings  should  be  noticed, — his  Remarks  on  the  Review 
of  Tnehiquin's  Letters  published  in  the  Quarterly  Review.  The  facts  that  gave  rise 
to  this  work  are  these.  In  1800  appeared  a  work  called  Ittchiquin's  Letters,  pur- 
porting to  be  letters  sent  from  Washington  by  Inchiquin,  a  Jesuit,  to  his  friends  in 
Europe,  giving  an  account  of  the  state  of  things  in  this  country,  partly  serious, 
partly  ludicrous,  and  partly  satirical.  The  "  Quarterly  Review"  for  January, 
1811,  reviewed  these  letters,  and  was  very  severe  on  our  manners,  habits,  and  in- 
stitutions, bringing  forward  every  thing  that  would  make  us  appear  in  an  unfavor- 
able light.  To  this  Dr.  Dwight  replied  the  same  year,  in  his  "Remarks,"  a  book 
of  one  hundred  and  seventy-six  pages.  It  was  very  severe  upon  England,  con- 
trasting every  defect  urged  against  America  with  a  corresponding  failing  in  our 
fatherland,  and  exonerating  us  from  many  of  the  charges,  as  utterly  unfounded. 

Of  Dr.  Dwight's  other  works,  the  chief  are  The  Triumph  of  Infidelity,  a  Poem  ; 
The  History,  Eloquence,  and  Poetry  of  the  Bible ;  America,  a  Poem  in  the  style  of 
Pope's  Windsor  Forest ;  A  Discourse  on  Duelling ;  another  on  Some  Events  of  the 
Last  Century  ;  and  another  on  The  Character  of  Washington. 

2  "  In  person  ho  was  about  six  feet  high,  and  of  a  full,  round,  manly  form.  He 
had  a  noble  aspect, — a  full  forehead,  and  piercing  black  eyes.  His  presence  was 
singularly  commanding,  enforced  by  a  manner  somewhat  authoritative  and  em- 
phatic. His  voice  was  one  of  the  finest  I  ever  heard  from  the  pulpit, — clear, 
hearty,  sympathetic,  and  entering  into  the  soul  like  the  middle  notes  of  an  organ." 
— Goodrich's  Recollections. 


104 


TIMOTHY  DWIGHT. 


abhorrence,  and  branded  their  names  with  singular  infamy.  Mur- 
derers have  been  punished,  in  every  age  and  country,  with  the 
most  awful  expressions  of  detestation,  with  the  most  formidable 
array  of  terror,  and  with  the  most  excruciating  means  of  agony. 
On  the  heads  of  murderers,  at  the  same  time,  mankind  have 
heaped  curses  without  bounds.  The  City  of  Refuge,  nay,  the 
Altar  itself,  a  strong  tower  of  defence  to  every  other  criminal,  has 
lost  its  hallowed  character  at  the  approach  of  a  murderer,  and 
emptied  him  out  of  its  sacred  recesses  into  the  hands  of  the 
Avenger  of  blood.  God  hath  said,  A  man  that  doeth  violence  to 
the  blood  of  any  person,  he  shall  fee  to  the  pit:  let  no  man  stay 
him.    In  solemn  response,  the  world  has  cried,  Amen. 

But  all  these  sentiments,  all  these  rights,  all  the  obligations  of 
this  law,  the  Duellist  has  violated.  Nay,  he  has  violated  them  in 
cold  blood ;  with  the  deliberation  of  system ;  in  the  season  of 
serenity;  in  the  tranquillity  of  the  closet.  This  violation  he  has 
made  a  part  of  his  creed,  and  settled  purpose  of  his  life;  a 
governing  rule  of  his  conduct.  All  this  he  has  done  amid  the 
various  advantages  of  birth  and  education ;  under  the  light  of 
Science,  with  the  Bible  in  his  hand ;  and  before  the  altar  of  his 
God.  He  has  done  it  all,  also,  in  the  face  of  arguments  which 
have  commanded  the  conviction  of  all  mankind,  except  himself ; 
and  which  would  have  convinced  him,  hud  his  mind  been  honestly 
open  to  the  force  of  argument.  His  opinions  have  been  a  thou- 
sand times  exposed  :  his  arguments  have  been  a  thousand  times 
refuted.  Against  him  have  been  arrayed,  in  every  Christian 
country,  the  common  sense  of  mankind,  the  feelings  of  humanity, 
the  solemn  voice  of  Law,  and  the  infinitely  awful  command  of  the 
Eternal  God.  With  a  moral  hardihood,  not  often  exampled  even 
in  this  world,  he  encounters  them  all,  overcomes  them  all,  and 
goes  coolly  onward  to  the  work  of  destruction. 

THE  NOTCH  OF  THE  WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 

The  Notch  of  the  White  Mountains  is  a  phrase  appropriated  to 
a  very  narrow  defile,  extending  two  miles  in  length  between  two 
huge  cliffs  apparently  rent  asunder  by  some  vast  convulsion  of 
nature.  This  convulsion  was,  in  my  own  view,  that  of  the  deluge. 
There  are  here,  and  throughout  New  England,  no  eminent  proofs 
of  volcanic  violence,  nor  any  strong  exhibitions  of  the  power  of 
earthquakes.  Nor  has  history  recorded  any  earthquake  or  volcano 
in  other  countries  of  sufficient  efficacy  to  produce  the  phenomena 
of  this  place.  The  objects  rent  asunder  are  too  great,  the  ruin  is 
too  vast  and  too  complete,  to  have  been  accomplished  by  these 
agents.  The  change  appears  to  have  been  effected  when  the 
surface  of  the  earth  extensively  subsided;  when  countries  and 


TIMOTHY  DWIGHT. 


105 


continents  assumed  a  new  face  j  and  a  general  commotion  of  the 
elements  produced  a  disruption  of  some  mountains,  and  merged 
others  beneath  the  common  level  of  desolation.  Nothing  less 
than  this  will  account  for  the  sundering  of  a  long  range  of  great 
rocks,  or  rather  of  vast  mountains  j  or  for  the  existing  evidences 
of  the  immense  force  by  which  the  rupture  was  effected. 

The  entrance  of  the  chasm  is  formed  by  two  rocks,  standing 
perpendicularly,  at  the  distance  of  twenty-two  fVjt  from  each 
other  •  one  about  twenty  feet  in  height,  the  other  about  twelve. 
Half  of  the  space  is  occupied  by  the  brook  mentioned  as  the  head- 
stream  of  the  Saco ;  the  other  half  by  the  road.  The  stream  is 
lost  and  invisible  beneath  a  mass  of  fragments,  partly  blown  out 
of  the  road,  and  partly  thrown  down  by  some  great  convulsion. 

When  we  entered  the  Notch,  we  were  struck  with  the  wild  and 
solemn  appearance  of  every  thing  before  us.  The  scale  on  which 
all  the  objects  in  view  were  formed  was  the  scale  of  grandeur 
only.  The  rocks,  rude  and  ragged  in  a  manner  rarely  paralleled, 
were  fashioned  and  piled  by  a  hand  operating  only  in  the  boldest 
and  most  irregular  manner.  As  we  advanced,  these  appearances 
increased  rapidly.  Huge  masses  of  granite,  of  every  abrupt  form, 
and  hoary  with  a  moss  which  seemed  the  product  of  ages,  recall- 
ing to  the  mind  the  saxum  vetustum  of  Virgil,  speedily  rose  to  a 
mountainous  height.  Before  us  the  view  widened  fast  to  the 
southeast.  Behind  us  it  closed  almost  instantaneously,  and  pre- 
sented nothing  to  the  eye  but  an  impassable  barrier  of  mountains. 

About  half  a  mile  from  the  entrance  of  the  chasm,  we  saw,  in 
full  view,  the  most  beautiful  cascade,  perhaps,  in  the  world.  It 
issued  from  a  mountain  on  the  right,  about  eight  hundred  feet 
above  the  subjacent  valley,  and  at  the  distance  from  us  of  about 
two  miles.  The  stream  ran  over  a  series  of  rocks  almost  perpen- 
dicular, with  a  course  so  little  broken  as  to  preserve  the  appear- 
ance of  a  uniform  current ;  and  yet  so  far  disturbed  as  to  be  per- 
fectly white.  The  sun  shone  with  the  clearest  splendor,  from  a 
station  in  the  heavens  the  most  advantageous  to  our  prospect; 
and  the  cascade  glittered  down  the  vast  steep  like  a  stream  of 
burnished  silver. 

THE  GOODNESS  OF  GOD  AS  MANIFESTED  IN  CREATION. 

Were  all  the  interesting  diversities  of  color  and  form  to  dis- 
appear, how  unsightly,  dull,  and  wearisome  would  be  the  aspect 
of  the  world  !  The  pleasures  conveyed  to  us  by  the  endless 
varieties  with  which  these  sources  of  beauty  are  presented  to  the 
eye,  are  so  much  things  of  course,  and  exist  so  much  without  inter- 
mission, that  we  scarcely  think  either  of  their  nature,  their  num- 
ber, or  the  great  proportion  which  they  constitute  in  the  whole 


106 


TIMOTHY  D WIGHT. 


mass  of  our  enjoyment.  But,  were  an  inhabitant  of  this  country 
to  be  removed  from  its  delightful  scenery  to  the  midst  of  an 
Arabian  desert,  a  boundless  expanse  of  sand,  a  waste,  spread  with 
uniform  desolation,  enlivened  by  the  murmur  of  no  stream,  and 
cheered  by  the  beauty  of  no  verdure  j  although  he  might  live  in 
a  palace  and  riot  in  splendor  and  luxury,  he  would,  I  think,  find 
life  a  dull,  wearisome,  melancholy  round  of  existence ;  and,  amid 
all  his  gratifications,  would  sigh  for  the  hills  and  valleys  of  his 
native  land,  the  brooks  and  rivers,  the  living  lustre  of  the  spring, 
and  the  rich  glories  of  the  autumn.  The  ever-varying  brilliancy 
and  grandeur  of  the  landscape,  and  the  magnificence  of  the  sky, 
sun,  moon,  and  stars,  enter  more  extensively  into  the  enjoyment 
of  mankind  than  we,  perhaps,  even  think  or  can  possibly  appre- 
hend, without  frequent  and  extensive  investigation.  This  beauty 
and  splendor  of  the  objects  around  us,  it  is  ever  to  be  remem- 
bered, is  not  necessary  to  their  existence,  nor  to  what  we  com- 
monly intend  by  their  usefulness.  It  is,  therefore,  to  be  regarded 
as  a  source  of  pleasure  gratuitously  superinduced  upon  the  general 
nature  of  the  objects  themselves,  and,  in  this  light,  as  a  testimony 
of  the  divine  goodness,  peculiarly  affecting. 

GOFFE,  THE  REGICIDE. 

In  the  course  of  Philip's  war,  which  involved  almost  all  the 
Indian  tribes  in  New  England,  and  among  others  those  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Hadley,  the  inhabitants  thought  it  proper  to  ob- 
serve the  1st  of  September,  1675,  as  a  day  of  lasting  and  prayer. 
While  they  were  in  the  church,  and  employed  in  their  worship, 
they  were  surprised  by  a  band  of  savages.  The  people  instantly 
betook  themselves  to  their  arms, — which,  according  to  the  custom 
of  the  times,  they  had  carried  with  them  to  the  church, — and, 
rushing  out  of  the  house,  attacked  their  invaders.  The  panic 
under  which  they  began  the  conflict  was,  however,  so  great,  and 
their  number  was  so  disproportioned  to  that  of  their  enemies,  that 
they  fought  doubtfully  at  first,  and  in  a  short  time  began  evi- 
dently to  give  way.  At  this  moment  an  ancient  man,  with  hoary 
locks,  of  a  most  venerable  and  dignified  aspect,  and  in  a  dress 
widely  differing  from  that  of  the  inhabitants,  appeared  suddenly 
at  their  head,  and  with  a  firm  voice  and  an  example  of  undaunted 
resolution,  reanimated  their  spirits,  led  them  again  to  the  conflict, 
and  totally  routed  the  savages.  When  the  battle  was  ended,  the 
stranger  disappeared  j  and  no  person  knew  whence  he  had  come, 
or  whither  he  had  gone.  The  relief  was  so  timely,  so  sudden,  so 
unexpected,  and  so  providential ;  the  appearance  and  the  retreat 
of  him  who  furnished  it  were  so  unaccountable ;  his  person  was 
so  dignified  and  commanding,  his  resolution  so  superior,  and  his 


TIMOTHY  D  WIGHT. 


107 


interference  so  decisive,  that  the  inhabitants,  without  any  uncom- 
mon exercise  of  credulity,  readily  believed  him  to  be  an  angel 
sent  by  Heaven  for  their  preservation.  Nor  was  this  opinion 
seriously  controverted  until  it  was  discovered,  several  years  after- 
ward, that  Goffe  and  Whalley  had  been  lodged  in  the  house  of 
Mr.  Russell.  Then  it  was  known  that  their  deliverer  was  Goffe, 
Whalley  having  become  superannuated  some  time  before  the  event 
took  place. 

Of  the  following  specimens  of  Dr.  Dwight's  poetry,  the  first  is  from  the  Conquest 
of  Canaan :  the  other  is  one  of  the  sweetest  of  his  sacred  lyrics,  and  is  embalmed 
in  the  affections  of  the  Christian  church : — 

EVENING  AFTER  A  BATTLE. 

Above  tall  western  hills,  the  light  of  day 
Shot  far  the  splendors  of  his  golden  ray ; 
Bright  from  the  storm,  with  tenfold  grace  he  smiled, 
The  tumult  soften'd,  and  the  world  grew  mild. 
With  pomp  transcendent,  robed  in  heavenly  dyes, 
Arch'd  the  clear  rainbow  round  the  orient  skies ; 
Its  changeless  form,  its  hues  of  beam  divine — 
Fair  type  of  truth  and  beauty — endless  shine 
Around  the  expanse,  with  thousand  splendors  rare ; 
Gay  clouds  sail  wanton  through  the  kindling  air; 
From  shade  to  shade  unnumber'd  tinctures  blend, 
Unnumber'd  forms  of  wondrous  light  extend ; 
In  pride  stupendous,  glittering  walls  aspire, 
Graced  with  bright  domes,  and  crown'd  with  towers  of  fire ; 
On  cliffs  cliffs  burn ;  o'er  mountains  mountains  roll : 
A  burst  of  glory  spreads  from  pole  to  pole : 
Rapt  with  the  splendor,  every  songster  sings, 
Tops  the  high  bough,  and  claps  his  glistening  wings ; 
With  new-born  green  reviving  nature  blooms, 
And  sweeter  fragrance  freshening  air  perfumes. 

Far  south  the  storm  withdrew  its  troubled  reign, 
Descending  twilight  dimm'd  the  dusky  plain ; 
Black  night  arose,  her  curtains  hid  the  ground : 
Less  roar'd,  and  less,  the  thunder's  solemn  sound ; 
The  bended  lightning  shot  a  brighter  stream, 
Or  wrapp'd  all  heaven  in  one  wide,  mantling  flame ; 
By  turns,  o'er  plains,  and  woods,  and  mountains  spread 
Faint,  yellow  glimmerings,  and  a  deeper  shade. 
From  parting  clouds,  the  moon  outbreaking  shone, 
And  sate,  sole  empress,  on  her  silver  throne ; 
In  clear,  full  beauty,  round  all  nature  smiled, 
And  claim'd,  o'er  heaven  and  earth,  dominion  mild ; 
With  humbler  glory,  stars  her  court  attend, 
And  bless'd,  and  union'd,  silent  lustre  blend. 

I  LOVE  THY  KINGDOM,  LORD. 
I  love  thy  kingdom,  Lord, 
The  house  of  thine  abode, 
The  church  our  blest  Redeemer  saved 
With  his  own  precious  blood. 


108 


PHILIP  FRENEAU. 


I  love  thy  church,  0  God  ! 
Her  walls  before  thee  stand, 
Dear  as  the  apple  of  thine  eye, 
And  graven  on  thy  hand. 

If  e'er  to  bless  thy  sons, 
My  voice,  or  hands,  deny, 
These  hands  let  useful  skill  forsake, 
This  voice  in  silence  die. 

If  e'er  my  heart  forget 
Her  welfare  or  her  woe, 
Let  every  joy  this  heart  forsake, 
And  every  grief  o'erflow. 

For  her  my  tears  shall  fall  ; 
For  her  my  prayers  ascend ; 
To  her  my  cares  and  toils  be  given, 
Till  toils  and  cares  shall  end. 

Beyond  my  highest  joy 
I  prize  her  heavenly  ways, 
Her  sweet  communion,  solemn  vows, 
Her  hymns  of  love  and  praise. 

Jesus,  thou  Friend  divine, 
Our  Saviour  and  our  King, 
Thy  hand  from  every  snare  and  foe, 
Shall  great  deliverance  bring. 

Sure  as  thy  truth  shall  last, 
To  Zion  shall  be  given 
The  brightest  glories  earth  can  yield, 
And  brighter  bliss  of  heaven. 


PHILIP  FRENEAU,  1752—1832. 

Philip  Freneau  was  a  celebrated  poet  in  the  period  of  the  American  Revolu- 
tion, most  of  his  pieces  having  been  written  between  the  years  1768  and  1793.  He 
was  of  French  extraction,  his  grandfather  having  come  to  this  country  soon  after 
the  Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantz,  1598.  He  was  born  in  New  York,  January  2, 
1752,  and  after  the  usual  preparatory  studies,  in  which  he  distinguished  himself, 
he  entered  Princeton  College,  New  Jersey,  and  graduated  there  in  1771,  at  the 
age  of  nineteen.  After  leaving  college,  he  went  to  Philadelphia,  with  an  intention 
of  studying  the  law ;  but  he  soon  abandoned  this,  and  led  an  aimless  life  for  two 
or  three  years.  In  1774  and  1775,  we  find  him  in  New  York,  where  he  began  to 
publish  those  pieces  of  political  satire  and  burlesque  which  made  his  name  at  that 
time  familiar  and  popular  throughout  the  country.  After  this,  for  two  or  three 
years  he  was  travelling  in  the  West  Indies.  In  April,  1781,  appeared  in  Phila- 
delphia the  first  number  of  the  Freeman's  Journal,  which  he  edited  for  three  or 
four  years.  The  first  edition  of  his  poems  was  published  in  Philadelphia  in  1786, 
entitled  The  Poems  of  Philip  Freneau,  written  chiefly  during  the  Late  War.  In 


THILIP  FRENEAU. 


109 


1788,  appeared  The  Miscellaneous  Works  of  Philip  Freneau,  containing  his  Essays 
and  Additional  Poems,  in  two  volumes,  published  by  Francis  Bailey. 

In  the  fall  of  1790,  the  Government  was  removed  to  Philadelphia,  and  on  the 
31st  of  October  of  the  next  year  appeared  the  first  number  of  the  National  Gazette, 
edited  by  Freneau,  which  was  continued  to  October  26,  1793,  and  in  which  were 
given  the  first  examples  of  that  partisan  abuse  which  has  ever  since  been  the 
shame  of  American  politics.1  After  tho  suspension  of  the  Gazette,  he  published, 
in  1795,  The  Jersey  Chronicle,  at  Mount  Pleasant,  which  continued  but  a  year. 
He  then  was  engaged  for  many  years  in  various  voyages  to  Savannah,  the  West 
Indies,  Madeira,  &c,  and  in  1809  again  settled  in  Philadelphia.  During  the 
second  war  with  Great  Britain  he  wrote  numerous  songs  and  ballads,  and  in 
1815  published  A  Collection  of  Poems  on  American  Affairs  and  a  Variety  of 
other  Subjects,  chiefly  Moral  and  Political,  written  between  1795  and  1815.  In  his 
old  age  he  resided  in  New  Jersey,  and  died  near  Freehold,  on  the  18th  of  Decem- 
ber, 1832. 

Freneau  was  undoubtedly  a  man  of  genius,  and  a  very  ready  and  versatile 
writer ;  and  some  of  his  early  pieces  of  poetry,  written  when  he  was  ambitious  of 
literary  distinction,  are  richly  worthy  of  preservation.  But  most  that  he  wrote 
was  of  an  ephemeral  character,  strongly  tinctured  with  partisan  prejudices  and 
vituperation,  and  has  met  with  its  deserved  reward, — oblivion. 

THE  DYING  INDIAN.2 

' '  On  yonder  lake  I  spread  the  sail  no  more  ! 
Vigor,  and  youth,  and  active  clays  are  past ; 
Relentless  demons  urge  me  to  that  shore 
On  whose  black  forests  all  the  dead  are  cast ; 
Ye  solemn  train,  prepare  the  funeral  song, 
For  I  must  go  to  shades  below, 
Where  all  is  strange,  and  all  is  new ; 
Companion  to  the  airy  throng  ! 

What  solitary  streams, 

In  dull  and  dreary  dreams, 
All  melancholy,  must  I  rove  along ! 


1  "  In  it  Mr.  Jefferson  was  continually  referred  to  with  expressions  of  fulsome 
adulation,  and  the  public  and  private  characters  of  Washington,  Hamilton,  Adams, 
Knox,  and  their  associates,  were  vilified  with  unfaltering  industry  and  malignity. 
Tho  Rev.  Dr.  Dwight  thus  wrote  at  that  time  to  Oliver  Wolcott,  then  in  Congress 
at  Philadelphia: — 'The  late  impertinent  attacks  on  the  Chief  Magistrate  are 
viewed  with  a  general  and  marked  indignation.  Freneau,  your  printer,  linguist, 
and  so  forth,  is  regarded  here  as  a  mere  incendiary,  or  rather  as  a  despicable  tool 
of  bigger  incendiaries,  and  his  paper  as  a  public  nuisance.'  That  the  'National 
Gazette'  was  entirely  under  Mr.  Jefferson's  control  appears  never  to  have  been 
doubted.  Freneau  said,  years  after,  to  Dr.  Francis,  (of  New  York,)  who  became 
his  physician,  that  it  was  among  his  greatest  griefs  that  he  had  seemed  to  be  an 
enemy  to  Washington,  but  that  Mr.  Jefferson  had  written  or  dictated  whatever  in 
the  '  Gazette'  was  reproachful  or  calumnious  of  that  exalted  character." — Gris- 
wold's  Republican  Court,  p.  288.  But  in  this  case  the  Latin  adage  is  especially 
applicable, — Quid  facit  per  alium,  facit  per  se. 

2  Tomo-Chequi. 

10 


PHILIP  FRENEAU. 


To  what  strange  lands  must  Chequi  take  his  way ! 
Groves  of  the  dead  departed  mortals  trace ; 
No  deer  along  those  gloomy  forests  stray, 
No  huntsmen  there  take  pleasure  in  the  chase, 
But  all  are  empty,  unsubstantial  shades, 
That  ramble  through  those  visionary  glades ; 
No  spongy  fruits  from  verdant  trees  depend, 

But  sickly  orchards  there 

Do  fruits  as  sickly  bear, 
And  apples  a  consumptive  visage  show, 
And  wither'd  hangs  the  hurtleberry  blue. 

Ah  me  !  what  mischiefs  on  the  dead  attend ! 
Wandering  a  stranger  to  the  shores  below, 
Where  shall  I  brook  or  real  fountain  find  ? 
Lazy  and  sad  deluding  waters  flow : 
Such  is  the  picture  in  my  boding  mind ! 

Fine  tales,  indeed,  they  tell 

Of  shades  and  purling  rills, 

Where  our  dead  fathers  dwell 

Beyond  the  western  hills  ; 
But  when  did  ghost  return  his  state  to  show, 
Or  who  can  promise  half  the  tale  is  true  ? 

I,  too,  must  be  a  fleeting  ghost !  no  more  ; 
None,  none  but  shadows  to  those  mansions  go ; 
I  leave  my  woods,  I  leave  the  Huron  shore, 
For  emptier  groves  below ! 
Ye  charming  solitudes, 
Ye  tall  ascending  woods, 
Ye  glassy  lakes  and  prattling  streams, 
Whose  aspect  still  was  sweet, 
Whether  the  sun  did  greet, 
Or  the  pale  moon  embraced  you  with  her  beams — 
Adieu  to  all ! 
To  all  that  charm'd  me  where  I  stray'd, 
The  winding  stream,  the  dark  sequester'd  shade : 
Adieu  all  triumphs  here ! 
Adieu,  the  mountain's  lofty  swell, 
Adieu,  thou  little  verdant  hill, 
And  seas,  and  stars,  and  skies, — farewell, 
For  some  remoter  sphere ! 

Perplex'd  with  doubts,  and  tortured  with  despair, 
Why  so  dejected  at  this  hopeless  sleep  ? 
Nature  at  last  these  ruins  may  repair, 
When  fate's  long  dream  is  o'er,  and  she  forgets  to  weep 
Some  real  world  once  more  may  be  assign'd, 
Some  new-born  mansion  for  the  immortal  mind  ! 
Farewell,  sweet  lake  !  farewell,  surrounding  woods ! 
To  other  groves,  through  midnight  glooms,  I  stray, 
Beyond  the  mountains,  and  beyond  the  floods, 

Beyond  the  Huron  Bay  ! 
Prepare  the  hollow  tomb,  and  place  me  low, 
My  trusty  bow  and  arrows  by  my  side, 


PHILIP  PRENEAU. 


Ill 


The  cheerful  bottle  and  the  venison  store  ; 
For  long  the  journey  is  that  I  must  go, 
Without  a  partner,  and  without  a  guide." 
He  spoke,  and  bid  the  attending  mourners  weep, 
Then  closed  his  eyes,  and  sunk  to  endless  sleep ! 


THE  WILD  HONEYSUCKLE. 

Fair  flower,  that  dost  so  comely  grow, 

Hid  in  this  silent,  dull  retreat, 
Untouch'd  thy  honey'd  blossoms  blow, 
Unseen  thy  little  branches  greet  : 
No  roving  foot  shall  crush  thee  here, 
No  busy  hand  provoke  a  tear. 

By  Nature's  self  in  white  array 'd, 

She  bade  thee  shun  the  vulgar  eye, 
And  planted  here  the  guardian  shade, 
And  sent  soft  waters  murmuring  by ; 
Thus  quietly  thy  summer  goes, 
Thy  days  declining  to  repose. 

Smit  with  those  charms,  that  must  decay, 

I  grieve  to  see  your  future  doom  ; 
They  died, — nor  were  those  flowers  more  gay, 
The  flowers  that  did  in  Eden  bloom ; 
Unpitying  frosts  and  Autumn's  power 
Shall  leave  no  vestige  of  this  flower. 

From  morning  suns  and  evening  dews 

At  first  thy  little  being  came  : 
If  nothing  once,  you  nothing  lose, 
For  when  you  die  you  are  the  same ; 
The  space  between  is  but  an  hour, 
The  frail  duration  of  a  flower. 


THE  PROSPECT  OF  PEACE. 

Though  clad  in  winter's  gloomy  dress1 

All  Nature's  works  appear, 
Yet  other  prospects  rise  to  bless 

The  new  returning  year : 
The  active  sail  again  is  seen, 

To  greet  our  western  shore ; 
Gay  plenty  smiles,  with  brow  serene, 

And  wars  distract  no  more. 

No  more  the  vales,  no  more  the  plains, 

An  iron  harvest  yield ; 
Peace  guards  our  doors,  impels  our  swains 

To  till  the  grateful  field  : 


.  i  The  winter  of  1814-15. 


112 


PHILIP  FRENEAU. 


From  distant  climes,  no  longer  foes, 

(Their  years  of  misery  past,) 
Nations  arrive,  to  find  repose 

In  these  domains  at  last. 

And,  if  a  more  delightful  scene 

Attracts  the  mortal  eye, 
Where  clouds  nor  darkness  intervene, 

Behold,  aspiring  high, 
On  freedom's  soil  those  fabrics  plann'd, 

On  virtue's  basis  laid, 
That  make  secure  our  native  land, 

And  prove  our  toils  repaid. 

Ambitious  aims  and  pride  severe, 

Would  you  at  distance  keep, 
What  wanderer  would  not  tarry  here, 

Here  charm  his  cares  to  sleep  ? 
Oh,  still  may  health  her  balmy  wings 

O'er  these  fair  fields  expand, 
While  commerce  from  all  climates  brings 

The  products  of  each  land. 

Through  toiling  care  and  lengthen'd  views, 

That  share  alike  our  span, 
Gay,  smiling  hope  her  heaven  pursues, 

The  eternal  friend  of  man  : 
The  darkness  of  the  clays  to  come 

She  brightens  with  her  ray, 
And  smiles  o'er  Nature's  gaping  tomb, 

When  sickening  to  decay ! 

MAY  TO  APRIL. 

I. 

Without  your  showers 

I  breed  no  flowers  ; 
Each  field  a  barren  waste  appears ; 

If  you  don't  weep, 

My  blossoms  sleep, 
They  take  such  pleasure  in  your  tears. 

ii. 

As  your  decay 

Made  room  for  May, 
So  I  must  part  with  all  that's  mine ; 

My  balmy  breeze, 

My  blooming  trees, 
To  torrid  zones  their  sweets  resign. 

in. 

For  April  dead 

My  shades  I  spread, 
To  her  I  owe  my  dress  so  gay; 

Of  daughters  three 

It  falls  on  me 
To  close  our  triumphs  in  one  day. 


PHILLIS  WIIEATLEY  PETERS. 


113 


IV. 

Thus  to  repose 

All  Nature  goes ; 
Month  after  mouth  must  find  its  doom; 

Time  on  the  wing, 

May  ends  the  Spring, 
And  Summer  frolics  o'er  her  tomb. 


PHILLIS  WHEATLEY  PETERS,  1754—1784. 

In  the  year  1761  there  was  brought  to  Boston,  in  a  vessel  from  Africa,  a  young 
girl  of  about  seven  years  of  age,  slenderly  formed,  in  feeble  health  from  the 
change  of  climate  and  the  miseries  of  the  voyage,  and  not  able  to  speak  a  word 
of  English.  Mr.  John  Wheatley,  a  wealthy  merchant,  saw  her,  and,  touched  by 
her  interesting  face  and  modest  demeanor,  took  her  to  his  own  house,  and  his  wife, 
with  a  true  woman's  heart,  devoted  herself  to  the  wants  of  the  little  stranger.  In 
a  short  time,  the  effects  of  comfortable  clothing,  wholesome  food,  and  kind  treat- 
ment were  clearly  visible,  and  Mrs.  Wheatley's  daughter  undertook  to  teach  her 
to  read  and  write.  So  astonishing  was  her  progress,  that  in  sixteen  months  from 
the  time  of  her  arrival  in  this  humane  family  she  had  so  mastered  the  English 
language  as  to  read  with  ease  any  portion  of  the  Bible ;  and  to  this  attainment 
she  soon  added  that  of  writing,  which  she  acquired  solely  by  her  own  unassisted 
efforts. 

So  rapid  was  her  progress  in  learning,  that  she  became  an  object  of  general 
attention,  and  corresponded  with  several  persons  of  great  distinction.1  She 
attracted  the  notice  of  the  literary  characters  of  Boston,  who  supplied  her  with 
books  and  encouraged  her  intellectual  efforts.  Mrs.  "Wheatley,  too,  did  all  she 
could  to  promote  her  happiness,  and  to  aid  her  in  the  acquisition  of  knowledge, 
treating  her  as  a  child,  and  introducing  her  into  the  best  society  of  Boston.  But, 
notwithstanding  all  the  attentions  she  received,  she  still  retained  her  original  and 
native  modesty  of  deportment,  and  never  presumed  upon  the  kindness  of  her 
friends  and  admirers.  She  studied  Latin,  and,  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  made  her 
first  attempts  at  poetry,  in  translations  from  Ovid's  Fables.  So  creditable  were 
these  to  her  scholarship,  taste,  and  poetic  talent,  that  she  was  encouraged  to  write 


1  Some  years  after  this,  she  addressed  a  poem  to  General  Washington,  while  he 
was  at  his  head-quarters  at  Cambridge.  Mass.,  February,  1776 ;  who  thus  kindly 
replied  : — "  I  thank  you  most  sincerely  for  your  polite  notice  of  me  in  the 
elegant  lines  you  enclosed;  and,  however  undeserving  I  maybe  of  such  encomium 
and  panegyric,  the  style  and  manner  exhibit  a  striking  proof  of  your  poetical 
talents,  in  honor  of  which,  and  as  a  tribute  justly  due  to  you,  I  would  have  pub- 
lished the  poem,  had  I  not  been  apprehensive  that,  while  I  only  meant  to  give  the 
world  this  new  instance  of  your  genius.  I  might  have  incurred  the  imputation  of 
vanity.  This,  and  nothing  else,  determined  me  not  to  give  it  place  in  the  public 
prints. 

'•  If  you  should  ever  come  to  Cambridge,  or  near  head-quarters,  I  shall  be  happy 
to  see  a  person  so  favored  by  the  Muses,  and  to  whom  Nature  has  been  so  liberal 
and  beneficent  in  her  dispensations." 

10* 


114  PHILLIS  WHEATLEY  PETERS. 

more ;  and  before  she  was  nineteen  a  volume  of  her  poems  was  published  in  Lon- 
don, in  1772. 

In  1773, 1  her  health  had  so  far  declined,  from  her  close  attention  to  her  studies, 
that  her  physicians  recommeuded  a  sea-voyage,  and  accordingly  she  sailed  for 
England.  Her  fame  had  gone  before  her,  and  she  was  received  with  marked  respect 
by  many  distinguished  individuals.  But  in  the  midst  of  the  attentions  of  the  court 
she  heard  that  her  foi-mer  mistress  was  sick,  and  her  heart  prompted  her  to  return 
home  at  once.  She  did  so  in  time  to  minister  to  Mrs.  Wheatley,  whose  sickness 
terminated  in  death  the  next  year;  and  the  year  after,  Mr.  Wheatley  followed  her 
to  the  grave.  Thus  deprived  of  her  best  friends,  poor  and  desolate,  she  accepted 
an  offer  of  marriage  from  a  colored  man  by  the  name  of  Peters,  of  polished  man- 
ners and  a  good  education.  He  had  studied  law ;  and  tradition  says  that  he  actu- 
ally plead  many  cases  at  the  bar.  But  soon  after  their  marriage  he  became  a 
bankrupt,  and  they  were  reduced  to  utter  want.  After  living  with  him  three 
years  in  great  poverty,  and  becoming  the  mother  of  three  children,  her  health 
rapidly  declined,  and  she  died  on  the  5th  of  December,  1784. 

With  any  of  our  poets  prior  to  the  year  1800,  Phillis  Wheatley  will  bear  a  favor- 
able comparison,  whether  we  consider  the  ease  and  correctness  of  her  versifica- 
tion, her  elevated  moral  and  religious  sentiments,  or  her  pure  fancy.  Indeed, 
when  we  take  into  view  the  times  in  which  she  lived,  the  little  attention  then 
paid  to  female  education,  her  youthful  years,  and  the  difficulties  of  race  and  lan- 
guage which  she  surmounted,  her  poems  are  very  remarkable.2 

LINES  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  DR.  SEWALL. 

Lo,  here  a  man,  redeem' d  by  Jesus'  blood, 
A  sinner  once,  but  now  a  saint  with  God ; 
Behold,  ye  rich,  ye  poor,  ye  fools,  ye  wise, 
Nor  let  his  monument  your  hearts  surprise. 
He  sought  the  paths  of  piety  and  truth, 
By  these  made  happy  from  his  early  youth ! 
In  blooming  years  that  grace  divine  he  felt 
Which  rescues  sinners  from  the  chains  of  guilt. 
Mourn  him,  ye  indigent,  whom  he  has  fed, 
And  henceforth  seek,  like  him,  for  living  bread, — 
E'en  Christ,  the  bread  descending  from  above, 
And  ask  an  interest  in  his  saving  love. 
Mourn  him,  ye  youth,  to  whom  he  oft  has  told 
God's  gracious  wonders  from  the  times  of  old. 


1  From  a  Boston  newspaper  of  May  10,  1773  : — "  Saturday  last,  Captain  Calef 
sailed  for  London,  with  whom  went  passengers  Mr.  Wheatley,  merchant;  also 
Phillis,  the  extraordinary  negro  poet." 

2  Read  "Memoir  and  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley,"  Boston,  1834;  "Christian 
Examiner,"  xvi.  169.    "A  Tribute  for  the  Negro,"  p.  332. 

The  writer  of  the  article  in  the  "Christian  Examiner"  thus  remarks: — "Such 
was  the  fate  of  Phillis  Wheatley,  a  heroine,  though  a  black  one.  Perhaps  her 
genius,  her  unquestionable  virtues,  the  vicissitudes  of  her  life,  and  her  melancholy 
end,  ought  to  excite  as  much  interest  as  the  fate  of  Lady  Jane  Grey,  or  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots,  or  any  other  heroine,  ancient  or  modern ;  but  such,  Ave  fear,  will 
not  be  the  case." — Christian  Examiner,  May,  1834. 


PHILLIS  WHEATLEY  PETERS. 


I,  too,  have  cause  this  mighty  loss  to  mourn, 
For  he,  my  monitor,  will  not  return. 
Oh,  when  shall  we  to  his  blest  state  arrive  ? 
When  the  same  graces  in  our  bosoms  thrive. 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  AN  INFANT. 

Through  airy  fields  he  wings  his  instant  flight, 

To  purer  regions  of  celestial  light ; 

Enlarged  he  sees  unnumber'd  systems  roll, 

Beneath  him  sees  the  universal  whole ; 

Planets  on  planets  run  their  destined  round, 

And  circling  wonders  fill  the  vast  profound. 

Th'  ethereal  now,  now  the  empyreal  skies, 

With  glowing  splendors  strike  his  wondering  eyes : 

The  angels  view  him  with  delight  unknown, 

Press  his  soft  hand,  and  seat  him  on  his  throne ; 

Then  smiling  thus :  "To  this  divine  abode, 

The  seat  of  saints,  of  seraphs,  and  of  God, 

Thrice  welcome  thou."    The  raptured  babe  replies : 

"  Thanks  to  my  God,  who  snatch'd  me  to  the  skies 

Ere  vice  triumphant  had  possess'd  my  heart, 

Ere  yet  the  tempter  had  beguiled  my  heart, 

Ere  yet  on  sin's  base  actions  I  was  bent, 

Ere  yet  I  knew  temptation's  dire  intent ; 

Ere  yet  the  lash  for  wicked  actions  felt, 

Ere  vanity  had  led  my  way  to  guilt ; 

Early  arrived  at  my  celestial  goal, 

Full  glories  rush  on  my  expanding  soul." 

Joyful  he  spoke  ;  exulting  cherubs  round 

Clapp'd  their  glad  wings :  the  heavenly  vaults  resound. 

Say,  parents,  why  this  unavailing  moan  ? 

Why  heave  your  pensive  bosoms  with  the  groan  ? 

Say,  would  you  tear  him  from  the  realms  above 

By  thoughtless  wishes  and  mistaken  love  ? 

Doth  his  felicity  increase  your  pain  ? 

Or  could  you  welcome  to  this  world  again 

The  heir  of  bliss  ?    With  a  superior  air  ~\ 

Methinks  he  answers  with  a  smile  severe  ;  L 

"  Thrones  and  dominions  cannot  tempt  me  there."  J 

*         1  *  *  *  * 

To  yon  bright  regions  let  your  faith  ascend,  "| 
Prepare  to  join  your  dearest  infant  friend  I 
In  pleasures  without  measure,  without  end.  J 


A  FAREWELL  TO  AMERICA. 

To  3frs.  Susannah  Wright. 

Adieu,  New  England's  smiling  meads, 

Adieu,  the  flowery  plain  ; 
I  leave  thine  opening  charms,  0  Spring ! 

And  tempt  the  roaring  main. 


116 


nilLLIS  WHEATLEY  PETERS. 


In  vain  for  me  the  flow'rets  rise, 
And  boast  their  gaudy  pride, 

While  here  beneath  the  northern  skies 
I  mourn  for  health  denied. 

Celestial  maid  of  rosy  hue, 

Oh,  let  me  feel  thy  reign ! 
I  languish  till  thy  face  I  view, 

Thy  vanish'd  joys  regain. 

Susannah  mourns,  nor  can  I  bear 

To  see  the  crystal  shower, 
Or  mark  the  tender  falling  tear, 

At  sad  departure's  hour ; 

Nor  unregarding  can  I  see 
Her  soul  with  grief  opprest ; 

But  let  no  sighs,  no  groans  for  me, 
Steal  from  its  pensive  breast. 

In  vain  the  feather' d  warblers  sing, 

In  vain  the  garden  blooms, 
And  on  the  bosom  of  the  spring 

Breathes  out  her  sweet  perfumes. 

While  for  Britannia's  distant  shore 

We  sweep  the  liquid  plain, 
And  with  astonish'd  eyes  explore 

The  wide  extended  main. 

Lo  !  Health  appears,  celestial  dame, 

Complacent  and  serene, 
With  Hebe's  mantle  o'er  her  frame, 

AVith  soul-delighting  mien, 

To  mark  the  vale  where  London  lies, 

With  misty  vapors  crown'd, 
Which  cloud  Aurora's  thousand  dyes, 

And  veil  her  charms  around. 

Why,  Phoebus,  moves  thy  car  so  slow  ? 

So  slow  thy  rising  ray  ? 
Give  us  the  famous  town  to  view, 

Thou  glorious  king  of  day ! 

For  thee,  Britannia,  I  resign 
New  England's  smiling  fields  ; 

To  view  again  her  charms  divine, 
What  joy  the  prospect  yields  ! 

But  thou,  Temptation,  hence  away, 

With  all  thy  fatal  train, 
Nor  once  seduce  my  soul  away 

By  thine  enchanting  strain. 

Thrice  happy  they  whose  heavenly  shield 
Secures  their  soul  from  harms, 

And  fell  Temptation  on  the  field 
Of  all  its  power  disarms. 


JOEL  BARLOW. 


117 


JOEL  BARLOW,  1755—1812. 

Joel  Barlow,  the  author  of  The  Columbiad,  was  bora  in  Reading,  Fairfield 
County,  Connecticut,  in  1755.  He  entered  Dartmouth  College  in  1774,  but  soon 
left  that  institution  and  went  to  Yale,  where  he  received  the  degree  of  Bachelor 
of  Arts  in  1778.  He  then  entered  upon  the  study  of  law,  which  he  soon  exchanged 
for  theology,  and  received  a  license  as  chaplain  to  the  army,  in  which  he  remained 
till  the  close  of  the  war.  While  in  this  situation,  he  composed,  with  his  friends, 
Rev.  Timothy  Dwight  and  Colonel  Humphreys,  various  patriotic  songs  and  ad- 
dresses, which  exerted  no  little  influence  upon  the  minds  of  the  soldiery.  He 
commenced,  also,  at  this  time,  The  Vision  of  Columbus,  which  afterwards  formed 
the  basis  of  his  larger  work,  The  Columbiad. 

After  the  peace  in  1783,  Barlow  went  back  from  the  gospel  to  the  law,  for  which 
he  was  much  better  suited ;  and  settled  in  Hartford.  To  add  to  his  income,  he 
established  a  weekly  gazette,  called  The  American  Mercury,  which  gained  for  him 
considerable  reputation  by  its  able  editorial  management.  About  this  time,  he 
revised  and  published  the  Psalms  and  Hymns  of  Dr.  Isaac  Watts ;  and  two  years 
after,  in  1787,  appeared  his  first  large  poem,  on  which  he  had  been  laboring  for 
many  years,  The  Vision  of  Columbus.  To  increase  the  sale  of  these,  he  gave  up 
his  newspaper  and  opened  a  book-store.  But  his  books  not  doing  so  well  as  he 
expected,  the  next  year  he  went  to  England  as  agent  of  a  fraudulent  land-com- 
pany, of  the  nature  of  which  he  was  at  first  ignorant :  he  gave  up  his  agency, 
however,  as  soon  as  the  character  of  the  company  became  known  to  him.  He 
was  absent  seventeen  years,  most  of  which  time  he  spent  in  France,  where  he 
published  a  number  of  political  pamphlets,  and  also  his  best  and  most  celebrated 
poem,  Hasty  Pudding.  In  1795,  Washington  appointed  him  consul  at  Algiers,  with 
power  to  negotiate  a  treaty  of  peace  with  the  Dey,  and  to  ransom  all  Americans 
held  in  slavery  on  the  coast  of  Barbary.  He  accepted  the  appointment,  concluded 
the  treaty  favorably,  and  made  similar  ones  with  the  Governments  of  Tripoli  and 
Tunis.  He  was  thus  the  happy  means  of  freeing  large  numbers  of  Americans 
from  Algerine  slavery.1  In  1797,  be  returned  to  France,  entered  into  commercial 
pursuits,  and  amassed  a  large  fortune.  In  1805,  he  sold  all  his  property  in 
France,  returned  home,  and  took  up  his  residence  at  Georgetown,  District  of 
Columbia.  In  1808,  his  Columbiad  was  published  in  quarto,  in  splendid  style.  The 
mechanical  execution  of  this  work  entitles  it  to  admiration ;  but  this  is  about  all 
that  can  be  said  in  its  praise.  It  is  the  history  of  Columbus  in  rhyme;  and  in 
poetical  merit  is  about  equal  to  Addison's  Campaign.  In  1811,  he  was  appointed 
minister-plenipotentiary  to  France,  to  obtain  indemnification  for  injuries  sus- 
tained by  American  commerce.  The  next  year  he  was  invited  to  meet  Napoleon 
at  Wilna,  in  Poland,  for  a  personal  conference;  but  the  great  severity  of  the 
climate,  fatigue,  and  exposure,  brought  on  an  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  and 
he  died  in  an  obscure  village  near  Cracow,  in  Poland,  on  the  22d  of  December, 
1812. 


1  For  much  valuable  information  on  this  subject,  read  a  Lecture  before  the 
Boston  Mercantile  Library  Association,  entitled  "  White  Slavery  in  Algiers,"  by 
Charles  Sumner. 


JOEL  BARLOW. 


THE  HASTY  PUDDING. 

CANTO  I. 

Ye  Alps  audacious,  through  the  heavens  that  rise 
To  cramp  the  day  and  hide  me  from  the  skies  ; 
Ye  Gallic  flags,  that  o'er  their  heights  unf'url'd, 
Bear  death  to  kings  and  freedom  to  the  world, 
I  sing  not  you.    A  softer  theme  I  choose, 
A  virgin  theme,  unconscious  of  the  muse, 
But  fruitful,  rich,  well  suited  to  inspire 
The  purest  frenzy  of  poetic  fire. 

Despise  it  not.  ye  bards  to  terror  steel'd, 
Who  hurl  your  thunders  round  the  epic  field ; 
Nor  ye  who  strain  your  midnight  throats  to  sing 
Joys  that  the  vineyard  and  the  stillhouse  bring ; 
Or  on  some  distant  fair  your  notes  employ, 
And  speak  of  raptures  that  you  ne'er  enjoy. 
I  sing  the  sweets  I  know,  the  charms  I  feel, 
My  morning  incense,  and  my  evening  meal, 
The  sweets  of  Hasty  Pudding     Come,  dear  bowl, 
Glide  o'er  my  palate  and  inspire  my  soul. 
The  milk  beside  thee,  smoking  from  the  kine, 
Its  substance  mingled,  married  in  with  thine, 
Shall  cool  and  temper  thy  superior  heat, 
And  save  the  pains  of  blowing  Avhile  I  cat. 

Oh !  could  the  smooth,  the  emblematic  song, 
Flow  like  thy  genial  juices  o'er  my  tongue, 
Could  those  mild  morsels  in  my  numbers  chime, 
And,  as  they  roll  in  substance,  roll  in  rhyme, 
No  more  thy  awkward,  unpoetic  name 
Should  shun  the  muse  or  prejudice  thy  fame  ; 
But,  rising  grateful  to  the  accustom'd  ear, 
All  bards  should  catch  it,  and  all  realms  revere. 

Assist  me  first  with  pious  toil  to  trace, 
Through  wrecks  of  time,  thy  lineage  and  thy  race ; 
Declare  what  lovely  squaw,  in  days  of  yore, 
(Ere  great  Columbus  sought  thy  native  shore,) 
First  gave  thee  to  the  world ;  her  works  of  fame 
Have  lived  indeed,  but  lived  without  a  name. 
Some  tawny  Ceres,  goddess  of  her  days, 
First  learn'd  with  stones  to  crack  the  well-dried  maize, 
Through  the  rough  sieve  to  shake  the  golden  shower, 
In  boiling  water  stir  the  yellow  flour ; 
The  yellow  flour,  bestrew'd  and  stirr'd  with  haste, 
Swells  in  the  flood  and  thickens  to  a  paste, 
Then  puffs  and  wallops,  rises  to  the  brim, 
Drinks  the  dry  knobs  that  on  the  surface  swim ; 
The  knobs  at  last  the  busy  ladle  breaks, 
And  the  whole  mass  its  true  consistence  takes. 

CANTO  II. 

To  mix  the  food  by  vicious  rules  of  art, 
To  kill  the  stomach  and  to  sink  the  heart, 
To  make  mankind  to  social  virtue  sour, 
Cram  o'er  each  dish,  and  be  what  they  devour ; 


JOEL  BARLOW. 


For  this  the  kitchen  muse  first  framed  her  book, 
Commanding  sweat  to  stream  from  every  cook; 
Children  no  more  their  antic  gambols  tried, 
And  friends  to  physic  wonder' d  why  they  died. 

Not  so  the  Yankee ;  his  abundant  feast 
With  simples  furnish'd  and  with  plainness  dress' d, 
A  numerous  offspring  gathers  round  the  board, 
And  cheers  alike  the  servant  and  the  lord, 
Whose  well-bought  hunger  prompts  the  joyous  taste, 
And  health  attends  them  from  the  short  repast. 
While  the  full  pail  rewards  the  milkmaid's  toil, 
The  mother  sees  the  morning  caldron  boil : 
To  stir  the  pudding  next  demands  their  care, 
To  spread  the  table  and  the  bowls  prepare ; 
To  feed  the  children  as  their  portions  cool, 
And  comb  their  heads  and  send  them  off  to  school. 
*#'*#*.# 

Some  with  molasses  line  the  luscious  treat, 
And  mix,  like  bards,  the  useful  with  the  sweet. 
A  wholesome  dish  and  well  deserving  praise, 
A  great  resource  in  those  bleak  wintry  days 
When  the  chill'd  earth  lies  buried  deep  in  snow, 
And  raging  Boreas  drives  the  shivering  cow. 

Bless'd  cow !  thy  praise  shall  still  my  notes  employ, 
Great  source  of  health,  the  only  source  of  joy ; 
How  oft  thy  teats  these  precious  hands  have  press'd ! 
How  oft  thy  bounties  proved  my  only  feast ! 
How  oft  I've  fed  thee  with  my  favorite  grain ! 
And  roar'd,  like  thee,  to  find  thy  children  slain ! 

Ye  swains,  who  know  her  various  worth  to  prize, 
Ah  !  house  her  well  from  winter's  angry  skies. 
Potatoes,  pumpkins,  should  her  sadness  cheer, 
Corn  from  your  crib,  and  mashes  from  your  beer ; 
When  spring  returns  she'll  well  acquit  the  loan, 
And  nurse  at  once  your  infants  and  her  own. 

Milk  then  with  pudding  I  would  always  choose ; 
To  this  in  future  I  confine  my  muse, 
Till  she  in  haste  some  further  hints  unfold, 
Well  for  the  young,  nor  useless  to  the  old. 
First  in  your  bowl  the  milk  abundant  take, 
Then  drop  with  care  along  the  silver  lake 
Your  flakes  of  pudding ;  these  at  first  will  hide 
Their  little  bulk  beneath  the  swelling  tide  ; 
But  when  their  growing  mass  no  more  can  sink, 
When  the  soft  island  looms  above  the  brink, 
Then  check  your  hand ;  you've  got  the  portion  due  ; 
So  taught  our  sires,  and  what  they  taught  is  true. 


TO  FREEDOM. 

Sun  of  the  moral  world !  effulgent  source 
Of  man's  best  wisdom  and  his  steadiest  force, 
Soul-searching  Freedom !  here  assume  thy  stand, 
And  radiate  hence  to  every  distant  land ; 


120 


JOHN  MARSHALL. 


Point  out  and  prove  how  all  the  scenes  of  strife, 

The  shock  of  states,  the  impassioned  broils  of  lif?, 

Spring  from  unequal  sway  ;  and  how  they  fly  . 

Before  the  splendor  of  thy  peaceful  eye ; 

Unfold  at  last  the  genuine  social  plan, 

The  mind's  full  scope,  the  dignity  of  man, 

Bold  nature  bursting  through  her  long  disguise, 

And  nations  daring  to  be  just  and  wise. 

Yes !  righteous  Freedom,  heaven  and  earth  and  sea 

Yield  or  withhold  their  various  gifts  for  thee ; 

Protected  Industry  beneath  thy  reign 

Leads  all  the  virtues  in  her  filial  train ; 

Courageous  Probity,  with  brow  serene  ; 

And  Temperance  calm  presents  her  placid  mien  ; 

Contentment,  Moderation,  Labor,  Art, 

Mould  the  new  man  and  humanize  his  heart ; 

To  public  plenty  private  ease  dilates, 

Domestic  peace  to  harmony  of  states. 

Protected  Industry,  careering  far, 

Detects  the  cause  and  cures  the  rage  of  war, 

And  sweeps,  with  forceful  arm,  to  their  last  graves, 

Kings  from  the  earth  and  pirates  from  the  waves. 

Columbiad. 


JOHN  MARSHALL,  1755—1835. 

Jonx  Marshall,  the  son  of  Thomas  Marshall,  of  Fauquier  County,  Virginia, 
was  born  on  the  24th  of  September,  1755.  He  had  some  classical  instruction  in 
his  youth,  but  never  had  the  benefit  of  a  regular  collegiate  education.  At  the 
commencement  of  the  Revolutionary  War,  he  engaged  with  ardor  in  the  American 
cause,  and  was  promoted  in  1777  to  the  rank  of  captain.  In  1781,  finding  that 
there  was  a  redundancy  of  officers  in  the  Virginia  line,  he  resigned  his  commis- 
sion, and,  having  been  admitted  to  the  bar  the  year  before,  he  devoted  himself 
to  the  practice  of  the  law,  and  soon  rose  to  great  distinction.  He  was  a  member 
of  the  Virginia  Convention  that  was  called  to  ratify  the  Constitution;  and  in 
this  body  he  greatly  distinguished  himself  by  his  powerful  reasoning  and  elo- 
quence. After  this  he  accepted  two  or  three  high  offices  of  trust  and  honor;  and, 
on  the  resignation  of  Chief-Justice  Ellsworth,  he  became,  by  the  nomination  of 
President  Adams  and  the  confirmation  of  the  Senate,  on  the  31st  of  January, 
1801,  Chief- Justice  of  the  United  States,  which  office  he  continued  to  fill  with  be- 
coming dignity,  increasing  reputation,  and  unsullied  purity  till  his  death,  which 
took  place  in  Philadelphia  on  the  6th  of  July,  1835. 1 


1  He  had  been  for  some  months  in  feeble  health,  and  went  from  Richmond,  the 
place  of  his  residence,  to  Philadelphia,  in  order  to  obtain  medical  aid.  He  died 
surrounded  by  three  of  his  children,  and  "to  the  last  moment  retained  the  facul- 
ties of  his  mind,  and  met  his  fate  with  the  fortitude  of  a  philosopher  and  the 
resignation  of  a  Christian."  Read  A  Discourse  upon  his  Life,  Character,  and  Ser- 
vices, by  Joseph  Story,  LL.D.,  and  A  Eulogy  on  his  Life  and  Character,  by 


JOHN  MARSHALL. 


121 


It  is  impossible  to  speak  in  too  high  terms  of  tlie  public  and  private  worth  of 
Chief-Justice  Marshall.  No  man  ever  bore  public  honors  more  meekly;  but  while, 
from  the  simplicity  of  his  manners  and  his  kindness  of  heart,  he  endeared  him- 
self to  every  social  circle,  from  his  extraordinary  talents,  his  great  legal  attain- 
ments, and  his  unsuspected  integrity,  he  was  the  object  of  respect  and  confidence 
throughout  the  nation,  all  acknowledging,  in  the  language  of  Judge  Story,  that 
"  the  highest  judicial  honors  could  not  have  fallen  on  any  one  who  could  have 
sustained  them  with  more  solid  advantage  to  the  glory  or  interests  of  the 
country." 

Judge  Marshall's  published  works  are  A  Life  of  Washington,  five  volumes  8vo; 
The  History  of  the  American  Colonies,  one  volume ;  and  a  work  upon  The  Federal 
Constitution.  His  judicial  decisions  will  ever  remain  a  glorious  monument  of 
his  learning  and  his  wisdom. 

CHARACTER  OF  WASHINGTON. 

General  Washington  was  rather  above  the  common  size :  his 
frame  was  robust,  and  his  constitution  vigorous — capable  of 
enduring  great  fatigue,  and  requiring  a  considerable  degree  of 
exercise  for  the  preservation  of  his  health.  His  exterior  created 
in  the  beholder  the  idea  of  strength,  united  with  manly  graceful- 
ness. 

His  manners  were  rather  reserved  than  free,  though  they  par- 
took nothing  of  that  dryness  and  sternness  which  accompany  re- 
serve when  carried  to  an  extreme ;  and  on  all  proper  occasions  he 
could  relax  sufficiently  to  show  how  highly  he  was  gratified  by 
the  charms  of  conversation,  and  the  pleasures  of  society.  His 
person  and  whole  deportment  exhibited  an  unaffected  and  inde- 
scribable dignity,  unmingled  with  haughtiness,  of  which  all  who 
approached  him  were  sensible ;  and  the  attachment  of  those  who 
possessed  his  friendship,  and  enjoyed  his  intimacy,  was  ardent, 
but  always  respectful. 

His  temper  was  humane,  benevolent,  and  conciliatory;  but 
there  was  a  quickness  in  his  sensibility  to  any  thing  apparently 
offensive,  which  experience  had  taught  him  to  watch,  and  to  cor- 
rect. 

In  the  management  of  his  private  affairs  he  exhibited  an  exact 
yet  liberal  economy.  His  funds  were  not  prodigally  wasted  on 
capricious  and  ill-examined  schemes,  nor  refused  to  beneficial 


Horace  Binney.  Esq.;  also,  a  well-written  life  in  Flanders's  Lives  of  the  Chief- 
Justices  of  the  United  States.  In  the  26th  vol.  of  the  N.  Am.  Review  is  an  article 
upon  Marshall's  Public  Life  and  Services,  by  Judge  Story ;  and  in  the  42d  vol.  a 
finished  article  upon  his  Life,  Character,  and  Services,  by  G.  S.  Hillard,  in  a 
review  of  Story's  admirable  "  Discourse."  In  the  first  volume  of  Kennedy's  Life 
of  William  Wirt  are  some  fine  remarks  upon  the  character  of  Judge  Marshall,  by 
Mr.  Wirt  himself. 

11 


122 


JOHN  MARSHALL. 


though  costly  improvements.  They  remained,  therefore,  compe- 
tent to  that  expensive  establishment  which  his  reputation,  added 
to  a  hospitable  temper,  had  in  some  measure  imposed  upon  him ; 
and  to  those  donations  which  real  distress  has  a  right  to  claim 
from  opulence. 

He  made  no  pretensions  to  that  vivacity  which  fascinates,  or  to 
that  wit  which  dazzles,  and  frequently  imposes  on  the  understand- 
ing. More  solid  than  brilliant,  judgment,  rather  than  genius,  con- 
stituted the  most  prominent  feature  of  his  character. 

Without  making  ostentatious  professions  of  religion,  he  was  a 
sincere  believer  in  the  Christian  faith,  and  a  truly  devout  man. 

As  a  military  man,  he  was  brave,  enterprising,  and  cautious. 
That  malignity  which  sought  to  strip  him  of  all  the  higher 
qualities  of  a  General,  has  conceded  to  him  personal  courage, 
and  a  firmness  of  resolution  which  neither  dangers  nor  diffi- 
culties could  shake.  But  candor  will  allow  him  other  great  and 
valuable  endowments.  If  his  military  course  does  not  abound 
with  splendid  achievements,  it  exhibits  a  series  of  judicious 
measures  adapted  to  circumstances,  which  probably  saved  his 
country. 

In  his  civil  administration,  as  in  his  military  career,  ample  and 
repeated  proofs  were  exhibited  of  that  practical  good  sense,  of 
that  sound  judgment,  which  is  perhaps  the  most  rare,  and  is  cer- 
tainly the  most  valuable  quality  of  the  human  mind. 

No  man  has  ever  appeared  upon  the  theatre  of  public  action 
whose  integrity  was  more  incorruptible,  or  whose  principles  were 
more  perfectly  free  from  the  contamination  of  those  selfish  and 
unworthy  passions  which  find  their  nourishment  in  the  conflicts 
of  party.  Having  no  views  which  required  concealment,  his  real 
and  avowed  motives  were  the  same ;  and  his  whole  correspond- 
ence does  not  furnish  a  single  case  from  which  even  an  enemy 
would  infer  that  he  was  capable,  under  any  circumstances,  of 
stooping  to  the  employment  of  duplicity.  No  truth  can  be  uttered 
with  more  confidence  than  that  his  ends  were  always  upright,  and 
his  means  always  pure.  He  exhibits  the  rare  example  of  a  poli- 
tician to  whom  wiles  were  absolutely  unknown,  and  whose  profes- 
sions to  foreign  governments,  and  to  his  own  countrymen,  were 
always  sincere.  In  him  was  fully  exemplified  the  real  distinction, 
which  forever  exists,  between  wisdom  and  cunning,  and  the  im- 
portance as  well  as  truth  of  the  maxim  that  "  honesty  is  the  best 
policy." 

It  is  impossible  to  contemplate  the  great  events  which  have 
occurred  in  the  United  States,  under  the  auspices  of  Washington, 
without  ascribing  them,  in  some  measure,  to  him.  If  we  ask  the 
causes  of  the  prosperous  issue  of  a  war  against  the  successful  ter- 
mination of  which  there  were  so  many  probabilities  j  of  the  good 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON.  123 

which  was  produced,  and  the  ill  which  was  avoided,  during  an 
administration  fated  to  contend  with  the  strongest  prejudices  that 
a  combination  of  circumstances,  and  of  passions,  could  produce; 
of  the  constant  favor  of  the  great  mass  of  his  fellow-citizens,  and 
of  the  confidence  which,  to  the  last  moment  of  his  life,  they  re- 
posed in  him  •  the  answer,  so  far  as  these  causes  may  be  found  in 
his  character,  will  furnish  a  lesson  well  meriting  the  attention  of 
those  who  are  candidates  for  political  fame. 

Endowed  by  nature  with  a  sound  judgment,  and  an  accurate 
discriminating  mind,  he  feared  not  that  laborious  attention  which 
made  him  perfectly  master  of  those  subjects,  in  all  their  rela- 
tions, on  which  he  was  to  decide  j  and  this  essential  quality  was 
guided  by  an  unvarying  sense  of  moral  right,  which  would  tole- 
rate the  employment,  only,  of  those  means  that  would  bear  the 
most  rigid  examination ;  by  a  fairness  of  intention  which  neither 
sought  nor  required  disguise  :  and  by  a  purity  of  virtue  which 
was  not  only  untainted,  but  unsuspected. 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON,  1757—1804. 

This  distinguished  statesman,  jurist,  soldier,  and  financier,  was  born  in  Nevis, 
one  of  the  West  India  Islands,  on  the  11th  of  January,  1757.  At  the  age  of 
sixteen  he  came  to  New  York,  and  soon  after  entered  Columbia  College.  He  re- 
mained here,  however,  but  a  short  time,  for  the  stirring  ante-Revolutionary  events 
warmly  excited  him,  and  called  him  from  those  academic  shades  into  the  duties 
and  dangers  of  military  life.  He  was  little  more  than  eighteen  when  he  joined 
the  army  as  a  captain  of  artillery,  and  at  twenty  had  so  attracted  the  attention  of 
Washington,  by  his  writings  and  eloquence  in  the  cause  of  independence,  that  he 
selected  him  as  one  of  his  aids,  with  the  rank  of  lieutenant-colonel.  He  remained 
in  the  army  during  the  war,  attached  to  the  staff  of  the  commander-in-chief,  pos- 
sessing his  warm  affection  and  entire  confidence,  and  being  consulted  by  him  con- 
stantly on  all  important  occasions.  In  1780,  he  was  married  to  the  second 
daughter  of  General  Schuyler.1  In  1782,  he  withdrew  from  public  life,  and  de- 
voted himself  to  the  study  of  law  in  New  York.  He  rose  rapidly  to  the  very  front 
rank  of  the  profession,  and  was  again  called  into  public  life,  by  being  elected  by 
the  legislature  of  New  York  to  the  Congress  of  Confederation  in  1782.  At  the 
end  of  the  session,  he  resumed  the  active  duties  of  his  profession. 

But  a  man  of  such  consummate  abilities,  eloquence,  and  political  wisdom  could 
not  long  remain  in  private  when  great  national  interests  were  at  stake;  and 
accordingly,  in  1787,  he  was  elected  one  of  the  three  delegates  from  New  York 
to  the  Convention  for  the  formation  of  the  Federal  Constitution.    His  influence 


1  She  survived  her  husband  for  half  a  century,  dying  in  the  autumn  of  1854,  at 
the  advanced  age  of  ninety-five. 


124 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON. 


in  this  body  is  well  and  justly  expressed  by  Guizot,  who  says : — "  There  is  not 
one  element  of  order,  strength,  or  durability  in  the  Constitution  which  he  did  not 
powerfully  contribute  to  introduce,  and  cause  to  be  adopted."  After  the  adjourn- 
ment of  the  Convention,  and  when  the  Constitution  was  before  the  legislatures 
of  the  several  States  for  its  adoption,  he,  in  conjunction  with  Madison  and  Jay, 
wrote  a  series  of  papers  explaining  and  defending  the  various  provisions  of  that 
admirable  instrument.  These  essays  were  afterwards  collected  and  published  in 
a  volume  under  the  name  of  The  Federalist,1  and  constitute  one  of  the  most  pro- 
found and  lucid  treatises  on  politics  that  have  ever  been  written.  The  introduc- 
tion and  conclusion  are  from  the  pen  of  Hamilton,  who  also  assumed  the  main 
discussion  of  the  important  points  in  respect  to  taxation  and  revenue,  the  army 
and  militia,  the  power  of  the  Executive,  and  the  Judiciary. 

Upon  the  organization  of  the  Government,  Washington  showed  his  estimation 
of  Hamilton  by  appointing  him  to  fill  what  was  then  the  most  important  post, — 
overwhelmed  as  we  were  by  debt, — the  office  of  Secretary  of  the  Treasury.  His 
various  reports,  while  he  filled  this  office,  of  plans  for  the  restoration  of  public 
credit,  on  the  protection  and  encouragement  of  manufactures,  on  the  necessity 
and  constitutionality  of  a  national  bank,  and  on  the  establishment  of  a  mint, 
have  given  him  the  reputation  of  one  of  the  first  statesmen  the  world  has  ever 
seen.2 

While  Hamilton  was  Secretary  of  the  Treasury, — the  French  Revolution  being 
then  at  its  height, — numerous  demagogues  were  active  in  their  efforts  to  embroil 
us  in  a  foreign  war.  But  this  pure  and  lofty  statesman  not  only  advised  the  pro- 
clamation of  neutrality  and  the  mission  of  John  Jay  to  England  to  conclude  a 
permanent  treaty  with  that  people,  but  also  wrote  for  the  public  prints  a  series  of 
admirable  papers,  signed  "  Pacificus"  and  "  Camillus,"  which  had  a  controlling 
influence  on  the  public  mind,  and  which  are  still  regarded  as  among  the  most 
profound  commentaries  which  have  appeared  on  the  principles  of  international 
law  and  policy  to  which  they  had  relation. 

When,  during  the  Presidency  of  John  Adams,  Washington  was  invited,  in  the 
event  of  a  war  with  France,  to  the  command  of  the  national  forces,  he  accepted 
on  the  condition  that  Hamilton  should  be  second  in  command.  What  higher 
compliment  could  have  been  paid  him  ? 

We  now  come,  with  sadness,  to  the  closing  period  of  Hamilton's  life.  In  June, 
1804,  that  gifted  but  thoroughly  unprincipled  man,  Aaron  Burr,  then  Vice-Pre- 
sident of  the  United  States,3  who  saw  that  Hamilton  stood  in  the  way  of  his  ambi- 
tious views,  and  who  for  some  time  had  thirsted  for  his  life,  addressed  to  him  a 
letter  demanding  bis  acknowledgment  or  denial  of  certain  expressions  derogatory 


1  Of  the  eighty-five  numbers  of  The  Federalist,  Nos.  2,  3,  4,  5,  54,  were  written 
by  John  Jay  ;  Nos.  10,  14,  and  37  to  48  inclusive — fourteen  in  all — by  James 
Madison ;  Nos.  19  and  20  by  Hamilton  and  Madison ;  and  all  the  rest,  sixty- 
four  in  number,  by  Hamilton. 

2  It  was  in  allusion  to  these  masterly  state  papers  that  Daniel  Webster,  at  a 
public  dinner  in  New  York  in  1831,  said,  "He  smote  the  rock  of  the  national  re- 
sources, and  abundant  streams  of  revenue  gushed  forth;  he  touched  the  dead 
corpse  of  the  public  credit,  and  it  sprung  upon  its  feet." 

3  Burr  was  subsequently  tried  for  treason  in  attempting  to  form  a  new  republic, 
but  was  acquitted  for  the  want  of  sufficient  legal  evidence  to  convict.  His  ambi- 
tion seemed  to  be  that  of  Satan  : — "  Better  to  reign  in  hell  than  serve  in  heaven." 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON. 


125 


to  his  character  which  he  had  heard  that  Hamilton  had  used.  Compliance  with 
this  demand  Hamilton  and  all  his  friends  deemed  inadmissible,  and  Burr  sent 
him  a  challenge.  Though  opposed  on  principle  to  duelling,  he  felt  that  his 
position  as  a  public  man,  and  his  high  rank  in  the  army  of  the  United  States, 
demanded  its  acceptance.  His  words,  as  found  in  a  paper  written  the  day  before 
he  went  to  the  fatal  field,  are : — "  The  ability  to  be  in  future  useful,  whether  in 
resisting  mischief  or  effecting  good  in  those  crises  in  our  public  affairs  which 
seem  likely  to  happen,  would  probably  be  inseparable  from  a  conformity  with 
public  prejudice  in  this  particular."  On  the  11th  of  July,  the  parties  met  at 
Hoboken,  and  Hamilton  fell,  mortally  wounded.  He  was  taken  home,  and  died 
the  next  day ;  living  long  enough,  however,  to  disavow  all  intention  of  taking 
the  life  of  Burr,  and  to  declare  his  abhorrence  of  the  whole  transaction.  Almost 
his  last  words  were,  a  I  have  a  tender  reliance  on  the  mercy  of  the  Almighty 
through  the  merits  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ."1 

Next  to  "Washington,  no  man  in  this  country  was  ever  so  universally  mourned. 
The  pulpit,  the  bar,  and  the  press  teemed  with  discourses  commemorative  of  his 
exalted  talents  and  services  and  virtues,  and  every  one  felt  that  America  had  lost 
her  greatest  man.  Said  the  great  and  pious  Fisher  Ames,  "My  soul  stiffens 
with  despair  when  I  think  what  Hamilton  would  have  been  !"2 

THE  NECESSITY  OF  A  NATIONAL  BANK.3 

I  am  aware  of  all  the  objections  that  have  been  made  to  public 
banks,  and  that  they  are  not  without  enlightened  and  respectable 
opponents.  But  all  that  has  been  said  against  them  only  tends 
to  prove  that,  like  all  other  good  things,  they  are  subject  to  abuse, 


1  In  a  letter  to  a  friend,  soon  after  Hamilton's  death,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Mason  thus 
wrote : — "  The  greatest  statesman  in  the  Western  World — perhaps  the  greatest 
man  of  the  age — has  been  cut  off  in  the  forty-eighth  year  of  his  life  by  the  mur- 
derous arm  of  Vice-President  Burr.  The  death  of  Hamilton  has  created  a  waste 
in  the  sphere  of  intellect  and  probity  which  a  century  will  hardly  fill  up.  He  has 
left  none  like  him,— no  second,  no  third, — nobody  to  put  us  in  mind  of  him.  You 
can  have  no  conception  of  such  a  man  unless  you  knew  him.  One  burst  of  grief 
and  indignation  assails  the  murderer  from  every  corner  of  the  continent.  Political 
enemies  vie  with  friends  in  heapiug  honors  upon  his  memory." 

2  Read  Life  and  "Works  by  his  son,  J.  C.  Hamilton,  7  vols. ;  Eulogy  by  Rev. 
John  M.  Mason,  D.D. ;  Sketch  of,  by  Fisher  Ames;  "North  American  Review," 
liii.  70:  "American  Quarterly,"  xv.  311.  William  Coleman,  the  editor  of  the 
'•New  York  Evening  Post,"  published  a  memorial  of  the  occasion  in  "A  Collec- 
tion of  Facts  and  Documents  relative  to  the  Death  of  General  Alexander  Hamil- 
ton, with  Orations,  Sermons,  and  Eulogies."  A  work  of  great  interest  and  value 
has  recently  been  published,  entitled  "  History  of  the  Republic  of  the  United 
States  of  America,  as  traced  in  the  Writings  of  Alexander  Hamilton  and  his  Con- 
temporaries, by  John  C.  Hamilton." 

3  From  a  letter  to  Robert  Morris,  dated  April  30,  1781,  when  the  financial  state 
of  our  country  was  in  a  most  depressed  condition.  The  letter  is  long,  and  one  of 
consummate  ability ;  going  into  details  how  the  bank  should  be  managed,  and 
what  checks  and  safeguards  should  be  adopted  to  place  it  on  an  enduring  founda- 
tion. This  «  splendid  plan,"  as  it  has  been  called,  shows  Hamilton's  vast  reach 
of  mind  united  to  great  skill  in  practical  details,  as  much,  perhaps,  as  any  single 
paper  that  ever  came  from  his  pen. 


126 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON. 


and  when  abused  become  pernicious.  The  precious  metals,  by 
similar  arguments,  may  be  proved  to  be  injurious.  It  is  certain 
that  the  moneys  of  South  America  have  had  great  influence  in 
banishing  industry  from  Spain,  and  sinking  it  in  real  wealth  and 
importance.  Great  power,  commerce,  and  riches — or,  in  other 
words,  great  national  prosperity — may,  in  like  manner,  be  deno- 
minated evils )  for  they  lead  to  insolence,  an  inordinate  ambition, 
a  vicious  luxury,  licentiousness  of  morals,  and  all  those  vices 
which  corrupt  a  government,  enslave  the  state,  and  precipitate  the 
ruin  of  a  nation.  But  no  wise  statesman  will  reject  the  good  from 
an  apprehension  of  the  ill.  The  truth  is,  in  human  affairs  there 
is  no  good  pure  and  unmixed.  Every  advantage  has  two  sides ; 
and  wisdom  consists  in  availing  ourselves  of  the  good,  and  guard- 
ing as  much  as  possible  against  the  bad. 

The  tendency  of  a  national  bank  is  to  increase  public  and  private 
credit.  The  former  gives  power  to  the  state  for  the  protection  of 
its  rights  and  interests,  and  the  latter  facilitates  and  extends  the 
operations  of  commerce  among  individuals.  Industry  is  increased, 
commodities  are  multiplied,  agriculture  and  manufactures  flourish ; 
and  herein  consists  the  true  wealth  and  prosperity  of  a  state.  Most 
commercial  nations  have  found  it  necessary  to  institute  banks ; 
and  they  have  proved  to  be  the  happiest  engines  that  ever  were 
invented  for  advancing  trade.  Venice,  Genoa,  Hamburg,  Hol- 
land, and  England,  are  examples  of  their  utility.  They  owe  their 
riches,  commerce,  and  the  figure  they  have  made  at  different 
periods,  in  a  great  degree  to  this  source.  Great  Britain  is  in- 
debted for  the  immense  efforts  she  has  been  able  to  make  in  so 
many  illustrious  and  successful  wars,  essentially  to  that  vast  fabric 
of  credit  raised  on  this  foundation. 

THE  EXCELLENCY  OF  OUR  CONSTITUTION.1 

After  all  our  doubts,  our  suspicions  and  speculations,  Mr. 
Chairman,  on  the  subject  of  government,  we  must  return  at  last 
to  this  important  truth,  that  when  we  have  formed  a  constitution 
upon  free  principles,  when  we  have  given  a  proper  balance  to  the 
different  branches  of  administration,  and  fixed  representation  upon 
pure  and  equal  principles,  we  may  with  safety  furnish  it  with  all 
the  powers  necessary  to  answer,  in  the  most  ample  manner,  the 
purposes  of  government.  The  great  objects  to  be  desired  are  a 
free  representation  and  mutual  checks.  When  these  are  obtained, 
all  our  apprehensions  of  the  extent  of  powers  are  unjust  and  ima- 
ginary.   What,  then,  is  the  structure  of  this  constitution  ?  One 


1  From  a  speech  delivered  in  the  New  York  Convention,  1788. 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON.  127 

branch  of  the  legislature  is  to  be  elected  by  the  people, — by  the 
same  people  who  choose  your  State  representatives.  Its  members 
are  to  hold  their  office  two  years,  and  then  return  to  their  consti- 
tuents. Here,  sir,  the  people  govern ;  here  they  act  by  their  im- 
mediate representatives.  You  have  also  a  senate,  constituted  by 
your  State  legislatures,  by  men  in  whom  you  place  the  highest 
confidence,  and  forming  another  representative  branch.  Then, 
again,  you  have  an  executive  magistrate,  the  president,  created  by 
a  form  of  election  which  merits  universal  admiration.  In  the 
form  of  this  government,  and  in  the  mode  of  legislation,  you  find 
all  the  checks  which  the  greatest  politicians  and  the  best  writers 
have  ever  conceived.  What  more  can  reasonable  men  desire  ? 
Is  there  any  one  branch  in  which  the  whole  legislative  and  exe- 
cutive powers  are  lodged  ?  No.  The  legislative  authority  is 
lodged  in  three  distinct  branches,  properly  balanced;  the  exe- 
cutive authority  is  divided  between  two  branches  j  and  the  judicial 
is  still  reserved  for  an  independent  body,  who  hold  their  offices 
during  good  behavior.  This  organization  is  so  complex,  so  skil- 
fully contrived,  that  it  is  next  to  impossible  that  an  impolitic  or 
wicked  measure  should  pass  the  great  scrutiny  with  success. 
Now,  what  do  gentlemen  mean  by  coming  forward  and  declaiming 
against  this  government  ?  Why  do  they  say  we  ought  to  limit 
its  powers,  to  disable  it,  and  to  destroy  its  capacity  of  blessing  the 
people  ?  Has  philosophy  suggested,  has  experience  taught,  that 
such  a  government  ought  not  to  be  trusted  with  every  thing- 
necessary  for  the  good  of  society  ?  Sir,  when  you  have  divided 
and  nicely  balanced  the  departments  of  government ;  when  you 
have  strongly  connected  the  virtue  of  your  rulers  with  their  inte- 
rest ;  when,  in  short,  you  have  rendered  your  system  as  perfect  as 
human  forms  can  be, — you  must  place  confidence,  you  must 

GIVE  POWER. 

CHARACTER  OF  MAJOR  ANDRE. 

There  was  something  singularly  interesting  in  the  character 
and  fortunes  of  Andre.  To  an  excellent  understanding,  well  im- 
proved by  education  and  travel,  he  united  a  peculiar  elegance  of 
mind  and  manners,  and  the  advantage  of  a  pleasing  person.  'Tis 
said  he  possessed  a  pretty  taste  for  the  fine  arts,  and  had  himself 
attained  some  proficiency  in  poetry,  music,  and  painting.  His 
knowledge  appeared  without  ostentation,  and  embellished  by  a 
diffidence  that  rarely  accompanies  so  many  talents  and  accom- 
plishments, which  left  you  to  suppose  more  than  appeared.  His 
sentiments  were  elevated,  and  inspired  esteem ;  they  had  a  soft- 
ness that  conciliated  affection.  His  elocution  was  handsome;  his 
address  easy,  polite,  and  insinuating.     By  his  merit,  he  had 


128 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON. 


acquired  the  unlimited  confidence  of  his  general,  and  was  making 
a  rapid  progress  in  military  rank  and  reputation.  But  in  the 
height  of  his  career,  flushed  with  new  hopes  from  the  execution 
of  a  project  the  most  beneficial  to  his  party  that  could  be  devised, 
he  was  at  once  precipitated  from  the  summit  of  prosperity,  and 
saw  all  the  expectations  of  his  ambition  blasted,  and  himself 
ruined. 

The  character  I  have  given  of  him  is  drawn  partly  from  what 
I  saw  of  him  myself,  and  partly  from  information.  I  am  aware 
that  a  man  of  real  merit  is  never  seen  in  so  favorable  a  light  as 
through  the  medium  of  adversity ;  the  clouds  that  surround  him 
are  shades  that  set  off  his  good  qualities.  Misfortune  cuts  down 
the  little  vanities  that,  in  prosperous  times,  serve  as  so  many 
spots  in  his  virtues,  and  gives  a  tone  of  humility  that  makes  his 
worth  more  amiable.  His  spectators,  who  enjoy  a  happier  lot,  are 
less  prone  to  detract  from  it  through  envy,  and  are  more  disposed, 
by  compassion,  to  give  him  the  credit  he  deserves,  and  perhaps 
even  to  magnify  it. 

I  speak  not  of  Andre's  conduct  in  this  affair  as  a  philosopher, 
but  as  a  man  of  the  world.  The  authorized  maxims  and  practices 
of  war  are  the  satires  of  human  nature.  They  countenance  almost 
every  species  of  seduction  as  well  as  violence ;  and  the  general 
who  can  make  most  traitors  in  the  army  of  his  adversary  is  fre- 
quently most  applauded.  On  this  scale  we  acquit  Andre,  while 
we  could  not  but  condemn  him  if  we  were  to  examine  his  con- 
duct by  the  sober  rules  of  philosophy  and  moral  rectitude.  It  is, 
however,  a  blemish  on  his  fame  that  he  once  intended  to  prosti- 
tute a  flag ;  about  this,  a  man  of  nice  honor  ought  to  have  had  a 
scruple ;  but  the  temptation  was  great ;  let  his  misfortunes  cast  a 
veil  over  his  error. 

CHARACTER  OF  GENERAL  GREENE.1 

As  a  man,  the  virtues  of  Nathaniel  Greene  are  admitted ;  as  a 
patriot,  he  holds  a  place  in  the  foremost  rank ;  as  a  statesman,  he 
is  praised  ■  as  a  soldier,  he  is  admired.  But  in  the  two  last  cha- 
racters, especially  in  the  last  but  one,  his  reputation  falls  far  below 
his  desert.  It  required  a  longer  life,  and  still  greater  oppor- 
tunities, to  have  enabled  him  to  exhibit,  in  full  day,  the  vast — I 
had  almost  said  the  enormous — powers  of  his  mind. 


1  Nathaniel  Greene,  a  major-general  in  the  Revolutionary  array,  was  horn  in 
Warwick,  R.  I.,  in  1742,  and  died  in  1785.  In  the  tenth  volume  of  the  second 
series  of  "  Sparks's  American  Biography"  will  be  found  a  well-written  life,  by  his 
grandson,  George  Washington  Greene,  who  is  engaged  in  preparing  a  much  fuller 
biography,  to  be  completed  in  six  volumes. 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON. 


129 


The  termination  of  the  American  war — not  too  soon  for  his 
wishes,  nor  for  the  welfare  of  his  country,  but  too  soon  for  his 
glory — put  an  end  to  his  military  career.  The  sudden  termina- 
tion of  his  life  cut  him  off  from  those  scenes  which  the  progress 
of  a  new,  immense,  and  unsettled  empire  could  not  fail  to  open  to 
the  complete  exertion  of  that  universal  and  pervading  genius 
which  qualified  him  not  less  for  the  senate  than  for  the  field.  *  * 

General  Greene,  descended  from  reputable  parents,  but  not 
placed  by  birth  in  that  elevated  rank  which,  under  a  monarchy, 
is  the  only  sure  road  to  those  employments  that  give  activity  and 
scope  to  abilities,  must,  in  all  probability,  have  contented  himself 
with  the  humble  lot  of  a  private  citizen,  or,  at  most,  with  the 
contracted  sphere  of  an  elective  ofiice  in  a  colonial  and  dependent 
government,  scarcely  conscious  of  the  resources  of  his  own  mind, 
had  not  the  violated  rights  of  his  country  called  him  to  act  a  part 
on  a  more  splendid  and  more  ample  theatre. 

Happily  for  America,  he  hesitated  not  to  obey  the  call.  The 
vigor  of  his  genius,  corresponding  with  the  importance  of  the 
prize  to  be  contended  for,  overcame  the  natural  moderation  of  his 
temper ;  and  though  not  hurried  on  by  enthusiasm,  but  animated 
by  an  enlightened  sense  of  the  value  of  free  government,  he  cheer- 
fully resolved  to  stake  his  fortune,  his  hopes,  his  life,  and  his 
honor,  upon  an  enterprise  of  the  danger  of  which  he  knew  the 
whole  magnitude, — in  a  cause  which  was  worthy  of  the  toils  and 
of  the  blood  of  heroes. 

The  sword  having  been  appealed  to  at  Lexington  as  the  arbiter 
of  the  controversy  between  Great  Britain  and  America,  Greene 
shortly  after  marched,  at  the  head  of  a  regiment,  to  join  the 
American  forces  at  Cambridge,  determined  to  abide  the  awful  de- 
cision. 

He  was  not  long  there  before  the  discerning  eye  of  the  Ameri- 
can Fabius  marked  him  out  as  the  object  of  his  confidence. 

His  abilities  entitled  him  to  a  pre-eminent  share  in  the  councils 
of  his  Chief.  He  gained  it,  .and  he  preserved  it,  amidst  all  the 
chequered  varieties  of  military  vicissitude,  and  in  defiance  of  all 
the  intrigues  of  jealous  and  aspiring  rivals. 

As  long  as  the  measures  which  conducted  us  safely  through  the 
first  most  critical  stages  of  the  war  shall  be  remembered  with 
approbation ;  as  long  as  the  enterprises  of  Trenton  and  Princeton 
shall  be  regarded  as  the  dawnings  of  that  bright  day  which  after- 
wards broke  forth  with  such  resplendent  lustre )  as  long  as  the 
almost  magic  operations  of  the  remainder  of  that  memorable  win- 
ter, distinguished  not  more  by  these  events  than  by  the  extraor- 
dinary spectacle  of  a  powerful  army  straitened  within  narrow 
limits  by  the  phantom  of  a  military  force,  and  never  permitted  to 
transgress  those  limits  with  impunity,  in  which  skill  supplied  the 


130  FISHER  AMES. 

place  of  means,  and  disposition  was  the  substitute  for  an  army  • 
as  long,  I  say,  as  these  operations  shall  continue  to  he  the.  objects 
of  curiosity  and  wonder,  so  long  ought  the  name  of  Greene  to  be 
revered  by  a  grateful  country. 


FISHER  AMES,  1758—1808. 

Few  statesmen  of  this  or  any  other  country  have  passed  through  the  perilous 
arena  of  politics  with  a  dhai-acter  and  reputation  so  unsullied  as  Fisher  Ames. 
He  was  the  youngest  son  of  Dr.  Nathaniel  Ames,  of  Dedham,  Massachusetts,  and 
was  born  in  that  ancient  town,  April  9,  1758.  He  was  hut  six  years  old  when  he 
lost  his  father;  hut  his  mother,  as  if  " 'anticipating  the  future  lustre  of  the  jewel 
committed  to  her  care,"  struggled  bravely  with  her  narrow  circumstances  in  order 
to  give  him  a  literary  education.  She  lived  to  be  a  witness  of  his  eminence,  to 
receive  the  expressions  of  his  filial  piety,  and  to  weep  over  his  grave. 

At  the  completion  of  his  twelfth  year,  he  was  admitted  to  Harvard  College} 
where  he  distinguished  himself,  young  as  he  was,  by  his  studious  habits  and  his 
classical  attainments;  and  he  passed  through  that  ordeal,  so  trying  for  young 
men,  with  a  character  unstained  by  any  vice.  After  leaving  college,  he  engaged 
in  the  business  of  instruction,  and  for  three  or  four  years  employed  his  rime  partly 
in  teaching  others,  and  partly  in  reviewing  his  studies  and  adding  new  stores  to 
his  stock  of  knowledge.  At  length  he  entered  the  office  of  William  Tudor,  Esq., 
of  Boston,  and  in  the  autumn  of  1781  commenced  practice  at  Dedham. 

Mr.  Ames  entered  upon  his  professional  duties  at  a  very  eventful  period  of  our 
history.  From  the  outset  of  his  career  he  was  ever  the  warm,  consistent,  and 
able  friend  of  constitutional  liberty;  and  when  resistance  to  law,  in  Massachu- 
setts, broke  out  into  open  rebellion,  he  wrote  a  series  of  essays  in  the  "Independent 
Chronicle,"  published  in  Boston,  under  the  signatures  of  "  Lucius  Junius  Brutus" 
and  "  Camillus,"  to  animate  the  Government  to  decision  and  energy.  These 
pieces  were  pronounced  to  be  the  production  of  no  common  mind;  and  when 
traced  to  Mr.  Ames,  the  eyes  of  leading  men  in  the  State  were  turned  to  him  as 
one  destined  to  render  the  most  important  services  to  his  country. 

In  17S8  he  was  chosen  a  member  of  the  Massachusetts  Convention  for  ratify- 
ing the  Federal  Constitution.  In  this  body  he  displayed  so  much  talent  and 
sound  political  wisdom  that  he  was  selected  by  the  friends  of  the  then  new 
Government  to  assist  in  its  organization,  and  he  was  accordingly  chosen  the  first 
representative  to  Congress  from  the  district  of  Suffolk,  which  included  the  capital 
of  the  State.  During  the  whole  of  Washington's  administration,  he  continued  a 
member  of  the  House  of  Representatives;  and  though  his  health  was  feeble,  he 
took  an  active  and  responsible  part  in  every  important  question,  giving  all  his 
time  and  all  his  powers  to  public  business  ;  and  such  were  his  abilities  and  such  his 
enlarged  views,  united  to  sound  moral  and  Christian  principles,  that  no  member 
of  the  House  exerted  a  greater  influence.  The  greatest  speech  that  he  delivered 
in  that  body — and,  indeed,  the  speech  of  that  session  of  the  fourth  Congress — was 
that  on  the  appropriation  for  the  British  treaty, — more  generally  known  as  "Jay's 


FISHER  AMES. 


131 


treaty."1  For  many  months  he  had  been  sinking  under  bodily  infirmity ;  and 
though  he  had  attended  the  long  and  interesting  debate  on  a  question  involving 
the  principles  of  the  Constitution  and  the  peace  of  the  United  States,  it  was  feared 
he  would  be  unable  to  speak.  He  himself  had  no  design  of  speaking,  feeling 
utterly  unequal  to  the  effort.  But  when  the  time  came  for  taking  a  vote  so  big 
with  consequences,  his  emotions  would  not  suffer  him  to  be  silent ;  and,  pale,  weak, 
and  emaciated  as  he  was,  he  rose  and  delivered  that  speech,  which,  for  chaste  dic- 
tion, argumentative  reasoning,  high-toned  morality,  and  impassioned  eloquence, 
has  not  its  superior  in  our  legislative  histoiy.2 

At  the  close  of  the  session,  in  the  spring  of  1796,  Mr.  Ames  travelled  for  his 
health,  which  he  regained  so  far  as  to  enable  him  to  attend  the  next  session  of 
Congress;  after  which  ho  declined  another  election,  and  retired  to  his  favorite 
residence,  "to  enjoy  repose  in  the  bosom  of  his  famity,  and  to  unite,  with  his 
practice  as  a  laAvyer,  those  rural  occupations  in  which  he  delighted."  His  interest 
in  public  affairs,  however,  did  not  cease;  and  his  pen  was  almost  constantly 
employed  in  writing  political  essays  for  the  papers  of  the  day,  in  defence  and  sup- 
port of  the  principles  of  the  Federal  party,  of  which  he  was  one  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished members;3  and  when  Washington,  the  illustrious  head  of  that  party, 
died,  Mr.  Ames  pronounced  his  eulogy  before  the  Legislature  of  Massachusetts. 

In  1804,  Mr.  Ames  was  chosen  President  of  Harvard  College,  but  his  feeble 
health  would  not  allow  him  to  accept  the  high  honor.  At  length  his  disease  began 
to  make  more  rapid  strides.  With  great  calmness  and  Christian  resignation  he 
saw  his  end  approaching.  He  was  fully  prepared  to  die,  as  he  had  lived  the  life  of  a 
Christian,  and  his  faith  grew  stronger  as  his  body  grew  weaker;  and  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  4th  of  July,  1808,  the  birthday  of  the  independence  of  that  country 


1  It  was  delivered  April  28,  1796,  in  support  of  the  following  motion : — 
"Resolved,  That  it  is  expedient  to  pass  the  laws  necessary  to  carry  into  effect 

the  treaty  lately  concluded  between  the  United  States  and  the  King  of  Great 
Britain." 

2  Dr.  Charles  Caldwell,  in  his  autobiography,  thus  speaks  of  Ames's  eloquence: 
— "  He  was  decidedly  one  of  the  most  splendid  rhetoricians  of  the  age.  Two  of 
his  speeches,  in  a  special  manner, — that  on  Jay's  treaty,  and  that  usually  called 
his  'tomahawk  speech,'  (because  it  included  some  resplendent  passages  on  Indian 
massacres,) — were  the  most  brilliant  and  fascinating  specimens  of  eloquence  I 
have  ever  heard :  yet  have  I  listened  to  some  of  the  most  celebrated  speakers  in 
the  British  Parliament ;  among  others,  to  Wilberforce  and  Mackintosh,  Plunket, 
Brougham,  and  Canning.  Dr.  Priestley,  who  was  familiar  with  the  oratory  of 
Pitt  the  father  and  Pitt  the  son,  and  also  with  that  of  Burke  and  Fox,  made  to 
myself  the  acknowledgment  that,  to  use  his  own  words,  'the  speech  of  Ames  on 
the  British  treaty  was  the  most  bewitching  piece  of  parliamentary  oratory  he  had 
ever  listened  to.' " 

3  In  a  letter  to  Thomas  Dwight,  dated  October  26,  1803,  he  thus  writes : — "  Our 
country  is  too  big  for  union,  too  sordid  for  patriotism,  too  democratic  for  liberty. 
What  is  to  become  of  it  He  who  made  it  best  knows.  Its  vice  will  govern  it  by 
practising  upon  its  folly.  This  is  ordained  for  democracies.  The  men  who  have 
the  best  principles,  and  those  who  act  from  the  worst,  will  talk  alike,  except  only 
that  the  latter  will  exceed  the  former  in  fervor.  But  the  language  of  deceit, 
though  stale  and  exposed  to  detection,  will  deceive  as  long  as  the  multitude  love 
flattery  better  than  restraint." 

His  Essay  on  the  Bangers  of  American  Liberty  is  replete  with  sout.d  political 
wisdom ;  and  well  would  it  be  for  our  nation  if  it  would  heed  its  counsels  and  its 
warnings. 


132 


FISHER  AMES. 


which  he  so  ardently  loved,  and  for  whose  best  interests  he  had  so  faithfully 
labored,  he  resigned  his  spirit  into  the  hands  of  Him  who  gave  it. 

Fisher  Ames  was  a  truly  great  man.  None  of  our  statesmen  have  united,  to 
talents  and  attainments  of  so  high  an  order,  a  private  character  of  greater  purity, 
or  a  deeper  sense  of  moral  and  religious  obligation.  He  was  a  close  student 
of  the  Bible,  an  admirer  of  our  translation  for  the  purity  of  its  English,  and 
deeply  lamented  the  growing  disuse  of  it  in  our  schools.  He  thought  that  chil- 
dren should  be  made  acquainted  with  its  important  truths,  and  said,  "  I  will 
hazard  the  assertion  that  no  man  ever  did  or  ever  will  become  truly  eloquent 
without  being  a  constant  reader  of  the  Bible,  and  an  admirer  of  the  beauty  and 
sublimity  of  its  language."  "  It  is  happy  for  mankind,"  says  his  biographer, 
"  when  those  who  engage  admiration  deserve  esteem ;  for  vice  and  folly  derive  a 
pernicious  influence  from  an  alliance  with  qualities  that  naturally  command  ap- 
plause. In  the  character  of  Mr.  Ames,  the  circle  of  the  virtues  seems  to  be  com- 
plete, and  each  virtue  in  its  proper  place."1 

THE  OBLIGATIONS  OF  NATIONAL  FAITH. 

Mr.  Chairman : — The  question  before  us  seems  at  last  to  re- 
solve itself  to  this  :  Shall  we  break  the  treaty  ?2  The  treaty 
is  bad,  fatally  bad,  is  the  cry.  It  sacrifices  the  interest,  the 
honor,  the  independence  of  the  United  States,  and  the  faith  of 
our  engagements  to  France.  If  we  listen  to  the  clamor  of  party 
intemperance,  the  evils  are  of  a  number  not  to  be  counted,  and  of 
a  nature  not  to  be  borne,  even  in  idea.  The  language  of  passion 
and  exaggeration  may  silence  that  of  sober  reason  in  other  places ; 
it  has  not  done  it  here.  The  question  here  is,  whether  the 
treaty  be  really  so  very  fatal  as  to  oblige  the  nation  to  break  its 
faith. 

I  lay  down  two  rules,  which  ought  to  guide  us  in  this  case. 


1  Read  the  Life  of  Mr.  Ames,  prefixed  to  his  works,  by  the  ReAr.  Dr.  Kirkland, 
President  of  Harvard  University,  one  of  the  best-written  pieces  of  biography  in 
our  language.  Also,  "Works  of  Fisher  Ames,  with  a  Selection  from  his  Speeches 
and  Correspondence  ;  edited  by  his  Son,  Seth  Ames a  beautiful  edition,  pub- 
lished by  Little,  Brown  &  Co.,  Boston. 

2  The  debate  in  the  House  of  Representatives  upon  Jay's  celebrated  treaty  is 
perhaps  the  most  memorable  that  ever  occurred  in  that  body,  and,  we  may  add, 
one  of  the  most  important ;  for  the  great  question  was  then  discussed  whether  a 
treaty  would  be  valid  without  the  approbation  of  the  House.  Those  who  were  in 
the  affirmative  of  this  question  argued,  from  the  Constitution,  that  the  treaty  was 
already  made,  and  could  not  be  broken  without  breaking  the  faith  of  the  nation; 
for  the  Constitution  vests  the  power  of  making  treaties  in  the  President,  by  and 
with  the  advice  and  consent  of  the  Senate.  Those  in  the  negative  argued  that,  if 
the  President  and  Senate  could  make  treaties  without  the  assistance  of  the  House, 
they  might  absorb  all  legislative  power.  The  treaty  itself,  too,  was  made  a  sub- 
ject of  bitter  animadversion  by  one  part}'.  For  a  comprehensive  account  of  the 
whole  debate,  see  "  Pitkin's  Political  and  Civil  History  of  the  United  States,"  vol. 
ii.  page  442.  It  is  now  seen  that  the  treaty  obtained  as  much  for  us  as,  from  all 
circumstances,  we  could  have  looked  for,  while  it  has  proved,  in  its  application, 
eminently  beneficial  to  us. 


FISHER  AMES. 


133 


The  treaty  must  appear  to  be  bad,  not  merely  in  the  petty  details, 
but  in  its  character,  principle,  and  mass ;  and,  in  the  next  place, 
this  ought  to  be  ascertained  by  the  decided  and  general  concur- 
rence of  the  enlightened  public.  I  confess  there  seems  to  me 
something  very  like  ridicule  thrown  over  the  debate,  by  the  dis- 
cussion of  the  articles  in  detail. 

The  undecided  point  is,  shall  we  break  our  faith  ?  and  while  our 
country  and  enlightened  Europe  await  the  issue,  with  more  than 
curiosity,  we  are  employed  to  gather  piece-meal,  and  article  by 
article,  from  the  instrument,  a  justification  for  the  deed,  by  trivial 
calculations  of  commercial  profit  and  loss.  This  is  little  worthy 
of  the  subject,  of  this  body,  or  of  the  nation.  If  the  treaty  is 
bad,  it  will  appear  to  be  so  in  its  mass.  Evil,  to  a  fatal  extreme, 
if  that  be  its  tendency,  requires  no  proof ;  it  brings  it.  Extremes 
speak  for  themselves,  and  make  their  own  law.  Few  men  of  any 
reputation  for  sense,  among  those  who  say  the  treaty  is  bad,  will 
put  that  reputation  so  much  at  hazard  as  to  pretend  that  it  is  so 
extremely  bad  as  to  warrant  and  require  a  violation  of  the  public 
faith. 

In  the  next  place,  will  the  state  of  public  opinion  justify  the 
deed  ?  No  government,  not  even  a  despotism,  will  break  its  faith 
without  some  pretext ;  and  it  must  be  jjlausible, — it  must  be  such 
as  will  carry  the  public  opinion  along  with  it.  Reasons  of  policy, 
if  not  of  morality,  dissuade  even  Turkey  and  Algiers  from  breaches 
of  treaty  in  mere  wantonness  of  perfidy,  in  open  contempt  of  the 
reproaches  of  their  subjects.  Surely  a  popular  government  will 
not  proceed  more  arbitrarily,  as  it  is  more  free;  nor  with  less 
shame  or  scruple  in  proportion  as  it  has  better  morals.  It  will 
not  proceed  against  the  faith  of  treaties  at  all,  unless  the  strong 
and  decided  sense  of  the  nation  shall  pronounce,  not  simply  that 
the  treaty  is  not  advantageous,  but  that  it  ought  to  be  broken  and 
annulled. 

Why,  Mr.  Chairman,  do  the  opposers  of  this  treaty  complain 
that  the  West  Indies  are  not  laid  open  I  Why  do  they  lament 
that  any  restriction  is  stipulated  on  the  commerce  of  the  East 
Indies  ?  Why  do  they  pretend  that  if  they  reject  this  and  insist 
upon  more,  more  will  be  accomplished  ?  Let  us  be  explicit : 
more  would  not  satisfy.  If  all  was  granted,  would  not  a  treaty 
of  amity  with  Great  Britain  still  be  obnoxious  ?  Have  we  not 
this  instant  heard  it  urged  against  our  envoy  that  he  was  not 
ardent  enough  in  his  hatred  of  Great  Britain  ?  A  treaty  of  amity 
is  condemned  because  it  was  not  made  by  a  foe,  and  in  the  spirit 
of  one.  The  same  gentleman,  at  the  same  instant,  repeats  a  very 
prevailing  objection,  that  no  treaty  should  be  made  with  the 
enemy  of  France.  No  treaty,  exclaim  others,  should  be  made 
with  a  monarch  or  a  despot ;  there  will  be  no  naval  security  while 


134 


FISHER  AMES. 


those  sea-robbers  domineer  on  the  ocean  :  their  clen  must  be  de 
stroyed  ;  that  nation  must  be  extirpated. 

I  like  this,  sir,  because  it  is  sincerity.  With  feelings  such  as 
these,  we  do  not  pant  for  treaties.  Such  passions  seek  nothing, 
and  will  be  content  with  nothing,  but  the  destruction  of  theii 
object.  If  a  treaty  left  King  George  his  island,  it  would  not 
answer, — no,  not  if  he  stipulated  to  pay  rent  for  it.  It  has  even 
been  said,  the  world  ought  to  rejoice  if  Britain  was  sunk  in  the 
sea;  if,  where  there  are  now  men,  and  wealth,  and  laws,  and 
liberty,  there  was  no  more  than  a  sandbank  for  the  sea-monsters 
to  fatten  on,  a  space  for  the  storms  of  the  ocean  to  mingle  in 
conflict. 

PATRIOTISM. 

What  is  patriotism  ?  Is  it  a  narrow  affection  for  the  spot  where 
a  man  was  born  ?  Are  the  very  clods  where  we  tread  entitled  to 
this  ardent  preference  because  they  are  greener  ?  No,  sir :  this 
is  not  the  character  of  the  virtue,  and  it  soars  higher  for  its  object. 
It  is  an  extended  self-love,  mingling  with  all  the  enjoyments  of 
life,  and  twisting  itself  with  the  minutest  filaments  of  the  heart. 
It  is  thus  we  obey  the  laws  of  society,  because  they  are  the  laws 
of  virtue.  In  their  authority  we  see,  not  the  array  of  force  and 
terror,  but  the  venerable  image  of  our  country's  honor.  Every 
good  citizen  makes  that  honor  his  own,  and  cherishes  it  not  only 
as  precious,  but  as  sacred.  He  is  willing  to  risk  his  life  in  its 
defence,  and  is  conscious  that  he  gains  protection  while  he  gives 
it ;  for  what  rights  of  a  citizen  will  be  deemed  inviolable  when  a 
State  renounces  the  principles  that  constitute  their  security  ?  Or, 
if  his  life  should  not  be  invaded,  what  would  its  enjoyments  be  in 
a  country  odious  in  the  eyes  of  strangers  and  dishonored  in  his 
own  ?  Could  he  look  with  affection  and  veneration  to  such  a 
country  as  his  parent  ?  The  sense  of  having  one  would  die  within 
him ;  he  would  blush  for  his  patriotism,  if  he  retained  any;  and 
justly,  for  it  would  be  a  vice.  He  would  be  a  banished  man  in 
his  native  land. 

WASHINGTON  AS  A  CIVILIAN. 

However  his  military  fame  may  excite  the  wonder  of  mankind, 
it  is  chiefly  by  his  civil  magistracy  that  Washington's  example 
will  instruct  them.  Great  generals  have  arisen  in  all  ages  of  the 
world,  and  perhaps  most  in  those  of  despotism  and  darkness.  In 
times  of  violence  and  convulsion,  they  rise,  by  the  force  of  the 
whirlwind,  high  enough  to  ride  in  it  and  direct  the  storm.  Like 
meteors,  they  glare  on  the  black  clouds  with  a  splendor  that,  while 
it  dazzles  and  terrifies,  makes  nothing  visible  but  the  darkness. 


FISHER  AMES. 


135 


The  fame  of  heroes  is  indeed  growing  vulgar  :  they  multiply  in 
every  long  war  j  they  stand  in  history,  and  thicken  in  their  ranks 
almost  as  undistinguished  as  their  own  soldiers. 

But  such  a  chief  magistrate  as  Washington  appears  like  the 
pole-star  in  a  clear  sky,  to  direct  the  skilful  statesman.  His  pre- 
sidency will  form  an  epoch,  and  be  distinguished  as  the  age  of 
Washington.  Already  it  assumes  its  high  place  in  the  political 
region.  Like  the  milky  way,  it  whitens  along  its  allotted  portion 
of  the  hemisphere.  The  latest  generations  of  men  will  survey, 
through  the  telescope  of  history,  the  space  where  so  many  virtues 
blend  their  rays,  and  delight  to  separate  them  into  groups  and 
distinct  virtues.  As  the  best  illustration  of  them,  the  living 
monument  to  which  the  first  of  patriots  would  have  chosen  to 
consign  his  feme,  it  is  my  earnest  prayer  to  heaven  that  our 
country  may  subsist,  even  to  that  late  day,  in  the  plenitude  of  its 
liberty  and  happiness,  and  mingle  its  mild  glory  with  "Washington's. 

CHARACTER  OF  THE  NEWSPAPER  PRESS. 

It  seems  as  if  newspaper  wares  were  made  to  suit  a  market  as 
much  as  any  other.  The  starers,  and  wonderers,  and  gapers 
engross  a  very  large  share  of  the  attention  of  all  the  sons  of  the 
type.  Extraordinary  events  multiply  upon  us  surprisingly. 
Gazettes,  it  is  seriously  to  be  feared,  will  not  long  allow  room  to 
any  thing  that  is  not  loathsome  or  shocking.  A  newspaper  is 
pronounced  to  be  very  lean  and  destitute  of  matter  if  it  contains 
no  account  of  murders,  suicides,  prodigies,  or  monstrous  births. 

Some  of  these  tales  excite  horror,  and  others  disgust ;  yet  the 
fashion  reigns,  like  a  tyrant,  to  relish  wonders,  and  almost  to 
relish  nothing  else.  Is  this  a  reasonable  taste  ?  or  is  it  monstrous 
and  worthy  of  ridicule  ?  Is  the  history  of  Newgate  the  only  one 
worth  reading  ?  Are  oddities  only  to  be  hunted  ?  Pray,  tell  us, 
men  of  ink,  if  our  free  presses  are  to  diffuse  information,  and  we, 
the  poor,  ignorant  people,  can  get  it  no  other  way  than  by  news- 
papers, what  knowledge  we  are  to  glean  from  the  blundering  lies, 
or  the  tiresome  truths  about  thunder-storms,  that,  strange  to  tell 
kill  oxen  or  burn  barns. 

Surely  extraordinary  events  have  not  the  best  title  to  our  stu- 
dious attention.  To  study  nature  or  man,  we  ought  to  know 
things  that  are  in  the  ordinary  course,  not  the  unaccountable 
things  that  happen  out  of  it.  *  *  * 

Some  of  the  shocking  articles  in  the  papers  raise  simple,  and 
very  simple,  wonder  ;  some,  terror ;  and  some,  horror  and  disgust. 
Now,  what  instruction  is  there  in  these  endless  wonders  ?  Who 
is  the  wiser  or  happier  for  reading  the  accounts  of  them?  On 
the  contrary,  do  they  not  shock  tender  minds  and  addle  shallow 


136 


FISHER  AMES. 


brains  ?  They  make  a  thousand  old  maids,  and  eight  or  ten  thou- 
sand booby  boys,  afraid  to  go  to  bed  alone.  Worse  than  this 
happens  j  for  some  eccentric  minds  are  turned  to  mischief  by  such 
accounts  as  they  receive  of  troops  of  incendiaries  burning  our 
cities  :  the  spirit  of  imitation  is  contagious,  and  boys  are  found 
unaccountably  bent  to  do  as  men  do.  When  the  man  flew  from 
the  steeple  of  the  North  Church,  fifty  years  ago,  every  unlucky 
boy  thought  of  nothing  but  flying  from  a  sign-post. 

Every  horrid  story  in  a  newspaper  produces  a  shock  j  but,  after 
some  time,  this  shock  lessens.  At  length,  such  stories  are  so  far 
from  giving  pain  that  they  rather  raise  curiosity,  and  we  desire 
nothing  so  much  as  the  particulars  of  terrible  tragedies.  To 
wonder  is  as  easy  as  to  stare,  and  the  most  vacant  mind  is  the 
most  in  need  of  such  resources  as  cost  no  trouble  of  scrutiny  or 
reflection )  it  is  a  sort  of  food  for  idle  curiosity  that  is  readily 
chewed  and  digested. 

Now,  Messrs.  Printers,  I  pray  the  whole  honorable  craft  to 
banish  as  many  murders,  and  horrid  accidents,  and  monstrous 
births,  and  prodigies,  from  their  gazettes,  as  their  readers  will 
permit  them ;  and,  by  degrees,  to  coax  them  back  to  contemplate 
life  and  manners,  to  consider  common  events  with  some  common 
sense,  and  to  study  nature  where  she  can  be  known,  rather  than 
in  those  of  her  ways  where  she  really  is,  or  is  represented  to  be, 
inexplicable. 

Boston  Palladium,  October,  1801. 
CHARACTER  OF  HAMILTON. 

In  all  the  different  stations  in  which  a  life  of  active  usefulness 
placed  Hamilton,  we  find  him  not  more  remarkably  distinguished 
by  the  extent,  than  by  the  variety  and  versatility,  of  his  talents. 
In  every  place  he  made  it  apparent  that  no  other  man  could  have 
filled  it  so  well  j  and  in  times  of  critical  importance,  in  which 
alone  he  desired  employment,  his  services  were  justly  deemed  ab- 
solutely indispensable.  As  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  his  was 
the  powerful  spirit  that  presided  over  the  chaos. 

"Confusion  heard  his  voice,  and  wild  Uproar 
Stood  ruled."  

Indeed,  in  organizing  the  Federal  Government,  in  1789,  every 
man  of  either  sense  or  candor  will  allow,  the  difficulties  seemed 
greater  than  the  first-rate  abilities  could  surmount.  The  event  has 
shown  that  his  abilities  were  greater  than  those  difficulties.  He 
surmounted  them;  and  Washington's  administration  was  the  most 
wise  and  beneficent,  the  most  prosperous,  and  ought  to  be  the 
most  popular,  that  ever  was  intrusted  with  the  affairs  of  a  nation. 


FISHER  AMES. 


137 


Great  as  was  Washington's  merit,  much  of  it  in  plan,  much  in 
execution,  will  of  course  devolve  upon  his  minister. 

As  a  lawyer,  his  comprehensive  genius  reached  the  principles 
of  his  profession  j  he  compassed  its  extent,  he  fathomed  its  pro- 
found, perhaps,  even  more  familiarly  and  easily  than  the  ordinary 
rules  of  its  practice.  With  most  men  law  is  a  trade ;  with  him 
it  was  a  science. 

As  a  statesman,  he  was  not  more  distinguished  by  the  great 
extent  of  his  views  than  by  the  caution  with  which  he  provided 
against  impediments,  and  the  watchfulness  of  his  care  over  the 
right  and  liberty  of  the  subject.  In  none  of  the  many  revenue 
bills  which  he  framed,  though  committees  reported  them,  is  there 
to  be  found  a  single  clause  that  savors  of  despotic  power  j  not  one 
that  the  sagest  champions  of  law  and  liberty  would,  on  that  ground, 
hesitate  to  approve  and  adopt. 

It  is  rare  that  a  man  who  owes  so  much  to  nature  descends  to 
seek  more  from  industry;  but  he  seemed  to  depend  on  industry  as 
if  nature  had  done  nothing  for  him.  His  habits  of  investigation 
were  very  remarkable;  his  mind  seemed  to  cling  to  his  subject  till 
he  had  exhausted  it.  Hence  the  uncommon  superiority  of  his 
reasoning  powers, — a  superiority  that  seemed  to  be  augmented 
from  every  source  and  to  be  fortified  by  every  auxiliary, — learn- 
ing, taste,  wit,  imagination,  and  eloquence.  These  were  embel- 
lished and  enforced  by  his  temper  and  manners,  by  his  fame  and 
his  virtues.  It  is  difficult,  in  the  midst  of  such  various  excel- 
lence, to  say  in  what  particular  the  effect  of  his  greatness  was 
most  manifest.  No  man  more  promptly  discerned  truth  ;  no  man 
more  clearly  displayed  it :  it  was  not  merely  made  visible, — it 
seemed  to  come  bright  with  illumination  from  his  lips.  But, 
prompt  and  clear  as  he  was, — fervid  as  Demosthenes,  like  Cicero 
full  of  resource, — he  was  not  less  remarkable  for  the  copiousness 
and  completeness  of  his  argument,  that  left  little  for  cavil,  and 
nothing  for  doubt.  Some  men  take  their  strongest  argument  as  a 
weapon,  and  use  no  other ;  but  he  left  nothing  to  be  inquired  for 
more,  nothing  to  be  answered.  He  not  only  disarmed  his  adver- 
saries of  their  pretexts  and  objections,  but  he  stripped  them  of  all 
excuse  for  having  urged  them;  he  confounded  and  subdued  as 
well  as  convinced.  He  indemnified  them,  however,  by  making  his 
discussion  a  complete  map  of  his  subject;  so  that  his  opponents 
might,  indeed,  feel  ashamed  of  their  mistakes,  but  they  could  not 
repeat  them.  In  fact,  it  was  no  common  effort  that  could  pre- 
serve a  really  able  antagonist  from  becoming  his  convert ;  for  the 
truth  which  his  researches  so  distinctly  presented  to  the  under- 
standing of  others  was  rendered  almost  irresistibly  commanding 
and  impressive,  by  the  love  and  reverence  which,  it  was  ever 
apparent,  he  profoundly  cherished  for  it  in  his  own.  While 

12* 


138 


FISHER  AMES. 


patriotism  glowed  in  his  heart,  wisdom  blended  in  his  speech  her 
authority  with  her  charms.  *  *  * 

The  most  substantial  glory  of  a  country  is  in  its  virtuous  great 
men ;  its  prosperity  will  depend  on  its  docility  to  learn  from  their 
example.  The  name  of  Hamilton  would  have  honored  Greece  in 
the  age  of  Aristides.  May  Heaven,  the  guardian  of  our  liberty, 
grant  that  our  country  may  be  fruitful  of  Hamiltons,  and  faithful 
to  their  glory ! 

GREECE. 

In  affairs  that  concern  morals,  we  consider  the  approbation  of  a 
man's  own  conscience  as  more  precious  than  all  human  rewards. 
But  in  the  province  of  the  imagination,  the  applause  of  others  is 
of  all  excitements  the  strongest.  This  excitement  is  the  cause, 
excellence  the  effect.  When  every  thing  concurs — and  in  Greece 
every  thing  did  concur — to  augment  its  power,  a  nation  wakes  at 
once  from  the  sleep  of  ages.  It  would  seem  as  if  some  Minerva, 
some  present  divinity,  inhabited  her  own  temple  in  Athens,  and, 
by  flashing  light  and  working  miracles,  had  conferred  on  a  single 
people,  and  almost  on  a  single  age  of  that  people,  powers  that  are 
denied  to  other  men  and  other  times.  The  admiration  of  posterity 
is  excited  and  overstrained  by  an  effulgence  of  glory  as  much  be- 
yond our  comprehension  as  our  emulation.  The  Greeks  seem  to 
us  a  race  of  giants, — Titans, — the  rivals  yet  the  favorites  of  their 
gods.  We  think  their  apprehension  was  quicker,  their  native 
taste  more  refined,  their  prose  poetry,  their  poetry  music,  their 
music  enchantment.  We  imagine  they  had  more  expression  in 
their  faces,  more  grace  in  their  movements,  more  sweetness  in 
the  tones  of  conversation,  than  the  moderns.  Their  fabulous 
deities  are  supposed  to  have  left  their  heaven  to  breathe  the  fra- 
grance of  their  groves  and  to  enjoy  the  beauty  of  their  landscapes. 
The  monuments  of  heroes  must  have  excited  to  heroism,  and  the 
fountains  which  the  muses  had  chosen  for  their  purity,  imparted 
inspiration.  It  is  indeed  almost  impossible  to  contemplate  the 
bright  ages  of  Greece  without  indulging  the  propensity  to  enthu- 
siasm. 

POLITICAL  FACTIONS. 

In  democratic  states  there  will  be  factions.  The  sovereign 
power,  being  nominally  in  the  hands  of  all,  will  be  effectually 
within  the  grasp  of  a  few ;  and  therefore,  by  the  very  laws  of  our 
nature,  a  few  will  combine,  intrigue,  lie,  and  fight  to  engross  it  to 
themselves.  All  history  bears  testimony  that  this  attempt  has 
never  yet  been  disappointed. 

Who  will  be  the  associates  ?  Certainly  not  the  virtuous,  who 
do  not  wish  to  control  the  society,  but  quietly  to  enjoy  its  protec- 


NOAH  WEBSTER. 


189 


tion.  The  enterprising  merchant,  the  thriving  tradesman,  the 
careful  farmer,  will  be  engrossed  by  the  toils  of  their  business, 
and  will  have  little  time  or  inclination  for  the  unprofitable  and 
disquieting  pursuits  of  politics.1  It  is  not  the  industrious,  sober 
husbandman  who  will  plough  that  barren  field  :  it  is  the  lazy  and 
dissolute  bankrupt,  who  has  no  other  to  plough.  The  idle,  the 
ambitious,  and  the  needy  will  band  together  to  break  the  hold  that 
law  has  upon  them,  and  then  to  get  hold  of  law.  Faction  is  a 
Hercules,  whose  first  labor  is  to  strangle  this  lion,  and  then  to 
make  armour  of  his  skin.  In  every  democratic  state,  the  ruling 
faction  will  have  law  to  keep  down  its  enemies,  but  it  will  arro- 
gate to  itself  an  undisputed  power  over  law. 


NOAH  WEBSTER,  1758—1843. 

Noah  Webster  was  born  in  West  Hartford,  Connecticut,  on  the  16th  of  October, 
1758,  and  graduated  with  much  reputation  at  Yale  College  in  1778.  He  then  en- 
gaged in  the  instruction  of  a  school  at  Hartford,  studying  law  at  the  same  time, 
and  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  1781.  Not  being  encouraged  to  enter  immediately 
on  the  practice  of  his  profession,  in  consequence  of  the  impoverished  state  of  the 
country,  he  took  charge  of  a  grammar-school  at  Goshen,  in  the  State  of  New 
York.  Here  he  compiled  his  celebrated  Spelling-Booh,  which  he  published  on  his 
return  to  Hartford  in  1783  ;  and  soon  after  appeared  his  English  Grammar,  and  a 
compilation  for  reading.   All  these  works,  particularly  the  Spelling-Book,  have  had 


1  It  is  a  sad  truth  that  many  of  our  best  citizens  in  all  parts  of  the  country  live 
in  the  constant  neglect  of  their  political  duties.  They  are  eloquent  upon  the  evils 
of  misgovernment,  and  yet  forget  that  they  are  accountable  for  a  large  share  of 
the  mischiefs  by  which  they  suffer  in  common  with  the  whole  country.  There  is 
no  reason  why,  in  a  republican  country,  political  contact  should  be  repulsive,  ex- 
cept in  the  very  fact  that  those  whose  character  would  give  respectability  to  our 
elections  choose  to  stay  away,  and  thus  create  the  very  difficulty  of  which  they  are 
so  sensitive.  Men  may  talk  of  ignoring  politics,  but  in  reality  they  cannot  do  it. 
The  happiness  and  prosperity  of  the  nation  depend  in  a  great  degree  upon  the 
manner  in  which  its  government  is  administered,  the  laws  which  its  corporations 
or  legislatures  enact,  and  the  manner  in  which  those  laws  are  enforced.  No 
man  has  any  right  to  complain  of  bad  rulers,  municipal,  state,  or  national,  if  he 
has  done  nothing  to  put  better  ones  in  their  place.  The  refusal  of  men  to  take 
a  few  hours  in  the  year  from  their  daily  business  and  give  them  to  public  interests, 
by  attending  the  primary  meetings  where  candidates  are  nominated  for  office,  and 
then  by  going  to  the  polls  and  voting  for  good  men,  is  probably  what  Mr.  Ames 
refers  to  when  he  says  that  our  countrymen  "  are  too  sordid  for  patriotism." 
(See  Note  3,  p.  131.)  Of  all  countries  in  the  world,  ours,  where  every  thing  de- 
pends on  the  popular  will,  is  the  least  adapted  to  men  who  are  indifferent  to  poli- 
tics; for  if  the  wise  and  the  good  neglect  their  political  duties,  the  country  will 
be  ruled  by  the  ignorant  and  the  base. 


140 


NOAH  WEBSTER. 


a  very  wide  circulation,  and  have  done  much  to  promote  uniformity  of  language 
and  pronunciation  in  our  country. 

About  this  time  he  became  a  political  writer,  and  his  Sketches  of  American 
Policy,  published  in  1784  ;  his  writings  in  favor  of  the  adoption  of  the  Federal 
Constitution;  in  defence  of  "Washington's  proclamation  of  neutrality,  and  of  "  Jay's 
Treaty,'"1  had  great  influence  on  public  opinion,  and  were  highly  appreciated.  In 
1793,  he  established  a  daily  paper  in  New  York,  devoted  to  the  support  of  General 
Washington's  administration, — a  paper  still  published  under  the  title  of  the  Com- 
mercial Advertiser.  In  1789,  he  was  married  to  a  daughter  of  William  Greenleaf, 
Esq.,  of  Boston. 

Mr.  Webster  removed  to  New  Haven  in  1798,  and  in  1807  entered  upon  the 
great  business  of  his  life, — the  compilation  of  The  American  Dictionary  of  the 
English  Language.  This  work,  which  he  was  twenty  years  in  completing,  amidst 
various  difficulties  and  discouragements,  contains  twelve  thousand  words,  and 
between  thirty  and  forty  thousand  definitions,  are  not  contained  in  any  preceding 
work.  In  the  beauty,  conciseness,  and  accuracy  of  its  definitions,  and  in  the  de- 
partment of  etymology,  it  is  superior  to  all  other  English  dictionaries.  The 
learning  and  ability  with  which  he  prosecuted  the  abstruse  and  difficult  etymo- 
logical investigations  were  generally  acknowledged,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  and 
have  laid  the  foundation  of  a  wide-spread  and  enduring  reputation. 

The  last  forty  years  of  his  life  Mr.  Webster  devoted  to  literary  pursuits,  with 
an  ardor  rarely  seen  in  any  country,  and  especially  in  this.  His  study  was  his 
home,  his  books  and  pen  his  constant  companions,  and  his  knowledge,  to  the 
last,  was  constantly  on  the  increase.  After  a  short  illness,  with  his  faculties  un- 
impaired, in  the  cheerful  retrospect  of  a  life  of  happy  and  useful  employment,  and 
with  the  fullest  consolations  of  religion,  he  expired  at  Xew  Haven  on  the  28th  of 
May,  1843,  in  the  eighty-fifth  year  of  his  age.2 

"It  may  be  said  that  the  name  of  Noah  Webster,  from  the  wide  circulation 
of  some  of  his  works,  is  known  familiarly  to  a  greater  number  of  the  inhabitants 
of  the  United  States  than  the  name,  probably,  of  any  other  individual  except  the 
Father  of  his  Country.  Whatever  influence  he  thus  acquired  was  used  at  all 
times  to  promote  the  best  interests  of  his  fellow-men.  His  books,  though  read  by 
millions,  have  made  no  man  worse.  To  multitudes  they  have  been  of  lasting 
benefit,  not  only  by  the  course  of  early  training  they  have  furnished,  but  by  those 
precepts  of  wisdom  and  virtue  with  which  almost  every  page  is  stored."3 


1  His  series  of  papers  in  support  of  Jay's  Treaty  were  signed  Curtius. 

2  Mr.  Webster's  other  publications  were, — Effects  of  Slavery  on  Morals  and  In- 
dustry, 1793:  a  collection  of  Papers  on  Political,  Literary,  and  Moral  Subjects, 
1790,  republished  1843  :  A  Manual  of  Useful  Studies,  1832;  a  work  on  Pestilential 
Diseases,  1790  ;  A  Treatise  on  the  Rights  of  Neutral  Nations  in  War,  1802. 

"  It  has  been  said,  and  with  much  truth,  that  he  has  held  communion  with  more 
minds  than  any  other  author  of  modern  times.  His  learning,  his  assiduity,  his 
piety,  his  patriotism,  were  the  groundwork  of  these  successful  and  beneficent 
labors." — Goodrich's  Recollections. 

3  From  the  "  Memoir"  prefixed  to  his  quarto  Dictionary,  by  Rev.  Chauncey 
A.  Goodrich,  D.D.  It  is  at  length  announced  that  the  great  and  long-promised 
Dictionary  of  that  learned  and  veteran  lexicographer,  J.  E.  Worcester,  LL.D., 
will  be  ready  in  October,  1859.  It  will  be  embellished  with  pictorial  illustra- 
tions, and,  as  a  whole,  will,  in  fulness,  in  consistent  orthography,  and  in  correct 
orthoepy,  be  in  advance,  doubtless,  of  any  thing  of  the  kind  we  now  have. 


NOAH  WEBSTER. 


141 


THE  HARTFORD  CONVENTION. 

Few  transactions  of  the  federalists,  during  the  early  periods  of 
our  government,  excited  so  much  the  angry  passions  of  their 
opposers  as  the  Hartford  Convention — so  called — during  the  presi- 
dency of  Mr.  Madison.  As  I  was  present  at  the  first  meeting  of 
the  gentlemen  who  suggested  such  a  convention  ;  as  I  was  a  mem- 
ber of  the  House  of  liepresentatives  in  Massachusetts  when  the 
resolve  was  passed  for  appointing  the  delegates,  and  advocated 
that  resolve  ;  and  further,  as  I  have  copies  of  the  documents, 
which  no  other  person  may  have  preserved,  it  seems  to  be  in- 
cumbent on  me  to  present  to  the  public  the  real  facts  in  regard 
to  the  origin  of  the  measure,  which  have  been  vilely  falsified  and 
misrepresented. 

After  the  War  of  1812  had  continued  two  years,  our  public 
affairs  were  reduced  to  a  deplorable  condition.  The  troops  of  the 
United  States,  intended  for  defending  the  seacoast,  had  been  with- 
drawn to  carry  on  the  war  in  Canada  j  a  British  squadron  was  sta- 
tioned in  the  Sound  to  prevent  the  escape  of  a  frigate  from  the 
harbor  of  New  London,  and  to  intercept  our  coasting  trade;  one 
town  in  Maine  was  in  possession  of  the  British  forces;  the 
banks  south  of  Xew  England  had  all  suspended  the  payment  of 
specie;  our  shipping  lay  in  our  harbors,  embargoed,  dismantled, 
and  perishing ;  the  treasury  of  the  United  States  was  exhausted  to 
the  last  cent;  and  a  general  gloom  was  spread  over  the  country. 

In  this  condition  of  affairs,  a  number  of  gentlemen  in  North- 
ampton, in  Massachusetts,  after  consultation,  determined  to  invite 
some  of  the  principal  inhabitants  of  the  three  counties  on  the  river, 
formerly  composing  the  old  county  of  Hampshire,  to  meet  and 
consider  whether  any  measure  could  be  taken  to  arrest  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  war,  and  provide  for  the  public  safety. 

Many  town  meetings  were  held,  and  with  great  unanimity 
addresses  and  memorials  were  transmitted  to  the  General  Court 
then  in  session ;  but,  as  commissioners  had  been  sent  to  Europe 
for  the  purpose  of  negotiating  a  treaty  of  peace,  it  was  judged 
advisable  not  to  have  any  action  upon  them  till  the  result  of  the 
negotiation  should  be  known.  But  during  the  following  summer 
no  news  of  peace  arrived ;  and,  the  distresses  of  the  country  in- 
creasing, and  the  seacoast  remaining  defenceless,  Governor  Strong 
summoned  a  special  meeting  of  the  legislature  in  October,  in 
which  the  petitions  of  the  towns  were  taken  into  consideration, 
and  a  resolve  was  passed  appointing  delegates  to  a  convention  to 
be  held  in  Hartford.  The  subsequent  history  of  that  convention 
is  known  by  their  report. 

The  measure  of  resorting  to  a  convention  for  the  purpose  of 
arresting  the  evils  of  a  bad  administration,  roused  the  jealousy  of 


142 


NOAH  WEBSTER. 


the  advocates  of  the  war,  and  called  forth  the  bitterest  invectives. 
The  convention  was  represented  as  a  treasonable  combination, 
originating  in  Boston,  for  the  purpose  of  dissolving  the  Union. 
But  citizens  of  Boston  had  no  concern  in  originating  the  proposal 
for  a  convention;  it  was  wholly  the  project  of  the  people  in  old 
Hampshire  county, — as  respectable  and  patriotic  republicans  as 
ever  trod  the  soil  of  a  free  country.  The  citizens  who  first  assem- 
bled in  Northampton,  convened  under  the  authority  of  the  Bill  of 
Rights,  which  declares  that  the  people  have  a  right  to  meet  in  a 
peaceable  manner  and  consult  for  the  public  safety.  The  citizens 
had  the  same  right  then  to  meet  in  convention  as  they  have  now ; 
the  distresses  of  the  country  demanded  extraordinary  measures  for 
redress  j  the  thought  of  dissolving  the  Union  never  entered  into 
the  head  of  any  of  the  projectors,  or  of  the  members  of  the  Con- 
vention ;  the  gentlemen  who  composed  it,  for  talents  and  patriot- 
ism, have  never  been  surpassed  by  any  assembly  in  the  United 
States ;  and  beyond  a  question  the  appointment  of  the  Hartford 
Convention  had  a  very  favorable  effect  in  hastening  the  conclusion 
of  a  treaty  of  peace. 

All  the  reports  which  have  been  circulated  respecting  the  evil 
designs  of  that  Convention  I  know  to  be  the  foulest  misrepresenta- 
tions. Indeed,  respecting  the  views  of  the  disciples  of  Washing- 
ton and  the  supporters  of  his  policy,  many,  and  probably  most,  of 
the  people  of  the  United  States  in  this  generation,  are  made  to 
believe  far  more  falsehood  than  truth.  I  speak  of  facts  within 
my  own  personal  knowledge.  We  may  well  say,  with  the  prophet, 
"  Truth  is  fallen  in  the  street,  and  equity  cannot  enter."  Party 
spirit  produces  an  unwholesome  zeal  to  depreciate  one  class  of  men 
for  the  purpose  of  exalting  another.  It  becomes  rampant  in  pro- 
pagating slander,  which  engenders  contempt  for  personal  worth 
and  superior  excellence;  it  blunts  the  sensibility  of  men  to  injured 
reputation ;  impairs  a  sense  of  honor ;  banishes  the  charities  of 
life ;  debases  the  moral  sense  of  the  community ;  weakens  the 
motives  that  prompt  men  to  aim  at  high  attainments  and  patriotic 
achievements ;  degrades  national  character,  and  exposes  it  to  the 
scorn  of  the  civilized  world. 

ORIGIN  OF  LANGUAGE. 

We  read  in  the  Scriptures,  that  God,  when  he  had  created  man, 
" blessed  them;  and  said  unto  them,  Be  fruitful,  and  multiply, 
and  replenish  the  earth,  and  subdue  it :  and  have  dominion  over 
the  fish  of  the  sea,"  &c.  God  afterward  planted  a  garden,  and 
placed  in  it  the  man  he  had  made,  with  a  command  to  keep  it,  and 
to  dress  it ;  and  he  gave  him  a  rule  of  moral  conduct,  in  permit- 
ting him  to  eat  the  fruit  of  every  tree  in  the  garden,  except  one, 


NOAH  WEBSTER. 


143 


the  eating  of  which  was  prohibited.  We  further  read,  that  God 
brought  to  Adam  the  fowls  and  beasts  he  had  made,  and  that 
Adam  gave  them  names ;  and  that  when  his  female  companion 
was  made,  he  gave  her  a  name.  After  the  eating  of  the  forbidden 
fruit,  it  is  stated  that  God  addressed  Adam  and  Eve,  reproving 
them  for  their  disobedience,  and  pronouncing  the  penalties  which 
they  had  incurred.  In  the  account  of  these  transactions,  it  is  fur- 
ther related  that  Adam  and  Eve  both  replied  to  their  Maker,  and 
excused  their  disobedience. 

If  we  admit,  what  is  the  literal  and  obvious  interpretation  of  this 
narrative,  that  vocal  sounds  or  words  were  used  in  these  communi- 
cations between  God  and  the  progenitors  of  the  human  race,  it 
results  that  Adam  was  not  only  endowed  with  intellect  for  under- 
standing his  Maker,  or  the  signification  of  words,  but  was  fur- 
nished both  with  the  faculty  of  speech  and  with  speech  itself,  or 
the  knowledge  and  use  of  words  as  signs  of  ideas,  and  this  before 
the  formation  of  the  woman.  Hence  we  may  infer  that  language 
was  bestowed  on  Adam,  in  the  same  manner  as  all  his  other  facul- 
ties and  knowledge,  by  supernatural  power ;  or,  in  other  words, 
was  of  divine  origin  :  for  supposing  Adam  to  have  had  all  the  in- 
tellectual powers  of  any  adult  individual  of  the  species  who  has 
since  lived,  we  cannot  admit  as  probable,  or  even  possible,  that 
he  should  have  invented  and  constructed  even  a  barren  language, 
as  soon  as  he  was  created,  without  supernatural  aid.  It  may  in- 
deed be  doubted  whether,  without  such  aid,  men  would  ever  have 
learned  the  use  of  the  organs  of  speech,  so  far  as  to  form  a  lan- 
guage. At  any  rate,  the  invention  of  words  and  the  construction 
of  a  language  must  have  been  by  a  slow  process,  and  must  have 
required  a  much  longer  time  than  that  which  passed  between  the 
creation  of  Adam  and  of  Eve.  It  is  therefore  probable1  that  lan- 
guage, as  well  as  the  faculty  of  speech,  was  the  immediate  gift  of 
God.  We  are  not,  however,  to  suppose  the  language  of  our  first 
parents  in  paradise  to  have  been  copious,  like  most  modern  lan- 
guages, or  the  identical  language  they  used  to  be  now  in  existence. 
Many  of  the  primitive  radical  words  may,  and  probably  do,  exist 
in  various  languages;  but  observation  teaches  that  languages  must 
improve  and  undergo  great  changes  as  knowledge  increases,  and  be 
subject  to  continual  alterations,  from  other  causes  incident  to  men 
in  society. 

Preface  to  Dictionary . 


1  Not  only  "  probably,"  but,  to  my  apprehension,  undoubtedly  true ;  for  to  sup- 
pose that  man  without  language  taught  himself  to  speak,  seems  to  me  as  absurd 
as  it  would  be  to  suppose  that  without  legs  he  could  teach  himself  to  walk. 
Language,  therefore,  must  have  been  the  immediate  gift  of  God. 


144 


ALEXANDER  WILSON. 


ALEXANDER  WILSON,  1766— 1813. 

If  one's  nationality  is  to  be  determined  by  the  country  where  he  was  chiefly 
educated,  by  the  soil  which  proved  kindred  to  his  genius,  by  the  scenes  which 
called  forth  his  powers,  and  by  the  field  where  he  won  his  fame,  then  is  Alexander 
Wilson,  though  of  foreign  origin,  truly  an  American. 

He  was  born  in  Paisley,  Scotland,  on  the  6th  of  July,  1766,  of  humble  parents, 
and  at  the  age  of  thirteen  he  was  apprenticed  to  a  weaver,  with  whom  he  worked 
till  he  was  eighteen.  He  early  evinced  a  taste  for  literature,  spending  all  his 
leisure  time  in  reading  and  study,  and,  from  his  youth  to  the  day  of  his  death, 
presents  an  eminent  instance  of  the  successful  pursuit  of  knowledge  under  diffi- 
culties. The  genius  of  Burns,  who  was  but  six  years  older,  had  just  burst  upon 
his  countrymen,  and  the  spirit  of  emulation  so  fired  the  breast  of  Wilson,  that  he 
soon  put  forth  a  volume  entitled  Poems,  Humorous,  Satirical,  and  Serious.  But  it 
was  not  received  with  much  favor,  and  certainly  "put  no  money  in  his  purse;"  so 
that  he  returned  to  his  trade  as  a  surer  means  of  gaining  a  livelihood.  In  a 
few  years  he  became  disgusted  with  it,  and  resolved  to  try  to  better  his  fortune  in 
the  United  States.  Taking  passage  in  a  vessel  from  Belfast,  he  arrived  at  New 
Castle,  Delaware,  on  the  14th  of  July,  1794,  without  a  shilling  in  his  pocket. 
Shouldering  his  fowling-piece,  he  set  forward  on  foot  towards  Philadelphia,  and 
on  his  way  shot  a  woodpecker.  This  little  incident  was  doubtless  the  germ  of  his 
future  fame,  for  the  peculiar  habits  and  rich  plumage  of  this  native  of  our  forests 
made  a  deep  impression  upon  his  mind,  and  led  him  by  degrees  to  that  train  of 
thought  and  those  plans  of  action  which  resulted  in  placing  him  at  the  head  of 
American  ornithologists. 

At  Philadelphia,  he  at  first  worked  at  his  old  trade ;  but  as  soon  as  he  had  made 
a  little  money,  he  resolved  to  devote  himself  to  the  pursuits  of  literature.  To  this 
end  he  taught  a  school  at  Milcstown,  about  six  miles  from  Philadelphia,  where  ho 
remained  several  years,  studying  diligently,  and  adding  a  little  to  the  income 
from  his  school  by  surveying  land  for  the  farmers  in  the  neighborhood.  He  then 
travelled  into  the  Genesee  country,  New  York,  to  visit  some  friends,  and  on  his 
return  accepted  an  invitation  to  become  the  head  teacher  of  Union  School,  in  the 
township  of  Kingsessing,  a  short  distance  from  Gray's  Ferry,  on  the  Schuylkill, 
on  the  banks  of  which  river  Audubon  likewise  caught  his  inspiration.  Here  he 
contracted  an  affectionate  intimacy  with  the  venerable  naturalist,  William  Bar- 
tram,  whose  extensive  botanic  garden  was  in  the  vicinity  of  the  school-house. 

Prom  this  time  (about  1S03)  must  be  dated  the  beginning  of  his  history  as  an 
ornithologist.  Seeing  the  imperfections  of  books  on  the  subject  of  the  birds  of  our 
country,  how  imperfectly  and  often  falsely  they  were  represented  in  drawings,  he 
determined  to  devote  his  life  to  Ornithology.  He  therefore  applied  himself  to  the 
study  of  drawing  and  engraving,  and  soon  made  very  commendable  progress  in 
those  arts.  In  October,  1804,  he  set  out  on  foot  for  the  Falls  of  Niagara,  making 
every  thing  on  his  journey  subsidiary  to  his  favorite  pursuit.  On  bis  return,  he 
published  an  account  of  his  journey  in  the  Portfolio,  in  a  poem  called  "  The 
Foresters,"  and  continued  in  his  vocation  as  a  teacher,  giving  all  his  spare  time, 
as  before,  to  his  favorite  science.  By  the  spring  of  1805  he  had  completed  the 
drawings  of  twenty-eight  birds,  mostly  inhabitants  of  Pennsylvania,  and  at  the  close 


ALEXANDER  WILSON. 


145 


of  the  next  year  entered  into  an  engagement  with  Mr.  Samuel  F.  Bradford,  a  pub- 
lisher in  Philadelphia,  to  publish  his  American  Ornithology,  the  first  volume  of  which 
wits  given  to  the  world  in  September,  1808.  Immediately  he  set  off  on  a  tour  to  the 
Eastern  States  to  exhibit  his  work,  procure  subscribers,  and  at  the  same  time  add 
to  his  stock  of  ornithological  science.  But  the  price  of  the  work  completed  (one 
hundred  and  twenty  dollars)  was  so  far  beyond  any  thing  the  public  had  been 
accustomed  to,  that  he  did  not  meet  with  the  encouragement  he  had  hoped.  Still, 
he  was  not  disheartened.  He  returned  home,  and  then  made  an  extensive  tour 
through  the  Southern  States,  of  which  he  gives  us  a  very  amusing  though  in  some 
respects  a  somewhat  sad  picture.  Again  returning  the  next  year,  he  published, 
in  January,  1810,  the  second  volume  of  the  Ornithology.  lie  then  set  out  on  a 
Western  tour,  going  to  Pittsburg,  and  thence  down  the  Ohio,  and  through  Ken- 
tucky, Tennessee,  &c,  to  New  Orleans,  whence  he  embarked  for  New  York, 
arriving  at  Philadelphia  on  the  2d  of  August,  1811.  He  afterwards  took  another 
tour  through  the  Northern  and  Eastern  States,  and  on  his  return  made  unceas- 
ing efforts  to  complete  his  great  work.  As  soon  as  the  seventh  volume  had 
left  the  press,  he  went  to  Great  Egg  Harbor,  to  collect  materials  for  the  eighth. 
He  took  cold,  from  exposure ;  dysenteiy  ensued,  and  he  died  on  the  23d  of  August, 
1813. 

In  his  personal  appearance,  Wilson  was  tall  and  handsome;  rather  slender  than 
athletic  in  form.  His  countenance  Avas  expressive  and  thoughtful,  his  eye  power- 
ful and  intelligent,  and  his  conversation  remarkable  for  quickness  and  originality. 
He  was  warm-hearted  and  generous  in  his  affections,  and  through  life  displayed  a 
constant  attachment  to  his  friends,  even  after  many  years  of  separation. 

Few  examples  can  be  found  in  literary  history  equal  to  that  of  Wilson.  Though 
fully  aware  of  the  difficulty  of  the  enterprise  in  which  he  engaged,  his  heart  never 
for  a  moment  failed  him.  His  success  was  complete,  for  his  work  has  secured 
him  immortal  honor.1 

PLEASURES  IN  CONTEMPLATING  NATURE.2 

That  lovely  season  is  now  approaching  when  the  garden,  woods, 
and  fields  will  again  display  their  foliage  and  flowers.  Every  day 
we  may  expect  strangers,  flocking  from  the  South,  to  fill  our 
woods  with  harmony.  The  pencil  of  nature  is  now  at  work,  and 
outlines,  tints,  and  gradations  of  lights  and  shades  that  baffle  all 
description  will  soon  be  spread  before  us  by  that  great  Master, 
our  most  benevolent  Friend  and  Father.  Let  us  cheerfully  par- 
take of  the  feast  he  is  preparing  for  all  our  senses.  Let  us  sur- 
vey those  millions  of  green  strangers  just  peeping  into  day,  as  so 
many  happy  messengers  come  to  proclaim  the  power  and  the 
munificence  of  the  Creator.  I  confess  that  I  was  always  an  enthu- 


1  Read  Sketch  of  his  Life,  by  George  Ord ;  Life,  by  Wm.  B.  0.  Peabody,  in 
Sparks's  "  American  Biography;"  and  an  article  in  the  8th  vol.  of  the  " American 
Quarterly  Review." 

2  Letter  to  a  friend,  written  1804. 

13 


146 


ALEXANDER  WILSON. 


siast  in  my  admiration  of  the  rural  scenery  of  nature ;  but,  since 
your  example  and  encouragement  have  set  me  to  attempt  to  imi- 
tate her  productions,  I  see  new  beauties  in  every  bird,  plant,  and 
flower  I  contemplate  •  and  find  my  ideas  of  the  incomprehensible 
First  Cause  still  more  exalted  the  more  minutely  I  examine  His 
works.  I  sometimes  smile  to  think  that,  while  others  are  im- 
mersed in  deep  schemes  of  speculation  and  aggrandizement,  in 
building  towns  and  purchasing  plantations,  I  am  entranced  in  con- 
templation over  the  plumage  of  a  lark,  or  gazing,  like  a  despairing 
lover,  on  the  lineaments  of  an  owl.  While  others  are  hoarding 
up  their  bags  of  money,  without  the  power  of  enjoying  it,  I  am 
collecting,  without  injuring  my  conscience,  or  wounding  my  peace 
of  mind,  those  beautiful  specimens  of  nature's  works  that  are  for- 
ever pleasing.  I  have  had  live  crows,  hawks,  and  owls,  opossums, 
squirrels,  snakesj  lizards,  &c,  so  that  my  room  has  sometimes  re- 
minded me  of  Noah's  ark ;  but  Noah  had  a  wife  in  one  corner  of 
it,  and  in  this  particular  it  does  not  altogether  tally.  I  receive 
every  subject  of  natural  history  that  is  brought  to  me,  and 
although  they  do  not  march  into  my  ark  from  all  quarters,  as  they 
did  into  that  of  our  great  ancestor,  yet  I  find  means,  by  the  distri- 
bution of  a  few  five-penny-bits,  to  make  them  find  the  way  fast 
enough.  A  boy,  not  long  ago,  brought  me  a  large  basket  full  of 
crows.  I  expect  his  next  load  will  be  bull-frogs,  if  I  don't  soon 
issue  orders  to  the  contrary.  One  of  my  boys  caught  a  mouse  in 
school  a  few  days  ago,  and  directly  marched  up  to  me  with  his 
prisoner.  I  set  about  drawing  it  that  same  evening,  and  all  the 
while  the  pantings  of  its  little  heart  showed  it  to  be  in  the  most 
extreme  agonies  of  fear.  I  had  intended  to  kill  it,  in  order  to  fix 
it  in  the  claws  of  a  stuffed  owl;  but  happening  to  spill  a  few 
drops  of  water  near  where  it  was  tied,  it  lapped  it  up  with  such 
eagerness,  and  looked  in  my  face  with  such  an  eye  of  supplicating 
terror,  as  perfectly  overcame  me.  I  immediately  untied  it,  and 
restored  it  to  life  and  liberty.  The  agonies  of  a  prisoner  at  the 
stake,  while  the  fire  and  instruments  of  torment  are  preparing, 
could  not  be  more  severe  than  the  sufferings  of  that  poor  mouse ; 
and,  insignificant  as  the  object  was,  I  felt  at  that  moment  the 
sweet  sensations  that  mercy  leaves  on  the  mind  when  she  tri- 
umphs over  cruelty. 

THE  BALD  EAGLE. 

This  distinguished  bird,  as  he  is  the  most  beautiful  of  his  tribe 
in  this  part  of  the  world,  and  the  adopted  emblem  of  our  country, 
is  entitled  to  particular  notice.  He  has  been  long  known  to  natu- 
ralists, being  common  to  both  continents,  and  occasionally  met 
with  from  a  very  high  northern  latitude  to  the  borders  of  the 


ALEXANDER  WILSON. 


147 


torrid  zone,  but  chiefly  in  the  vicinity  of  the  sea  and  along  the 
shores  and  cliffs  of  our  lakes  and  large  rivers.  Formed  by  nature 
for  braving  the  severest  cold  j  feeding  equally  on  the  produce  of 
the  sea  and  of  the  land  j  possessing  powers  of  flight  capable  of  out- 
stripping even  the  tempests  themselves ;  unawed  by  any  thing  but 
man ;  and,  from  the  ethereal  heights  to  which  he  soars,  looking 
abroad,  at  one  glance,  on  an  immeasurable  expanse  of  forests, 
fields,  lakes,  and  ocean,  deep  below  him,  he  appears  indifferent  to 
local  changes  of  season,  as,  in  a  few  minutes,  he  can  pass  from 
summer  to  winter,  from  the  lower  to  the  higher  regions  of  the 
atmosphere,  the  abode  of  eternal  cold,  and  thence  descend  at  will 
to  the  torrid  or  the  arctic  regions  of  the  earth.  He  is  therefore 
found  at  all  seasons  in  the  countries  which  he  inhabits,  but  pre- 
fers such  places  as  have  been  mentioned  above,  from  the  great 
partiality  he  has  for  fish. 

In  procuring  these,  he  displays,  in  a  very  singular  manner,  the 
genius  and  energy  of  his  character,  which  is  fierce,  contemplative, 
daring,  and  tyrannical, — attributes  not  exerted  but  on  particular 
occasions,  but,  when  put  forth,  overwhelming  all  opposition. 
Elevated  upon  a  high,  dead  limb  of  some  gigantic  tree,  that  com- 
mands a  wide  view  of  the  neighboring  shore  and  ocean,  he  seems 
calmly  to  contemplate  the  motions  of  the  various  feathered  tribes  that 
pursue  their  busy  avocations  below, — the  snow-white  gulls,  slowly 
winnowing  the  air ;  the  busy  sand-pipers,  coursing  along  the 
beach  ;  trains  of  ducks,  streaming  over  the  surface;  silent  and 
watchful  cranes,  intent  and  wading;  clamorous  crows,  and  all  the 
winged  multitudes  that  subsist  by  the  bounty  of  this  vast  liquid 
magazine  of  nature.  High  over  all  these  hovers  one  whose  action 
instantly  arrests  his  attention.  By  his  wide  curvature  of  wing 
and  sudden  suspension  in  air,  he  knows  him  to  be  the  fish-hawk, 
settling  over  some  devoted  victim  of  the  deep.  His  eye  kindles 
at  the  sight,  and,  balancing  himself  with  half-opened  wings  on  the 
branch,  he  watches  the  result.  Down,  rapid  as  an  arrow  from 
heaven,  descends  the  distant  object  of  his  attention,  the  roar  of 
its  wings  reaching  the  ear  as  it  disappears  in  the  deep,  making  the 
surges  foam  around.  At  this  moment  the  looks  of  the  eagle  are 
all  ardor,  and,  levelling  his  neck  for  flight,  he  sees  the  fish-hawk 
emerge,  struggling  with  his  prey,  and  mounting  into  the  air  with 
screams  of  exultation.  These  are  the  signal  for  our  hero,  who, 
launching  into  the  air,  instantly  gives  chase,  and  soon  gains  on 
the  fish-hawk.  Each  exerts  his  utmost  to  mount  above  the  other, 
displaying,  in  these  rencounters,  the  most  elegant  and  sublime 
aerial  evolutions.  The  unencumbered  eagle  rapidly  advances,  and 
is  just  on  the  point  of  reaching  his  opponent,  when,  with  a  sudden 
scream,  probably  of  despair  and  honest  execration,  the  latter  drops 
his  fish ;  the  eagle,  poising  himself  for  a  moment  as  if  to  take  a 


148 


ALEXANDER  WILSON. 


more  certain  aim,  descends  like  a  whirlwind,  snatches  it  in  his 
grasp  ere  it  reaches  the  water,  and  bears  his  ill-gotten  booty 
silently  away  to  the  woods. 

THE  MOCKING-BIRD. 

The  plumage  of  the  mocking-bird,  though  none  of  the  home- 
liest, has  nothing  gaudy  or  brilliant  in  it,  and,  had  he  nothing 
else  to  recommend  him,  would  scarcely  entitle  him  to  notice ;  but 
his  figure  is  well  proportioned  and  even  handsome.  The  ease, 
elegance,  and  rapidity  of  his  movements,  the  animation  of  his  eye, 
and  the  intelligence  he  displays  in  listening,  and  laying  up  lessons 
from  almost  every  species  of  the  feathered  creation  within  his 
hearing,  are  really  surprising,  and  mark  the  peculiarity  of  his 
genius.  To  these  qualities  we  may  add  that  of  a  voice  full,  strong, 
and  musical,  and  capable  of  almost  every  modulation,  from  the 
clear,  mellow  tones  of  the  wood-thrush  to  the  savage  screams  of 
the  bald  eagle.  In  measure  and  accent,  he  faithfully  follows  his 
originals;  in  force  and  sweetness  of  expression,  he  greatly  im- 
proves upon  them.  In  his  native  groves,  mounted  upon  the  top 
of  a  tall  bush  or  half-grown  tree,  in  the  dawn  of  dewy  morning, 
while  the  woods  are  already  vocal  with  a  multitude  of  warblers, 
his  admirable  song  rises  pre-eminent  over  every  competitor.  The 
ear  can  listen  to  his  music  alone,  to  which  that  of  all  the  others 
seems  a  mere  accompaniment..  Neither  is  this  strain  altogether 
imitative.  His  own  native  notes,  which  are  easily  distinguishable 
by  such  as  are  well  acquainted  with  those  of  our  various  birds  of 
song,  are  bold  and  full,  and  varied  seemingly  beyond  all  limits. 
They  consist  of  short  expressions  of  two,  three,  or,  at  the  most, 
five  or  six  syllables,  generally  interspersed  with  imitations,  and  all 
of  them  uttered  with  great  emphasis  and  rapidity,  and  continued, 
with  undiminished  ardor,  for  half  an  hour  or  an  hour  at  a  time. 
His  expanded  wings  and  tail,  glistening  with  white,  and  the 
buoyant  gayety  of  his  action,  arrest  the  eye;  as  his  song  most  irre- 
sistibly does  the  ear.  He  sweeps  round  with  enthusiastic  ecstasy, 
he  mounts  and  descends,  as  his  song  swells  or  dies  away,  and,  as 
Mr.  Bartram  has  beautifully  expressed  it,  "  he  bounds  aloft  with 
the  celerity  of  an  arrow,  as  if  to  recall  his  very  soul,  which  ex- 
pired in  the  last  elevated  strain."  While  thus  exerting  himself, 
a  bystander  destitute  of  sight  would  suppose  that  the  whole 
feathered  tribes  had  assembled  together  on  a  trial  of  skill,  each 
striving  to  produce  his  utmost  effect, — so  perfect  are  his  imita- 
tions. He  many  times  deceives  the  sportsman,  and  sends  him  in 
search  of  birds  that,  perhaps,  are  not  within  miles  of  him,  but 
whose  notes  he  exactly  imitates.  Even  birds  themselves  are  fre- 
quently imposed  on  by  this  admirable  mimic,  and  are  decoyed  by 


JOHN  QU1NCY  ADAMS. 


149 


the  fancied  calls  of  their  mates,  or  dive  with  precipitation  into  the 
depths  of  thickets,  at  the  scream  of  what  they  suppose  to  be  the 
sparrow-hawk. 

The  mocking-bird  loses  little  of  the  power  and  energy  of  his 
song  by  confinement.  In  his  domesticated  state,  when  he  com- 
mences his  career  of  song,  it  is  impossible  to  stand  by  unin- 
terested. He  whistles  for  the  dog;  Caesar  starts  up,  wags  his 
tail,  and  runs  to  meet  his  master.  He  squeaks  out  like  a  hurt 
chicken,  and  the  hen  hurries  about,  with  hanging  wings  and 
bristled  feathers,  clucking,  to  protect  her  injured  brood.  He 
runs  over  the  quaverings  of  the  canary,  and  the  clear  whistlings 
of  the  Virginia  nightingale  or  red-bird,  with  such  superior  execu- 
tion and  etfect  that  the  mortified  songsters  feel  their  own  infe- 
riority and  become  altogether  silent,  while  he  seems  to  triumph  in 
their  defeat  by  redoubling  his  exertions. 

This  excessive  fondness  for  variety,  however,  in  the  opinion  of 
some,  injures  his  song.  His  elevated  imitations  of  the  brown 
thrush  are  frequently  interrupted  by  the  crowing  of  cocks ;  and 
the  warblings  of  the  blue-bird,  which  he  exquisitely  manages,  are 
mingled  with  #he  screaming  of  swallows  or  the  cackling  of  hens. 
Amidst  the  simple  melody  of  the  robin,  we  are  suddenly  surprised 
by  the  shrill  reiterations  of  the  whip-poor-will;  while  the  notes  of 
the  kildeer,  blue  jay,  marten,  baltimore,  and  twenty  others,  succeed, 
with  such  imposing  reality,  that  we  look  round  for  the  originals, 
and  discover,  with  astonishment,  that  the  sole  performer  in  this  sin- 
gular concert  is  the  admirable  bird  now  before  us.  During  this 
exhibition  of  his  powers,  he  spreads  his  wings,  expands  his  tail, 
and  throws  himself  around  the  cage  in  all  the  ecstasy  of  enthu- 
siasm, seeming  not  only  to  sing,  but  to  dance,  keeping  time  to  the 
measure  of  his  own  music.  Both  in  his  native  and  domesticated 
state,  during  the  solemn  stillness  of  the  night,  as  soon  as  the  moon 
rises  in  silent  majesty,  he  begins  his  delightful  solo,  and  serenades 
us  with  a  full  display  of  his  vocal  powers,  making  the  whole 
neighborhood  ring  with  his  inimitable  nrelody. 


JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS,  1767—1848. 

John  Quixcy  Adams,  son  of  the  second  President  of  the  United  States,  was 
born  in  Braintree,  Massachusetts,  on  the  11th  of  July,  1767.  In  his  eleventh  year 
he  accompanied  his  father  to  the  Court  of  Versailles,  and  was  with  him  also  in 
some  of  his  other  missions.  At  the  age  of  eighteen,  he  entered  Harvard  Uni- 
versity at  an  advanced  standing,  and  graduated  with  distinguished  honor  in  1787. 
After  studying  law  three  years  with  Judge  Parsons,  at  Newburyport,  he  esta- 


150 


JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 


Wished  himself  in  Boston,  and  took  part  in  the  public  affairs  of  the  day.  In  1794, 
he  was  appointed  by  Washington  Minister  to  the  United  Netherlands,  and  re- 
mained in  Europe  till  1801,  employed  in  the  several  offices  of  Minister  to  Holland, 
England,  and  Prussia,  and  in  other  diplomatic  business.  At  the  close  of  his 
lather's  administration  he  was  recalled,  and,  in  1S02,  was  chosen,  from  the  Bos- 
ton district,  a  member  of  the  Massachusetts  Senate,  and  soon  after  was  elected  a 
United  States  Senator  for  six  years  from  March  4,  1803.  While  Senator,  he  was, 
in  1S06,  appointed  Professor  of  Rhetoric  in  Harvard  University, — an  office  which 
he  filled  with  much  ability  till  1S09,1  when  he  was  appointed  by  President  Monroe 
Minister  to  the  Court  of  Russia.  In  1813,  he  was  named  at  the  head  of  five  com- 
missioners appointed  by  President  Madison  to  negotiate  a  treaty  of  peace  with 
Great  Britain,  which  was  signed  at  Gheut,  in  December,  1814;  and  soon  after  he 
was  appointed,  by  the  same  President,  Minister  to  the  Court  of  St.  James.  After 
having  occupied  that  post  until  the  close  of  President  Madison's  administration, 
he  was  called  home,  in  1817,  to  the  Department  of  State,  at  the  formation  of  the 
Cabinet  of  President  Monroe.  Mr.  Adams's  career  as  a  foreign  minister  termi- 
nated at  this  point, — a  career  that  has  never  been  paralleled  either  in  the  length 
of  time  it  covered,  the  number  of  courts  at  which  he  represented  his  country,  or 
the  variety  and  importance  of  the  services  rendered. 

In  1824,  Mr.  Adams  was  elected  President  of  the  United  States.  His  adminis- 
tration was  distinguished  for  its  ability  and  economy;  and  the 'Presidential  chair 
has  been  occupied  by  no  man  of  greater  learning,  more  thorough  acquaintance 
with  all  our  foreign  and  domestic  relations,  purer  patriotism,  or  higher  integrity  of 
character.  At  the  close  of  his  Presidential  term,  in  1S29,  be  retired  to  his  family 
mansion  in  Quiney;  but  he  was  soon  after  elected  member  of  the  United  States 
House  of  Representatives,  and  took  his  seat  in  1831.  Many  of  his  friends  doubted 
the  wisdom  of  this  step,  and  feared  it  would  detract  from  his  former  fame  rather 
than  add  to  it.  But  their  doubts  were  soon  put  to  rest ;  for,  signal  as  had  been 
his  services  to  his  country  for  a  long  life,  he  was  yet  to  put  the  crowning  glory 
upon  them  all,  by  standing  forth  in  the  House  of  Representatives,  amid  abuse, 
reproach,  and  threats  of  expulsion,  as  the  firm,  able,  undaunted  champion  of  the 
right  of  petition. 

During  the  years  1836  and  1837,  the  public  mind  in  the  Northern  States  be- 
came fully  aroused  to  the  enormities  of  American  slavery, — its  encroachments  on 
the  rights  and  interests  of  the  free  States,  the  undue  influence  it  was  exercising  in 
our  national  councils,  and  the  evident  determination  on  the  part  of  its  advocates  to 
enlarge  its  borders  and  its  evils,  by  the  addition  of  new  slave  territories.  Petitions 
for  the  abolition  of  slavery  and  the  slave-trade  in  the  District  of  Columbia  and 
the  Territories  began  to  pour  into  Congress  from  every  section  of  the  East  and 
North.  These  were  general!}'  presented  by  Mr.  Adams.  His  age  and  experience, 
his  well-known  influence  in  the  House  of  Representatives,  his  patriotism,  and 
his  intrepid  advocacy  of  human  freedom,  commanded  the  confidence  of  the 
people  of  the  free  States,  and  led  them  to  intrust  to  him  their  petitions;  and 
with  scrupulous  fidelity  he  performed  the  duty  thus  imposed  upon  him. 

The  Southern  members  of  Congress  became  alarmed  at  these  demonstrations, 


1  His  Lectures  on  Rhetoric  and  Oratory  were  published,  in  one  volume  Svo,  in 
1S10. 


JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 


151 


and  determined  to  arrest  them,  even  at  the  sacrifice,  if  need  be,  of  the  right  of 
petition, — the  most  sacred  privilege  of  freemen.  On  the  8th  of  February,  1836,  a 
committee  was  raised  by  the  House  of  Representatives,  to  take  into  consideration 
what  disposition  should  be  made  of  petitions  and  memorials  for  the  abolition  of 
slavery  and  the  slave-trade  in  the  District  of  Columbia,  and  to  report  thereon.  On 
the  18th  of  Ma}-,  the  committee  made  a  long  report,  through  Mr.  Pinckuey,  re- 
commending, among  others,  the  adoption  of  the  following  resolution: — 

"Resolved,  That  all  petitions,  memorials,  resolutions,  propositions,  or  papers, 
relating  in  any  way,  or  to  any  extent  whatever,  to  the  subject  of  slavery  or  tbo 
abolition  of  slavery,  shall,  without  being  either  printed  or  referred,  be  laid  upon 
the  table,  and  that  no  further  action  whatever  shall  be  had  thereon.'' 

Notwithstanding  the  rule  embodied  in  this  resolution  virtually  trampled  the 
right  of  petition  into  the  dust,  it  was  adopted  by  the  House  by  a  large  majo- 
rity. But  Mr.  Adams  was  not  to  be  deterred,  by  this  arbitrary  restriction,  from 
the  faithful  discharge  of  his  duty  as  a  representative  of  the  people.  Petitions  on 
the  subject  of  slavery  continued  to  be  transmitted  to  him  in  increased  numbers. 
"With  unwavering  firmness,  against  a  bitter  and  unscrupulous  opposition,  exas- 
perated to  the  highest  pitch  by  his  pertinacity,  amidst  a  tempest  of  vituperation 
and  abuse,  he  persevered  in  presenting  these  petitions,  one  by  one,  to  the  amount 
sometimes  of  two  hundred  in  a  day, — demanding  the  action  of  the  House  sepa- 
rately on  each  petition. 

His  position  amid  these  scenes  was  in  the  highest  degree  illustrious  and 
sublime.  An  aged  man,  Avith  the  burden  of  years  upon  him,  forgetful  of  the  ele- 
vated stations  he  had  occupied  and  the  distinguished  honors  received  for  past  ser- 
vices, turning  away  from  the  repose  which  age  so  greatly  needs,  and  laboring, 
amidst  scorn  and  derision,  and  threats  of  expulsion  and  assassination,  to  maintain 
the  sacred  right  of  petition  for  the  poorest  and  humblest  in  the  land,  insisting  that 
the  voice  of  a  free  people  should  be  heard  b}-  their  representatives  when  they 
would  speak  in  condemnation  of  human  slavery,  and  call  upon  them  to  maintain 
the  principles  of  liberty  embodied  in  the  immortal  Declaration  of  Independence, 
was  a  spectacle  unwitnessed  before  in  the  history  of  legislation.1 

It  is  impossible,  in  the  limits  prescribed  to  these  pages,  to  enumerate  the  nume- 
rous and  important  measures  in  which  Mr.  Adams  took  a  prominent  part  in  the 
House  of  Representatives  and  elsewhere.  The  brave  and  eloquent  old  man  lived 
to  see  his  labors  for  the  right  of  petition  crowned  with  complete  success :  in 
1S45,  the  obnoxious  "  gag-rule"  was  rescinded,  and  Congress  consented  to  re- 
ceive and  treat  respectfully  all  petitions  on  the  subject  of  slavery.  In  his  volun- 
tary and  eloquent  defence  of  the  Amistad  negroes,  too,  before  the  Supreme  Court 
of  the  United  States,  at  the  advanced  age  of  seventy-four,  he  was  completely 
successful,  and  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  the  decision  of  the  court  pronouncing 
their  liberty. 


1  For  a  full  account  of  Mr.  Adams's  labors  in  the  House  of  Representatives, 
consult  that  admirable  book,  "Life  and  Public  Services  of  John  Quincy  Adams, 
by  William  H.  Seward."  Rev.  Joshua  Leavitt,  editor  of  the  "Emancipator/'  was 
at  that  time  in  Washington,  and  published  in  his  paper  fuller  accounts  of  that 
memorable  session  of  Congress  than  I  have  elsewhere  seen;  and  it  is  to  be  hoped 
he  will  yet  give  them  to  the  public  in  a  convenient  form,  as  materials  for  our 
country's  history. 


152 


JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 


But  his  eventful  and  useful  life  was  now  drawing  to  a  close.  On  Monday,  the 
21st  of  February,  1818,  while  at  his  post  in  the  House  of  Representatives,  and 
rising  to  address  the  Speaker,  he  was  struck  with  paralysis,  fainted,  and  fell  into 
the  arms  of  the  member  who  was  next  to  him,  Mr.  Fisher  of  Ohio.  Every  thing 
was  immediately  done  for  him  that  could  be  by  anxious  friends,  kindred,  and 
skilful  physicians ;  but  all  was  of  no  avail.  He  lingered  till  the  evening  of  the 
23d,  when  he  expired,  leaving  behind  him  the  enviable  reputation  of  being  one  of 
the  ablest  Presidents  of  the  United  States,  and  the  most  learned  and  eloquent 
champion  of  freedom  in  the  House  of  Representatives.1 

THE  GOSPEL,  A  GOSPEL  OF  LIBERTY  AND  PEACE. 

Friends  and  fellow-citizens  ! — I  speak  to  you  with  the  voice  as 
of  one  risen  from  the  dead.  Were  I  now,  as  I  shortly  must  be, 
cold  in  my  grave,  and  could  the  sepulchre  unbar  its  gates,  and 
open  to  me  a  passage  to  this  desk,  devoted  to  the  worship  of 
Almighty  God,  I  would  repeat  the  question  with  which  this  dis- 
course was  introduced  :  "  Why  are  you  assembled  in  this  place  V 
And  one  of  you  would  answer  me  for  all :  Because  the  Declaration 
of  Independence,  with  the  voice  of  an  angel  from  heaven,  "  put 
to  his  mouth  the  sounding  alchemy,"  and  proclaimed  universal 
emancipation  upon  earth  !  It  is  not  the  separation  of  your  fore- 
fathers from  their  kindred  race  beyond  the  Atlantic  tide.  It  is 
not  the  union  of  thirteen  British  Colonies  into  one  people,  and  the 
entrance  of  that  people  upon  the  theatre  where  kingdoms,  and 
empires,  and  nations  are  the  persons  of  the  drama.    It  is  not  that 


1  "  In  the  history  of  American  statesmen,  none  lived  a  life  so  long  in  the  public 
service  ;  none  had  trusts  so  numerous  confided  to  their  care  :  none  died  a  death 
so  glorious.  Beneath  the  dome  of  the  nation's  capitol;  in  the  midst  of  the  field 
of  his  highest  usefulness,  where  he  had  won  fadeless  laurels  of  renown  ;  equipped 
with  the  armor  in  which  he  had  fought  so  many  battles  for  truth  and  freedom,  he 
fell  beneath  the  shaft  of  the  king  of  terrors.  And  how  bright,  how  enviable,  the 
reputation  he  left  behind  !  As  a  man,  pure,  upright,  benevolent,  religious — his 
hand  unstained  by  a  drop  of  human  blood ;  uncharged,  unsuspected,  of  crime,  of 
premeditated  wrong,  of  an  immoral  act,  of  an  unchaste  word, — as  a  statesman, 
lofty  and  patriotic  in  all  his  purposes;  devoted  to  the  interests  of  the  people; 
sacredly  exercising  all  power  intrusted  to  his  keeping  for  the  good  of  the  public 
alone,  unmindful  of  personal  interest  and  aggrandizement ;  an  enthusiastic  lover 
of  liberty  :  a  faithful,  fearless  defender  of  the  rights  of  man  !  The  sun  of  his  life, 
in  its  lengthened  course  through  the  political  heavens,  was  unobscurcd  by  a  spot, 
midimmed  by  a  cloud;  and  when,  at  the  close  of  the  long  day,  it  sank  beneath 
the  horizon,  the  whole  firmament  glowed  with  the  brilliancy  of  its  reflected 
glories  !  Rulers,  statesmen,  legislators!  study  and  emulate  such  a  life;  seek  after 
a  character  so  beloved,  a  death  so  honorable,  a  fame  so  immortal." — Seward? 8  Life, 
page  337. 

Since  the  first  edition  of  this  work  was  put  to  press,  there  has  been  published  a 
"  Memoir  of  the  Life  of  John  Quincy  Adams,  by  Josiah  Quincy,  LL.D. ;"  and  a 
more  interesting  and  valuable  piece  of  biography  has  not,  in  my  estimation,  ap- 
peared in  our  country.  This  life,  and  the  "  Life  of  Amos  Lawrence,"  should  be 
read  by  every  young  man  who,  in  entering  upon  manhood,  desires  the  best  exam- 
ples to  aid  and  cheer  him  in  life's  great  duties. 


JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 


153 


this  is  the  birthday  of  the  North  American  Union,  the  last  and 
noblest  offspring  of  time.  It  is  that  the  first  words  uttered  by  the 
genius  of  our  country,  in  announcing  his  existence  to  the  world 
of  mankind,  was — Freedom  to  the  slave  !  Liberty  to  the  captives ! 
Redemption  !  redemption  forever  to  the  race  of  man  from  the  yoke 
of  oppression  !  It  is  not  the  work  of  a  day  j  it  is  not  the  labor 
of  an  age ;  it  is  not  the  consummation  of  a  century,  that  we  are 
assembled  to  commemorate.  It  is  the  emancipation  of  our  race. 
It  is  the  emancipation  of  man  from  the  thraldom  of  man  ! 

And  is  this  the  language  of  enthusiasm  ?  The  dream  of  a  dis- 
tempered fancy  ?  Is  it  not  rather  the  voice  of  inspiration  ?  The 
language  of  Holy  Writ  ?  Why  is  it  that  the  Scriptures,  both  of 
the  Old  and  New  Covenant,  teach  you  upon  every  page  to  look 
forward  to  the  time  when  the  wolf  shall  dwell  with  the  lamb,  and 
the  leopard  shall  lie  down  with  the  kid  ?  Why  is  it  that,  six  hun- 
dred years  before  the  birth  of  the  Redeemer,  the  sublimest  of  pro- 
phets, with  lips  touched  by  the  hallowed  fire  from  the  hand  of 
God,  spake  and  said  : — "  The  Spirit  of  the  Lord  God  is  upon  me; 
because  the  Lord  hath  anointed  me  to  preach  good  tidings  unto 
the  meek ;  he  hath  sent  me  to  bind  up  the  broken-hearted,  to  pro- 
claim  liberty  to  the  captives,  and  the  opening  of  the  prison  to 
them  that  are  bound"  ?x  And  why  is  it  that,  at  the  first  dawn  of 
the  fulfilment  of  this  prophecy, — at  the  birthday  of  the  Saviour  in 
the  lowest  condition  of  human  existence, — the  angel  of  the  Lord 
came  in  a  flood  of  supernatural  light  upon  the  shepherds,  witnesses 
of  the  scene,  and  said  : — "  Fear  not,  for  behold  I  bring  you  good 
tidings  of  great  joy,  which  shall  be  to  all  people"  ?  Why  is  it  that 
there  was  suddenly  with  that  angel  a  multitude  of  heavenly  hosts, 
praising  God  and  saying,  u  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on 
earth  peace,  good  will  toward  men"  ?2 

What  are  the  good  tidings  of  great  joy  which  shall  be  to  all 
people  ?  The  prophet  had  told  you,  six  hundred  years  before : 
— "  Liberty  to  the  captives,  the  opening  of  the  prison  to  them  that 
are  bound."  The  multitude  of  the  heavenly  host  pronounced  the 
conclusion,  to  be  shouted  hereafter  by  the  universal  choir  of  all 
intelligent  created  beings  : — "  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and 
on  earth  peace,  good  will  toward  men." 

Fellow-citizens  !  fellow-Christians  !  fellow-men  !  Am  I  speak- 
ing to  believers  in  the  gospel  of  peace  ?  To  others,  I  am  aware 
that  the  capacities  of  man  for  self  or  social  improvement  are  sub- 
jects of  distrust  or  of  derision.  The  sincere  believer  receives  the 
rapturous  promises  of  the  future  improvement  of  his  kind  with 
humble  hope  and  cheering  confidence  of  their  final  fulfilment. 
He  receives  them,  too,  with  the  admonition  of  God  to  his  con- 


Isaiah  lxi.  1. 


2  Luke  ii.  9,  10,  13,  14. 


1.4 


JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 


science,  to  contribute  himself,  by  all  the  aspirations  of  his  heart 
ar.<i  all  the  faculties  of  his  soul,  to  their  accomplishment.  Tell 
nc-fc  him  of  impossibilities  when  human  improvement  is  the  theme. 
Nothing  can  be  impossible  which  may  be  effected  by  human  will. 
See  what  has  been  effected  !  An  attentive  reader  of  the  history 
of  mankind,  whether  in  the  words  of  inspiration,  or  in  the  records 
of  antiquity,  or  in  the  memory  of  his  own  experience,  must  per- 
ceive that  the  gradual  improvement  of  his  own  condition  upon 
earth  is  the  inextinguishable  mark  of  distinction  between  the  ani- 
mal man  and  every  other  animated  being,  with  the  innumerable 
multitudes  of  which  every  element  of  this  sublunary  globe  is 
peopled.  And  yet,  from  the  earliest  records  of  time,  this  animal 
is  the  only  one  in  the  visible  creation  who  preys  upon  his  kind. 
The  savage  man  destroys  and  devours  his  captive  foe.  The  par- 
tially civilized  man  spares  his  life,  but  makes  him  his  slave.  In 
the  progress  of  civilization,  both  the  life  and  liberty  of  the  enemy 
vanquished  or  disarmed  are  spared;  ransoms  for  prisoners  are 
given  and  received.  Progressing  still  in  the  paths  to  perpetual 
peace,  exchanges  are  established,  and  restore  the  prisoner  of  war 
to  his  country  and  to  the  enjoyment  of  all  his  rights  of  property 
and  of  person.  A  custom,  first  introduced  by  mutual  special  con- 
vention, grows  into  a  settled  rule  of  the  laws  of  nations,  that  per- 
sons occupied  exclusively  upon  the  arts  of  peace  shall,  with  their 
property,  remain  wholly  unmolested  in  the  conflicts  of  nations  by 
arms.  We  ourselves  have  been  bound  by  solemn  engagements 
with  one  of  the  most  warlike  nations  of  Europe,  to  observe  this 
rule,  even  in  the  utmost  extremes  of  war  •  and  in  one  of  the  most 
merciless  periods  of  modern  times,  I  have  seen,  towards  the  close 
of  the  last  century,  three  members  of  the  Society  of  Friends,  with 
Barclay's  Apology  and  Penn's  Maxims  in  their  hands,  pass,  peace- 
ful travellers,  through  the  embattled  hosts  of  France  and  Britain, 
unharmed  and  unmolested,  as  the  three  children  of  Israel  in  the 
furnace  of  Nebuchadnezzar. 

War,  then,  by  the  common  consent  and  mere  will  of  civilized 
man,  has  not  only  been  divested  of  its  most  atrocious  cruelties, 
but  for  multitudes,  growing  multitudes  of  individuals,  has  already 
been  and  is  abolished.  Why  should  it  not  be  abolished  for  all  ? 
Let  it  be  impressed  upon  the  heart  of  every  one  of  you,  impress  it 
upon  the  minds  of  your  children,  that  this  total  abolition  of  war 
upon  earth  is  an  improvement  in  the  condition  of  man  entirely 
dependent  on  his  own  will.  He  cannot  repeal  or  change  the  laws 
of  physical  nature.  He  cannot  redeem  himself  from  the  ills  that 
flesh  is  heir  to  j  but  the  ills  of  war  and  slavery  are  all  of  his  own 
creation.  He  has  but  to  will,  and  he  effects  the  cessation  of  them 
altogether. 

Oration  at  Newburyport,  July  4,  1837. 


JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 


155 


The  following  is  a  portion  of  a  letter  addressed  by  this  illustrious  statesman  to 
a  literary  society  of  young  men  in  Baltimore,  who  had  written  to  him  for  advice 
as  to  a  course  of  general  reading.  It  is  dated  June  22,  1838,  and  it  thus  bears  it? 
eloquent  testimony  to 

THE  VALUE  OF  THE  BIBLE. 

The  first,  and  almost  the  only  book,  deserving  universal  recom- 
mendation, is  the  Bible  ;  and,  in  recommending  that,  I  fear  that 
some  of  you  will  think  I  am  performing  a  superfluous,  and  others 
a  very  unnecessary,  office ;  yet  such  is  my  deliberate  opinion.  The 
Bible  is  the  book,  of  all  others,  to  be  read  at  all  ages  and  in  all 
conditions  of  human  life;  not  to  be  read  once  or  twice  or  thrice 
through,  and  then  to  be  laid  aside,  but  to  be  read  in  small  por- 
tions of  one  or  two  chapters  every  day,  and  never  to  be  inter- 
mitted unless  by  some  overruling  necessity. 

This  attentive  and  repeated  reading  of  the  Bible,  in  small  por- 
tions every  day,  leads  the  mind  to  habitual  meditation  upon  sub- 
jects of  the  highest  interest  to  the  welfare  of  the  individual  in 
this  world,  as  well  as  to  prepare  him  for  that  hereafter  to  which 
we  are  all  destined.  It  furnishes  rules  of  conduct  for  our  conduct 
towards  others  in  our  social  relations.  In  the  commandments  de- 
livered from  Sinai,  in  the  inimitable  sublimity  of  the  Psalms  and 
of  the  Prophets,  in  the  profound  and  concentrated  observations 
upon  human  life  and  manners  embodied  in  the  Proverbs  of  Solo- 
mon, in  the  philosophical  allegory  so  beautifully  set  forth  in  the 
narrative  of  facts,  whether  real  or  imaginary,  of  the  Book  of  Job, 
an  active  mind  cannot  peruse  a  single  chapter  and  lay  the  book 
aside  to  think,  and  take  it  up  again  to-morrow,  without  finding  in 
it  advice  for  our  own  conduct,  which  we  may  turn  to  useful  account 
in  the  progress  of  our  daily  pilgrimage  upon  earth ;  and  when  we 
pass  from  the  Old  Testament  to  the  New,  we  meet  at  once  a  sys- 
tem of  universal  morality  founded  upon  one  precept  of  universal 
application,  pointing  us  to  peace  and  good-will  towards  the  whole 
race  of  man  for  this  life,  and  to  peace  with  God  and  an  ever- 
blessed  existence  hereafter. 

I  speak  as  a  man  of  the  world  to  men  of  the  world,  and  I  say 
to  you,  Search  the  Scriptures!  If  ever  you  tire  of  them  in  seek- 
ing for  a  rule  of  faith  and  a  standard  of  morals,  search  them  as 
records  of  history.  General  and  compendious  history  is  one  of 
the  fountains  of  human  knowledge  to  which  you  should  all  resort 
with  steady  and  persevering  pursuit ;  and  the  Bible  contains  the 
only  authentic  introduction  to  the  history  of  the  world.  Acquaint 
yourselves  also  with  the  chronology  and  geography  of  the  Bible ; 
that  will  lead  you  to  a  general  knowledge  of  chronology  and  of 
geography,  ancient  and  modern,  and  these  will  open  to  you  an  in- 


156 


JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 


*  exhaustible  fountain  of  knowledge  respecting  the  globe  which  you 
inhabit,  and  respecting  the  race  of  men  (its  inhabitants)  to  which 
you  yourselves  belong.  You  may  pursue  these  inquiries  just  so 
far  as  your  time  and  inclination  will  permit.  Give  one  hour  of 
mental  application,  (for  you  must  not.  read  without  thinking,  or 
you  will  read  to  little  purpose,)  give  an  hour  of  joint  reading  and 
thought  to  the  chronology  and  one  to  the  geography  of  the  Bible, 
and  if  it  introduces  you  to  too  hard  a  study,  stop  there.  Even 
for  those  two  hours  you  will  ever  after  read  the  Bible,  and  any 
other  history,  with  more  fruit,  more  intelligence,  more  satisfac- 
tion. It  is  a  book  which  neither  the  most  ignorant  and  weakest, 
nor  the  most  learned  and  intelligent  mind,  can  read  without  im- 
provement. 

Mr.  Adams  devoted  his  leisure  moments  to  literature,  and  occasionally  courted 
the  Muses.  Dermot  M'Morrogh  and  Poems  of  Religion  and  Society  were  some  of 
the  fruits  of  his  versatile  mind.    From  the  latter  I  select 

THE  HOUR-GLASS. 

Alas  !  how  swift  the  moments  fly  ! 

How  flash  the  years  along ! 
Scarce  here,  yet  gone  already  by, 

The  burden  of  a  song. 
See  childhood,  3Touth,  and  manhood  pass, 

And  age,  with  furrow'd  brow  ; 
Time  was, — Time  shall  be, — drain  the  glass, — 

But  where  in  Time  is  now  ? 

Time  is  the  measure  but  of  change : 

No  present  hour  is  found ; 
The  past,  the  future,  fill  the  range 

Of  Time's  unceasing  round. 
Where,  then,  is  now?    In  realms  above, 

With  God*s  atoning  Lamb  : 
In  regions  of  eternal  love, 

Where  sits  enthroned  I  AM. 

Then,  pilgrim,  let  thy  joys  and  tears 

On  time  no  longer  lean ; 
But  henceforth  all  thy  hopes  and  fears 

From  earth's  affections  wean : 
To  God  let  votive  accents  rise ; 

With  truth,  with  virtue,  live : 
So  all  the  bliss  that  time  denies 

Eternity  shall  give. 


JOSEPn  DENNIE. 


157 


JOSEPH  DEXXIE,  1768—1812. 

A  work  upon  American  Literature  professing  any  degree  of  completeness 
should  contain  a  notice  of  the  author  of  the  "  Lay  Preacher,"  not  so  much  from 
any  extraordinary  merits  in  his  writings,  as  from  his  position  and  influence  in  his 
day  as  a  man  of  letters.  He  was  born  in  Boston,  on  the  30th  of  August,  17GS, 
and  in  1775  his  father,  who  had  been  a  merchant,  removed  to  Lexington.  In  17S7 
he  entered  the  Sophomore  class  in  Harvard  University,  and  soon  after  leaving 
college  became  a  student  of  law  in  the  office  of  Benjamin  West,  at  Charlestown, 
~S.Il.  After  completing  his  studies,  he  opened  an  ofiice  at  "Walpole.  But  he  soon 
became  disgusted  with  the  profession,  and,  resolving  to  devote  his  time  to  letters, 
went  to  Boston  in  the  spring  of  1795,  and  established  a  weekly  paper  called 
"  The  Tablet."  But  it  lived  scarcely  three  months,  and  Dennie  then,  upon  invita- 
tion, returned  to  "Walpole,  and  became  the  editor  of  the  "  Farmer's  Museum." 
Here  he  commenced  the  essays  entitled  "  The  Lay  Preacher,"  which  laid  the  foun- 
dation of  his  literary  reputation. 

In  the  year  1799,  he  removed  to  Philadelphia,  having  been  appointed  private 
secretary  of  Mr.  Pickering,  at  that  time  Secretary  of  State.  In  the  latter  part  of 
the  year  1800,  he  published  a  prospectus  of  a  weekly  paper,  entitled  The  Portfolio. 
Drawn  up  in  the  best  style  of  the  author,  indicating  a  familiar  acquaintance  with 
the  best  writers  in  the  various  departments  of  polite  literature,  and  inviting  the 
co-operation  of  men  of  letters  generally,  it  was  hailed  with  enthusiasm  by  every 
class  of  readers;  and  the  periodical  was  commenced  on  the  3d  of  January,  1S01, 
with  an  extensive  patronage.1 

To  Dennie  the  path  to  honorable  independence  was  now  fairly  open  ;  but,  unfor- 
tunately, he  had  not  resolution  to  sacrifice,  to  the  laudable  ambition  to  gain  it, 
those  habits  which  embittered  the  latter  part  of  his  life.  This  has  been  called 
u  the  gay  period  of  his  career."    His  charms  of  conversation  were  such  that  he 


1  It  was  published  weekly  in  quarto  form,  eight  pages  constituting  a  number. 
It  was  thus  continued  for  5  years,  forming  five  volumes,  to  the  close  of  the  year 
1805, — a  volume  each  year.  It  was  then  changed  to  the  octavo  form,  of  16  pages, 
and  also  published  weekly,  and  thus  continued  for  three  years,  to  the  close  of 
180S,  forming  6  volumes,  numbered  1  to  6.  At  the  beginning  of  the  year  1809,  it 
was  changed  to  a  monthly  magazine  of  about  116  pages,  and  thus  continued 
through  1812,  when  Dennie  died,  forming  for  the  four  years  8  volumes,  numbered 
1  to  S.  It  was  published,  in  the  same  form,  under  the  editorship  of  Nicholas 
Biddle  and  Paul  Allen,  for  1813  and  1814,  and  of  Dr.  Charles  Caldwell  for  1815, 
— three  vears. — forming  6  volumes,  numbered  1  to  6.  In  1816  it  was  published 
by  Mr.  II  arrison  Hall,  being  edited  by  his  brother,  John  E.  Hall,  Esq.,  and  was 
thus  continued  till  1S27, — twelve  years.  This  series  formed  22  volumes,  numbered 
1  to  22.  The  last  volume,  the  47th  of  the  whole,  was  published  in  six  numbers  ; 
and  then  this  periodical,  so  celebrated  in  its  day,  and  which  exerted  no  small  in- 
fluence on  our  country's  character,  closed  its  varied  career.  The  delinquency  of 
subscribers  interfered  matei-ially  with  the  success  of  the  work  ;  and  I  have  it  from 
Mr.  Harrison  Hall  himself  that,  at  the  time  of  its  stoppage,  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars at  least  were  due  to  it !  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  there  should  have 
been  so  much  irregularity  in  numbering  the  volumes  of  this  work.  There  are  four 
"  new  series,"  and  five  different  first,  second,  third,  fourth,  and  fifth  volumes ;  so 
that  if  one  is  directed  to  volume  second  for  any  article,  he  may  have  to  examine 
five  different  volumes  before  he  can  find  it.  The  20th  vol.  (1825)  of  Hall's  series 
contains  a  copious  index  to  all  the  volumes  of  that  series. 

14 


158 


JOSEPH  DENNIE. 


was  the  delight  of  every  circle  where  wit  and  urbanity  were  the  passports  of  ad 
mission.  He  counted  among  his  warm  friends  a  number  of  young  aspirants  fo 
literary  fame,  and  his  table  abounded  with  contributions  for  the  Portfolio.  It  may 
be  easily  imagined,  therefore,  that  one  of  his  habits  would  not  require  much  per- 
suasion to  exchange  the  labor  of  composition  for  the  easier  employment  of  selec- 
tion. Hence  we  find  that,  in  the  whole  course  of  his  editorship  of  the  Portfolio, 
including  a  period  of  twelve  years,  there  are  scarcely  as  many  original  essays 
from  his  pen.  In  his  gayety  he  lost  the  author.1  His  cultivated  taste  and  various 
reading  in  polite  literature  enabled  him  to  produce  a  miscellany  which  obtained  a 
wide  circulation  ;  and  he  might  have  lived  in  the  placid  enjoyment  of  fame  and 
fortune,  if  the  finest  gifts  of  nature  could  supply  the  want  of  prudence.  As  it  was, 
after  editing  the  Portfolio  for  eleven  years,  he  died  in  absolute  poverty  on  the  7th 
of  January,  1S12,  though  enough  to  give  him  a  moderate  competency  was  owing 
to  him  from  subscribers  who,  year  after  year,  had  perused  with  delight  the  unpaid- 
for  volumes.  He  was  buried  in  the  ground  of  St.  Peter's  Church,  Philadelphia, 
where,  a  few  years  after,  a  monument  was  placed  over  his  grave. 

It  has  been  customary  of  late  years  to  depreciate  the  Portfolio.  This  we  deem 
unjust;  and  think  it  must  be  done  by  those  who  have  not  read  its  pages  ;  for  we 
have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  it  will  bear  a  favorable  comparison  with  any 
similar  contemporaneous  periodical,  English  or  American.  It  had  not,  indeed, 
the  learning  nor  the  variety  of  the  Gentleman's  Magazine,  but  that  had  been  pub- 
lished nearly  half  a  century  when  the  Portfolio  was  commenced.  But,  by  its 
talent,  vivacity,  taste,  and  variety,  it  did  more,  perhaps,  than  any  other  publica- 
tion of  that  time,  on  this  side  the  Atlantic,  to  refine  the  taste  of  the  people,  and  to 
give  a  relish  for  choice  reading  and  for  literary  pursuits. 

NIGHT. 

""Watchman,  what  of  the  night?" — Isaiah  xxi.  11. 

To  this  query  of  Isaiah,  the  watchman  replies,  "  that  the  morn- 
ing cometh,  and  also  the  night/'  The  brevity  of  this  answer  has 
left  it  involved  in  something  of  the  obscurity  of  the  season  when 
it  was  given.  I  think  that  night,  however  sooty  and  ill-favored  it 
may  be  pronounced  by  those  who  were  born  under  a  day-star, 
merits  a  more  particular  description.  I  feel  peculiarly  disposed 
to  arrange  some  ideas  in  favor  of  this  season.  I  know  that  the 
majority  are  literally  blind  to  its  merits  ;  they  must  be  prominent, 
indeed,  to  be  discerned  by  the  closed  eyes  of  the  snorer,  who 
thinks  that  night  was  made  for  nothing  but  sleep.  But  the  stu- 
dent and  the  sage  are  willing  to  believe  that  it  was  formed  for 
higher  purposes ;  and  that  it  not  only  recruits  exhausted  spirits, 
but  sometimes  informs  inquisitive,  and  amends  wicked  ones. 

Duty,  as  well  as  inclination,  urges  the  Lay  Preacher  to  ser- 
monize while  others  slumber.  To  read  numerous  volumes  in  the 
morning,  and  to  observe  various  characters  at  noon,  will  leave  but 


1  Life  by  John  E.  Hall,  in  the  "  Philadelphia  Souvenir." 


JOSEPH  DENNIE. 


159 


little  time,  except  the  night,  to  digest  the  one  or  speculate  upon 
the  other.  The  night,  therefore,  is  often  dedicated  to  composi- 
tion j  and  while  the  light  of  the  paly  planets  discovers  at  his  desk 
the  Preacher,  more  wan  than  they,  he  may  be  heard  repeating, 
emphatically,  with  Dr.  Young, — 

"  Darkness  has  much  divinity  for  me." 

He  is  then  alone,  he  is  then  at  peace.  No  companions  near  but 
the  silent  volumes  on  his  shelf ;  no  noise  abroad  but  the  click  of 
the  village  clock,  or  the  bark  of  the  village  dog.  The  deacon  has 
then  smoked  his  sixth  and  last  pipe,  and  asks  not  a  question  more 
concerning  Josephus  or  the  Church.  Stillness  aids  study,  and 
the  sermon  proceeds.  Such  being  the  obligations  to  night,  it 
would  be  ungrateful  not  to  acknowledge  them.  As  my  watchful 
eyes  can  discern  its  dim  beauties,  my  warm  heart  shall  feel,  and 
my  prompt  pen  shall  describe,  the  uses  and  the  pleasures  of  the 
nocturnal  hour. 

Watchman,  what  of  the  night  ?  I  can  with  propriety  imagine 
this  question  addressed  to  myself.  I  am  a  professed  lucubrator, 
and  who  so  well  qualified  to  delineate  the  sable  hours  as 

"A  meagre,  muse-rid  mope,  adusi  and  thin"  ? 

However  injuriously  night  is  treated  by  the  sleepy  moderns,  the 
vigilance  of  the  ancients  could  not  overlook  its  benefits  and  joys. 
In  as  early  a  record  as  the  book  of  Genesis,  I  find  that  Isaac, 
though  he  devoted  his  assiduous  days  to  action,  reserved  specula- 
tion till  night.  "  He  went  out  to  meditate  in  the  field  at  the 
eventide."  He  chose  that  sad,  that  solemn  hour,  to  reflect  upon 
the  virtues  of  a  beloved  and  departed  mother.  The  tumult  and 
the  glare  of  day  suited  not  with  the  sorrow  of  his  soul.  He  had 
lost  his  most  amiable,  most  genuine  friend,  and  his  unostentatious 
grief  was  eager  for  privacy  and  shade.  Sincere  sorrow  rarely 
suffers  its  tears  to  be  seen.  It  was  natural  for  Isaac  to  select  a 
season  to  weep  in,  which  should  resemble  "  the  color  of  his  fate." 
The  darkness,  the  solemnity,  the  stillness  of  the  eve  were  favor- 
able to  his  melancholy  purpose.  He  forsook,  therefore,  the 
bustling  tents  of  his  father,  the  pleasant  "  south  country,"  and 
"  well  of  Lahairoi he  went  out  and  pensively  meditated  at  the 
eventide. 

The  Grecian  and  Roman  philosophers  firmly  believed  that  "  the 
dead  of  midnight  is  the  noon  of  thought."  One  of  them  is  beau- 
tifully described  by  the  poet  as  soliciting  knowledge  from  the 
skies,  in  private  and  nightly  audience,  and  that  neither  his  theme 
nor  his  nightly  walks  were  forsaken  till  the  sun  appeared  and 
dimmed  his  "  nobler  intellectual  beam."  W§  undoubtedly  owe 
to  the  studious  nights  of  the  ancients  most  of  their  elaborate  and 


160 


JOSEPH  DENNIE. 


immortal  productions.  Among  tliem  it  was  necessary  that  every 
man  of  letters  should  trim  the  midnight  lamp.  The  day  might 
be  given  to  the  forum  or  the  circus,  but  the  night  was  the  season 
for  the  statesman  to  project  his  schemes  and  for  the  poet  to  pour 
his  verse. 

Night  has  likewise,  with  great  reason,  been  considered  in  every 
age  as  the  astronomer's  da}'.  Young  observes,  with  energy,  that 
"  an  undevout  astronomer  is  mad."  The  privilege  of  contem- 
plating those  brilliant  and  numerous  myriads  of  planets  which 
bedeck  our  skies  is  peculiar  to  night ;  and  it  is  our  duty,  both  as 
lovers  of  moral  and  natural  beauty,  to  bless  that  season  when  we 
are  indulged  with  such  a  gorgeous  display  of  glittering  and  useful 
light.  It  must  be  confessed  that  the  seclusion,  calmness,  and 
tranquillity  of  midnight  is  most  friendly  to  serious  and  even  airy 
contemplations. 

I  think  it  treason  to  this  sable  power,  who  holds  divided  empire 
with  day,  constantly  to  shut  our  eyes  at  her  approach.  To  long 
sleep  I  am  decidedly  a  foe.  As  it  is  expressed  by  a  quaint  writer, 
we  shall  all  have  enough  of  that  in  the  grave.  Those  who  cannot 
break  the  silence  of  night  by  vocal  throat  or  eloquent  tongue, 
may  be  permitted  to  disturb  it  by  a  snore.  But  lie,  among  my 
readers,  who  possesses  the  power  of  fancy  and  strong  thought, 
should  be  vigilant  as  a  watchman.  Let  him  sleep  abundantly  for 
health,  but  sparingly  for  sloth.  It  is  better,  sometimes,  to  con- 
sult a  page  of  philosophy  than  the  pillow. — Leuj  P readier. 

JACK  AND  GILL  :    A  CRITICISM. 

Among  critical  writers,  it  is  a  common  remark  that  the  fashion 
of  the  times  has  often  given  a  temporary  reputation  to  perform- 
ances of  very  little  merit,  and  neglected  those  much  more  de- 
serving of  applause.  I  therefore  rejoice  that  it  has  fallen  to  my 
lot  to  rescue  from  neglect  this  inimitable  poem  ;  for,  whatever  may 
be  my  diffidence,  as  I  shall  pursue  the  manner  of  the  most  emi- 
nent critics,  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  err.  The  fastidious  reader 
will  doubtless  smile  when  he  is  informed  that  the  work,  thus 
highly  praised,  is  a  poem  consisting  only  of  four  lines;  but  as 
there  is  no  reason  why  a  poet  should  be  restricted  in  his  number 
of  verses,  as  it  would  be  a  very  sad  misfortune  if  every  rhymer 
were  obliged  to  write  a  long  as  well  as  a  bad  poem,  and  more  par- 
ticularly as  these  verses  contain  more  beauties  than  we  often  find 
in  a  poem  of  four  thousand,  all  objections  to  its  brevity  should 
cease.  I  must  at  the  same  time  acknowledge  that  at  first  I 
doubted  in  what  class  of  poetry  it  should  be  arranged.  Its  ex- 
treme shortness  and  its  uncommon  metre  seemed  to  degrade  it 
into  a  ballad ;  but  its  interesting  subject,  its  unity  of  plan,  and. 


JOSEPH  DEXXIE. 


161 


above  all,  its  having  a  beginning,  middle,  and  an  end,  decide  its 
claim  to  the  epic  rank.  I  shall  now  proceed,  with  the  candor, 
though  not  with  the  acuteness,  of  a  good  critic,  to  analyze  and 
display  its  various  excellencies. 

The  opening  of  the  poem  is  singularly  beautiful : — 

Jack  and  Gill. 

The  first  duty  of  the  poet  is  to  introduce  his  subject;  and  there 
is  no  part  of  poetry  more  difficult.  We  are  told  by  the  great 
critic  of  antiquity  that  we  should  avoid  beginning  "  ab  ovo,"  but 
go  into  the  business  at  once.  Here  our  author  is  very  happy ; 
for,  instead  of  telling  us,  as  an  ordinary  writer  would  have  done, 
who  were  the  ancestors  of  Jack  and  Grill,  that  the  grandfather  of 
Jack  was  a  respectable  farmer,  that  his  mother  kept  a  tavern  at 
the  sign  of  the  Blue  Bear,  and  that  Grill's  father  was  a  justice  of 
the  peace,  (once  of  the  quorum,)  together  with  a  catalogue  of 
uncles  and  aunts,  he  introduces  them  to  us  at  once  in  their  proper 
persons. 

The  choice,  too,  of  names  is  not  unworthy  of  consideration.  It 
would  doubtless  have  contributed  to  the  splendor  of  the  poem  to 
have  endowed  the  heroes  with  long  and  sounding  titles,  which,  by 
dazzling  the  eyes  of  the  reader,  might  prevent  an  examination  of 
the  work  itself.  These  adventitious  ornaments  are  justly  disre- 
garded by  our  author,  who,  by  giving  us  plain  Jack  and  Grill,  has 
disdained  to  rely  on  extrinsic  support.  In  the  very  choice  of 
appellations  he  is,  however,  judicious.  Had  he,  for  instance, 
called  the  first  character  John,  he  might  have  given  him  more 
dignity  j  but  he  would  not  so  well  harmonize  with  his  neighbor, 
to  whom,  in  the  course  of  the  work,  it  will  appear  he  must  neces- 
sari'y  be  joined. 

The  personages  being  now  seen,  their  situation  is  next  to  be 
discovered.  Of  this  we  are  immediately  informed  in  the  subse- 
quent line,  when  we  are  told 

Jack  and  Gill 
"Went  up  a  kill. 

Here  the  imagery  is  distinct,  yet  the  description  concise.  We 
instantly  figure  to  ourselves  the  two  persons  travelling  up  an 
ascent,  which  we  may  accommodate  to  our  own  ideas  of  declivity, 
barrenness,  rockiness,  sandiness,  &c,  all  which,  as  they  exercise 
the  imagination,  are  beauties  of  a  high  order.  The  reader  will 
pardon  my  presumption,  if  I  here  attempt  to  broach  a  new  prin- 
ciple, which  no  critic  with  whom  I  am  acquainted  has  ever  men- 
tioned. It  is  this,  that  poetic  beauties  may  be  divided  into  nega- 
tive and  positive,  the  former  consisting  of  mere  absence  of  fault, 
the  latter  in  the  presence  of  excellence ;  the  first  of  an  inferior 

14* 


I 


162 


JOSEPH  DENNIE. 


order,  but  requiring  considerable  critical  acumen  to  discover  them, 
the  latter  of  a  higher  rank,  but  obvious  to  the  meanest  capacity. 
To  apply  the  principle  in  this  case,  the  poet  meant  to  inform  us 
that  two  persons  were  going  up  a  hill.  Now,  the  act  of  going  up 
a  hill — although  Locke  would  pronounce  it  a  very  complex  idea, 
comprehending  person,  rising  ground,  trees,  &c.  &c. — is  an  opera- 
tion so  simple  as  to  need  no  description.  Had  the  poet,  therefore, 
told  us  how  the  two  heroes  went  up,  whether  in  a  cart  or  a  wagon, 
and  entered  into  the  thousand  particulars  which  the  subject  in- 
volves, they  would  have  been  tedious,  because  superfluous.  The 
omission  of  these  little  incidents,  and  telling  us  simply  that  they 
went  up  the  hill,  no  matter  how,  is  a  very  high  negative  beauty. 

Having  ascertained  the  names  and  conditions  of  the  parties,  the 
reader  becomes  naturally  inquisitive  into  their  employment,  and 
wishes  to  know  whether  their  occupation  is  worthy  of  them.  This 
laudable  curiosity  is  abundantlv  gratified  in  the  succeeding  lines ; 
for 

Jack  and  Gill 
AVcnt  up  a  hill, 
To  fetch  a  bucket  of  "water. 

Here  we  behold  the  plan  gradually  unfolding,  a  new  scene  opens 
to  our  view,  and  the  description  is  exceedingly  beautiful.  We  now 
discover  their  object,  which  we  were  before  left  to  conjecture. 
We  see  the  two  friends,  like  Pylades  and  Orestes,  assisting  and 
cheering  each  other  in  their  labors,  gaily  ascending  the  hill, 
eager  to  arrive  at  the  summit,  and  to — fill  their  bucket.  Here, 
too,  is  a  new  elegance.  Our  acute  author  could  not  but  observe 
the  necessity  of  machinery,  which  has  been  so  much  commended 
by  critics,  and  admired  by  readers.  Instead,  however,  of  intro- 
ducing a  host  of  gods  and  goddesses,  who  might  have  only  impeded 
the  journey  of  his  heroes,  by  the  intervention  of  the  bucket, — 
which  is,  as  it  ought  to  be,  simple  and  conducive  to  the  progress 
of  the  poem, — he  has  considerably  improved  on  the  ancient  plan. 
In  the  management  of  it,  also,  he  has  shown  much  judgment,  by 
making  the  influence  of  the  machinery  and  the  subject  reciprocal : 
for  while  the  utensil  carries  on  the  heroes,  it  is  itself  carried  on  by 
them. 

It  has  been  objected,  (for  every  Homer  has  his  Zoilus,)  that 
their  employment  is  not  sufficiently  dignified  for  epic  poetry ;  but, 
in  answer  to  this,  it  must  be  remarked,  that  it  was  the  opinion  of 
Socrates,  and  many  other  philosophers,  that  beauty  should  be  esti- 
mated by  utility  •  and  surely  the  purpose  of  the  heroes  must  have 
been  beneficial.  They  ascended  the  rugged  mountain  to  draw 
water  •  and  drawing  water  is  certainly  more  conducive  to  human 
happiness  than  drawing  blood,  as  do  the  boasted  heroes  of  the 
Iliad,  or  roving  on  the  ocean,  and  invading  other  men's  property, 


JOSEPH  DENNIE. 


163 


as  did  the  pious  iEneas.  Yes  !  they  went  to  draw  water.  Inte- 
resting scene !  It  might  have  been  drawn  for  the  purpose  of 
culinary  consumption ;  it  might  have  been  to  quench  the  thirst  of 
the  harmless  animals  who  relied  on  them  for  support ;  it  might 
have  been  to  feed  a  sterile  soil,  and  to  revive  the  drooping  plants 
which  they  raised  by  their  labors.  Is  not  our  author  more  judi- 
cious than  Apollonins,  who  chooses  for  the  heroes  of  his  Argonau- 
tics  a  set  of  rascals  undertaking  to  steal  a  sheepskin  ?  And,  if 
dignity  is  to  be  considered,  is  not  drawing  water  a  circumstance 
highly  characteristic  of  antiquity  ?  Do  we  not  find  the  amiable 
Rebecca  busy  at  the  well  ?  Does  not  one  of  the  maidens  in  the 
Odyssey  delight  us  by  her  diligence  in  the  same  situation  ?  and 
has  not  a  learned  Dean  proved  that  it  was  quite  fashionable  in 
Peloponnesus  ?    Let  there  be  an  end  to  such  frivolous  remarks. 

But  the  descriptive  part  is  now  finished,  and  the  author  hastens 
to  the  catastrophe.  At  what  part  of  the  mountain  the  well  was 
situated,  what  was  the  reason  of  the  sad  misfortune,  or  how  the 
prudence  of  Jack  forsook  him,  we  are  not  informed ;  but  so,  alas  ! 
it  happened, 

Jack  fell  down — - 

Unfortunate  John !  At  the  moment  when  he  was  nimbly,  for 
aught  we  know,  going  up  the  hill,  perhaps  at  the  moment  when 
his  toils  were  to  cease,  and  he  had  filled  the  bucket,  he  made  an 
unfortunate  step,  his  centre  of  gravity,  as  the  philosophers  would 
say,  fell  beyond  his  base,  and  he  tumbled.  The  extent  of  his  fall 
does  not,  however,  appear  until  the  next  line,  as  the  author  feared 
to  overwhelm  us  by  too  immediate  a  disclosure  of  his  whole  misfor- 
tune. Buoyed  by  hope,  we  suppose  his  affliction  not  quite  remedi- 
less, that  his  fall  is  an  accident  to  which  the  wayfarers  of  this  life 
are  daily  liable,  and  we  anticipate  his  immediate  rise  to  resume  his 
labors.   But  how  are  we  undeceived  by  the  heart-rending  tale  that 

Jack  fell  down 

And  broke  his  crown- 
Nothing  now  remains  but  to  deplore  the  premature  fate  of  the 
unhappy  John.  The  mention  of  the  crown  has  much  perplexed 
the  commentators.  But  my  learned  reader  will  doubtless  agree  with 
me  in  conjecturing  that,  as  the  crown  is  often  used  metaphorically 
for  the  head,  and  as  that  part  is,  or,  without  any  disparagement 
to  the  unfortunate  sufferer,  might  have  been,  the  heaviest,  it  was 
really  his  pericranium  which  sustained  the  damage.  Having 
seen  the  fate  of  Jack,  we  are  anxious  to  know  the  lot  of  his  com- 
panion.   Alas ! 

And  Gill  came  tumbling  after. 
Here  the  distress  thickens  on  us.    Unable  to  support  the  loss  of 


104 


JOHN  M.  MASON. 


his  friend,  he  followed  him,  determined  to  share  his  disaster,  and 
resolved  that,  as  they  had  gone  up  together,  they  should  not  be 
separated  as  they  came  down. 

Of  the  bucket  we  are  told  nothing ;  but  as  it  is  probable  that  it 
fell  with  its  supporters,  we  have  a  scene  of  misery  unequalled  in 
the  whole  compass  of  tragic  description.  Imagine  to  ourselves  Jack 
rapidly  descending,  perhaps  rolling  over  and  over  down  the  moun- 
tain, the  bucket,  as  the  lighter,  moving  along,  and  pouring  forth 
(if  it  had  been  filled)  its  liquid  stream,  Gill  following  in  confu- 
sion, with  a  quick  and  circular  and  headlong  motion ;  add  to  this 
the  dust,  which  they  might  have  collected  and  dispersed,  with  the 
blood  which  must  have  flowed  from  John's  head,  and  we  will  wit- 
ness a  catastrophe  highly  shocking,  and  feel  an  irresistible  im- 
pulse to  run  for  a  doctor.  The  sound,  too,  charmingly  "  echoes 
to  the  sense," — 

Jack  fell  down 
And  broke  liis  crown. 
And  Gill  came  tumbling  after. 

The  quick  succession  of  movements  is  indicated  by  an  equally 
rapid  motion  of  the  short  syllables ;  and  in  the  last  line  Gill  rolls 
with  a  greater  sprightliness  and  vivacity  than  even  the  stone  of 
Sisyphus. 

Having  expatiated  so  largely  on  its  particular  merits,  let  us  con- 
clude by  a  brief  review  of  its  most  prominent  beauties.  The  sub- 
ject is  the  fall  of  men, — a  subject  high,  interesting,  worthy  of  a 
poet;  the  heroes,  men  who  do  not  commit  a  single  fault,  and 
whose  misfortunes  are  to  be  imputed,  not  to  indiscretion,  but  to 
destiny.  To  the  illustration  of  the  subject  every  part  of  the  poem 
conduces.  Attention  is  neither  wearied  by  multiplicity  of  trivial 
incidents,  nor  distracted  by  frequency  of  digression.  The  poet 
prudently  clipped  the  wings  of  imagination,  and  repressed  the  ex- 
travagance of  metaphorical  decoration.  All  is  simple,  plain,  con- 
sistent. The  moral,  too, — that  part  without  which  poetry  is  use- 
less sound, — has  not  escaped  the  view  of  the  poet.  When  we 
behold  two  young  men,  who  but  a  short  moment  before  stood  up 
in  all  the  pride  of  health,  suddenly  falling  down  a  hill,  how  must 
we  lament  the  instability  of  all  things  ! 


JOHN  M.  MASON,  1770—1829. 

Johx  Mitchell  Masox,  the  son  of  Rev.  John  Mason,  who  came  to  this  country 
from  Scotland  in  1761,  was  born  in  the  city  of  New  York  on  the  19th  of  March, 
1770.  At  the  age  of  seventeen,  he  was  received  into  his  father's  church,  and  soon 
after  entered  Columbia  College,  where  he  took  his  first  degree  in  1789,  with  high 


JOHN  M.  MASON. 


165 


reputation  as  a  scholar.  After  leaving  college,  be  commenced  the  study  of  theo- 
logy with  his  father,  and  continued  with  him  nearly  two  years;  when  it  was 
thought  best  that  he  should  complete  his  studies  in  Edinburgh ;  whither  he  ac- 
cordingly went  early  in '1791,  and  returned  in  the  latter  part  of  the  next  year,  his 
father  having  died  during  his  absence.  He  had  been  at  home  but  a  few  months 
when  be  was  called  to  his  late  father's  post,  the  Associate  Reformed  Presbyterian 
Church  in  Cedar  Street,  and  was  ordained  March,  1793.  So  much  admired  was 
he  for  his  eloquence,  that  in  four  years  after  his  settlement  (to  use  his  own  lan- 
guage) "  it  hecame  necessary  to  swarm and  in  two  years  the  new  church,  of 
which  he  continued  the  pastor,  quite  ecpualled  in  numbers  the  old.  Every  year 
added  to  the  high  estimation  in  which  he  was  held  by  scholars  as  well  as  by  the 
Christian  Church.  Under  the  auspices  of  the  Associate  Reformed  Synod,  he 
planned  and  founded  a  theological  seminar}',  and  spent  upwards  of  a  year  in 
Scotland  and  England  in  obtaining  funds  and  books  for  it.  He  was  appointed 
the  Professor,  (for  at  first  there  was  but  one,)  and  performed  his  arduous  duties  for 
a  number  of  years  without  salary.  This  was  the  first  theological  seminary  in  the 
United  States ;  and  it  owed  its  existence  to  his  persevering,  self-denying,  self- 
sacrificing  labors. 

The  summer  of  1S04  was  marked  by  a  calamity  which  melted  the  nation  into 
tears, — the  murder  of  Alexander  Hamilton  by  Aaron  Burr.  Dr.  Mason  had 
always  been  on  the  most  intimate  terms  with  Hamilton,  esteeming  him  the 
greatest  man  of  our  country ;  and  from  the  time  he  received  the  fatal  wound  till 
the  next  day,  when  he  died,  he  was  often  at  his  bedside,  administering  to  him 
those  consolations  which  only  Christianity  can  impart.  Soon  after,  at  the  request 
of  the  "Society  of  the  Cincinnati,*'  he  delivered  an  oration  upon  the  death  of 
Hamilton, — one  of  the  most  eloquent  of  discourses,  and  which  elicited  the  warmest 
praise  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.1  His  deep  feelings  of  grief  for  the  loss  of 
Hamilton,  and  his  admiration  of  his  character,  are  expressed  in  many  of  his  letters 
at  this  time.  The  following  to  a  correspondent  in  Scotland,  dated  August  11, 1S04, 
expresses  his  grief  at 

Hamilton's  death. 

Xews  I  have  none  but  what  the  papers  will  have  announced  be- 
fore this  reaches  you;  melancholy,  most  melancholy  news  for 
America, — the  premature  death  of  her  greatest  man,  Major- 
General  Hamilton.  I  say  nothing  too  strong  when  I  assure  you 
that,  all  things  considered,  the  loss  of  Washington  was  light  in 
comparison  with  this.  His  most  stupendous  talents,  which  set 
him  above  rivalship,  and  his  integrity,  with  which  intrigue  had 
not  the  hardihood  to  tamper,  held  him  up  as  the  nation's  hope, 
and  as  the  terror  of  the  unprincipled ;  but  it  marked  him  out,  at 
the  same  time,  as  a  victim,  to  the  disappointed  and  profligate  ambi- 
tion of  Vice-President  Burr.  By  the  most  insidious  and  cruel 
artifice  he  was  entrapped,  against  his  judgment,  his  conscience, 


1  Among  others,  Judge  Jay  and  Judge  Marshall  wrote  to  him  letters  cf  thanks 
for  it. 


166 


JOHN  M.  MASON. 


and  his  efforts,  in  a  duel  with  that  desperate  man,  and  mortally 
wounded.  The  catastrophe  happened  on  the  morning  of  the  11th, 
and  he  expired  at  two  o'clock  on  the  12th  ult.  The  shock  and 
agony  of  the  public  mind  has  never  been  equalled.  Burr  went 
out,  determined  to  kill  him ;  for  he  had  been  long  qualifying  him- 
self to  become  a  "  dead  shot."  Ingenuous  Hamilton  went  out  to 
be  murdered,  being  as  ignorant  of  the  pistol  as  myself,  and  had 
resolved  not  to  take  the  life  of  his  antagonist,  even  if  it  were  in 
his  power.  The  cry  of  lamentation  and  indignation  assails  Burr 
from  every  point  of  the  compass ;  nor  can  he  turn  his  eye  any- 
where without  reading  his  own  infamy  in  the  honors  heaped  upon 
the  illustrious  dead. 

In  1807  was  commenced  the  publication  of  The  Christian's  Magazine, — a 
monthly  periodical,  of  which  Dr.  Mason  was  the  editor,  and  most  of  which  he 
wrote.  In  this  appeared,  in  successive  numbers,  his  controversial  papers  upon 
the  Episcopal  form  of  church  government,  in  reply  to  Bishop  Hobart.  In  1811, 
he  was  elected  Provost  of  Columbia  College,  which  post  he  held  till  1816,  when, 
feeling  that  his  powers  had  been  overtaxed  and  that  he  was  sinking  under  the 
weight  of  his  numerous  duties,  he  resigned  his  office,  and  took  a  voyage  to  Europe 
to  recruit  his  exhausted  powers.  He  returned  after  two  years,  improved  indeed 
in  health,  but  not  completely  restored.  The  resumption  of  his  many  duties 
proved  too  much  for  his  bodily  strength,  and  the  next  year  he  had  an  attack  of 
partial  paralysis.  From  this,  however,  he  somewhat  recovered,  and  in  1821  ac- 
cepted the  invitation  of  the  trustees  of  Dickinson  College  to  become  its  President. 
He  had  discharged  the  duties  of  this  high  office  with  the  greatest  advantage  to  the 
Institution  for  two  years,  when  a  fall  from  his  horse  quite  disabled  him,  and  he 
resigned  and  returned  to  New  York  the  same  year,  where  he  died  on  the  26th  of 
December,  1829,  in  the  sixtieth  year  of  his  age. 

Dr.  Mason  was  a  remarkable  man, — remarkable  for  his  majestic  personal  appear- 
ance as  well  as  for  his  intellectual  powers,  his  learning,  and  his  eloquence. 
He  was  in  stature  about  six  feet,  with  a  high  forehead,  deep  blue  eyes,  and  a 
face  remarkably  expressive  of  thought,  feeling,  firmness,  and  courage.  As  a 
pulpit-orator  it  has  been  remarked  of  him  by  a  learned  contemporary  that  "  upon 
the  whole,  for  a  combination  of  clearness,  power,  majesty,  bold  conceptions,  pro- 
found thought,  sublime  and  tender  emotions,  evangelical  richness  and  unction, 
natural  and  impressive  utterance,  adaptation  of  style  and  manner  to  varying  sub- 
jects and  assemblies,  Dr.  Mason  would  probably  not  lose  by  comparison  with  the 
best  preachers  that  have  adorned  the  modern  pulpit."1 


1  Read  "Memoirs,  with  a  Portion  of  his  Correspondence,"  8vo,  pp.  560,  by  Rev. 
Jacob  Van  Vechten ;  and  Works,  in  four  volumes,  edited  by  his  son,  Rev.  Ebe- 
nezer  Mason. 

"  In  a  new  church,  in  Murray  Street,  I  heard  Dr.  Mason,  then  regarded  as  the 
Boanerges  of  the  city.  Instead  of  a  pulpit, — which  served  as  a  sort  of  shelter  and 
defence  for  the  preacher, — he  had  only  a  little  railing  along  the  edge  of  the  plat- 
form on  which  he  stood,  so  as  to  show  his  large  and  handsome  person  almost 
down  to  his  shoe-buckles.    He  preached  without  notes,  and  moved  freely  about, 


JOHN  M.  MASON. 


167 


POLITICS  AND  RELIGION. 

That  religion  has,  in  fact,  nothing  to  do  with  the  politics  of 
many  who  profess  it,  is  a  melancholy  truth.  But  that  it  has,  of 
right j  no  concern  with  political  transactions,  is  quite  a  new  dis- 
covery. If  such  opinions,  however,  prevail,  there  is  no  longer  any 
mystery  in  the  character  of  those  whose  conduct  in  political  mat- 
ters violates  every  precept  and  slanders  every  principle  of  the 
religion  of  Christ.  But  what  is  politics  ?  Is  it  not  the  science 
and  the  exercise  of  civil  rights  and  civil  duties  ?  And  what  is 
religion  ?  Is  it  not  an  obligation  to  the  service  of  God,  founded 
on  his  authority,  and  extending  to  all  our  relations,  personal  and 
social  ?  Yet  religion  has  nothing  to  do  with  politics  !  Where  did 
you  learn  this  maxim  ?  The  Bible  is  full  of  directions  for  your 
behavior  as  citizens.  It  is  plain,  pointed,  awful  in  its  injunctions 
on  ruler  and  ruled  as  such:  yet  religion  has  nothing  to  do  ivith 
politics!  You  are  commanded  "  in  all  your  ways  to  acknowledge 
him."  "In  EVERY  THING,  by  prayer  and  supplication,  ivith 
thanksgiving,  to  let  your  requests  he  made  known  unto  God." 
"And  WHATSOEVER  YE  DO,  IN  WORD  OR  DEED,  to  do  ALL  IN 
THE  NAME  of  the  Lord  Jesus."1  Yet  religion  has  nothing  to  do 
with  politics  !  Most  astonishing  !  And  is  there  any  part  of  your 
conduct  in  which  you  are,  or  wish  to  be,  without  law  to  God,  and 
not  under  the  laio  of  Jesus  Christ?  Can  you  persuade  your- 
selves that  political  men  and  measures  are  to  undergo  no  review 
in  the  judgment  to  come  ?  That  all  the  passion  and  violence,  the 
fraud  and  falsehood  and  corruption,  which  pervade  the  system  of 
party,  and  burst  out  like  a  flood  at  the  public  elections,  are  to  be 
blotted  from  the  catalogue  of  unchristian  deeds,  because  they  are 
politics?  Or  that  a  minister  of  the  gospel  may  see  his  people, 
in  their  political  career,  bid  defiance  to  their  God  in  breaking 
through  every  moral  restraint,  and  keep  a  guiltless  silence,  be- 
cause religion  has  nothing  to  do  with  politics?  I  forbear  to  press 
the  argument  farther ;  observing  only  that  many  of  our  difficulties 
and  sins  may  be  traced  to  this  pernicious  notion.  Yes,  if  our  reli- 
gion had  had  more  to  do  with  our  politics,  if,  in  the  pride  of  our 


sometimes  speaking  in  a  colloquial  manner,  and  then  suddenly  pouring  out  sen- 
tence after  sentence  glowing  with  lightning  and  echoing  with  thunder.  The 
effect  of  these  outbursts  was  sometimes  very  startling.  The  doctor  was  not  only 
very  imposing  in  his  person,  but  his  voice  was  of  prodigious  volume  and  compass. 
He  was  sometimes  adventurous  in  bis  speech,  occasionally  passing  off  a  joke,  and 
not  unfrequently  verging  on  what  might  seem  profane  but  for  the  solemnity  of  his 
manner." — Goodrich's  Recollections. 

1  He  might  have  given  a  still  stronger  text, — -Philippians  i.  27:  "Let  your 
politics  be  such  as  it  becometh  the  gospel  of  Christ."  Our  translation  is  conversa- 
tion, (which  in  King  James's  day  was  equivalent  to  conduct;)  but  the  original  is 
•tokirzvujQz,  "  act  as  a  citizen,"  or  "  act  in  political  matters,  as  a  Christian." 


168 


JOHN  M.  MASON. 


citizenship,  we  had  not  forgotten  our  Christianity,  if  we  had 
prayed  more  and  wrangled  less  about  the  affairs  of  our  country,  it 
would  have  been  infinitely  better  for  us  at  this  day. 

CHARACTER  OF  HAMILTON. 

He  was  born  to  be  great.  Whoever  was  second,  Hamilton 
must  be  first.  To  his  stupendous  and  versatile  mind  no  investiga- 
tion was  difficult,  no  subject  presented  which  he  did  not  illumi- 
nate. Superiority,  in  some  particular,  belongs  to  thousands. 
Pre-eminence,  in  whatever  he  chose  to  undertake,  was  the  prero- 
gative of  Hamilton.  No  fixed  criterion  could  be  applied  to  his 
talents.  Often  has  their  display  been  supposed  to  have  reached 
the  limit  of  human  effort;  and  the  judgment  stood  firm  till  set 
aside  by  himself.  When  a  cause  of  new  magnitude  required  new 
exertion,  he  rose,  he  towered,  he  soared ;  surpassing  himself  as  he 
surpassed  others.  Then  was  nature  tributary  to  his  eloquence  ! 
Then  was  felt  his  despotism  over  the  heart !  Touching,  at  his 
pleasure,  every  string  of  pity  or  terror,  of  indignation  or  grief,  he 
melted,  he  soothed,  he  roused,  he  agitated ;  alternately  gentle  as 
the  dews  and  awful  as  the  thunder.  Yet,  great  as  he  was  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world,  he  was  greater  in  the  eyes  of  those  with  whom 
he  was  most  conversant.  The  greatness  of  most  men,  like  objects 
seen  through  a  mist,  diminishes  with  the  distance;  but  Hamilton, 
like  a  tower  seen  afar  off  under  a  clear  sky,  rose  in  grandeur  and 
sublimity  with  every  step  of  approach.  Familiarity  with  him  was 
the  parent  of  veneration.  Over  these  matchless  talents  probity 
threw  her  brightest  lustre.  Frankness,  suavity,  tenderness,  bene- 
volence, breathed  through  their  exercise.  And  to  his  family  ! — ■ 
but  he  is  gone — that  noble  heart  beats  no  more ;  that  eye  of  fire 
is  dimmed;  and  sealed  are  those  oracular  lips.  Americans,  the 
serenest  beam  of  your  glory  is  extinguished  in  the  tomb. 

Fathers,  friends,  countrymen  !  the  dying  breath  of  Hamilton 
recommended  to  you  the  Christian's  hope.  His  single  testimony 
outweighs  all  the  cavils  of  the  sciolist,  and  all  the  jeers  of  the  pro- 
fane. Who  will  venture  to  pronounce  a  fable  that  doctrine  of  life 
and  i  m  mart  edit  1/  which  his  profound  and  irradiating  mind  em- 
braced as  the  truth  of  God  ?  When  you  are  to  die,  you  will  find 
no  source  of  peace  but  in  the  faith  of  Jesus.  Cultivate,  for  your 
present  repose  and  your  future  consolation,  what  our  departed 
friend  declared  to  be  the  support  of  his  expiring  moments, — 
"  a  tender  reliance  on  the  mercies  of  the  Almighty,  through  the 
merits  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ," 

Hamilton  !  we  will  cherish  thy  memory,  we  will  embalm  thy 
fame  !    Fare  thee  well,  thou  unparalleled  man,  farewell, — forever ! 


JOHN  M.  MASON. 


169 


GOSPEL  FOR  THE  POOR. 

The  Lord  Jesus,  who  icent  about  doing  good,  has  left  us  an 
example  that  ice  shoidd  follow  his  steps.  Christians,  on  whom  he 
has  bestowed  affluence,  rank,  or  talent,  should  be  the  last  to  dis- 
dain their  fellow-men,  or  to  look  with  indifference  on  indigence 
and  grief.  Pride,  unseemly  in  all,  is  detestable  in  them  who  con- 
fess that  by  grace  they  are  saved.  Their  Lord  and  Redeemer, 
who  humbled  himself  by  assuming  their  nature,  came  to  deliver 
the  needy  when  he  crieth,  the  poor  also,  and  him  that  hath  no 
helper.  And  surely,  as  object  which  was  not  unworthy  of  the 
Son  of  God  cannot  be  unworthy  of  any  who  are  called  by  his 
name.  Their  wealth  and  opportunities,  their  talents  and  time, 
are  not  their  own,  nor  to  be  used  according  to  their  own  pleasure, 
but  to  be  consecrated  by  their  vocation  as  fellow-workers  with 
God.  How  many  hands  that  hang  down  would  be  lifted  up ! 
how  many  feeble  knees  confirmed  !  how  many  tears  wiped  away  ! 
how  many  victims  of  despondency  and  infamy  rescued  by  a  close 
imitation  of  Jesus  Christ !  Go  with  your  opulence  to  the  house 
of  famine  and  the  retreats  of  disease.  Go,  deal  thy  bread  to  the 
hungry  ;  when  thou  seest  the  naked,  cover  him;  and  hide  not  thy- 
self from  thine  own  flesh.  Go,  and  furnish  means  to  rear  the 
offspring  of  the  poor,  that  they  may  at  least  have  access  to  the 
word  of  your  God.  Go,  and  quicken  the  flight  of  the  Angel  who 
has  the  everlasting  gospel  to  preach  unto  the  nations.  If  you  pos- 
sess not  wealth,  employ  your  station  in  promoting  good  will  toward 
men.  Judge  the  fatherless;  plead  for  the  widow.  Stimulate  the 
exertions  of  others,  who  may  supply  what  is  lacking  on  your  part. 
Let  the  beauties  of  holiness  pour  their  lustre  upon  your  distinc- 
tions, and  recommend  to  the  unhappy  that  peace  which  yourselves 
have  found  in  the  salvation  of  God.  If  you  have  neither  riches 
nor  rank,  devote  your  talents.  Ravishing  are  the  accents  which 
dwell  on  the  tongue  of  the  learned  when  it  speaks  a  word  in  season 
to  him  that  is  weary.  Press  your  genius  and  your  eloquence  into 
the  service  of  the  Lord  your  righteousness,  to  magnify  his  word, 
and  display  the  riches  of  his  grace.  Who  knoweth  whether  he 
may  honor  you  to  be  the  minister  of  joy  to  the  disconsolate,  of 
liberty  to  the  captive,  of  life  to  the  dead  ?  If  he  has  denied  you 
wealth,  and  rank,  and  talent,  consecrate  your  heart.  Let  it  dis- 
solve in  sympathy.  There  is  nothing  to  hinder  your  rejoicing 
with  them  that  do  rejoice,  and  your  iveeping  with  them  that  weep, 
nor  to  forbid  the  interchange  of  kind  and  soothing  offices.  A 
brother  is  born  for  adversity ;  and  not  only  should  Christian  be  to 
Christian  a  friend  that  sticketh  closer  than  a  brother,  but  he  should 
exemplify  the  loveliness  of  his  religion  to  them  that  are  without. 
An  action,  a  word,  marked  by  the  sweetness  of  the  gospel,  has 

15 


170 


JOSEPH  HOPKINSON. 


often  been  owned  of  God  for  producing  the  happiest  enects.  Lot 
no  man,  therefore,  try  to  excuse  his  inaction  j  for  no  man  is  too 
inconsiderable  to  augment  the  triumphs  of  the  gospel  by  assisting 
in  the  consolations  which  it  yields  to  the  miserable. 


JOSEPH  HOPKINSON,  17*70—1842. 

Joseph  Hopkinson  was  the  son  of  Francis  Hopkinson,  who  was  one  of  the 
patriots  of  the  Revolution,  a  signer  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  and  emi- 
nent for  his  legal  learning,  wit,  and  general  attainments.1  Joseph  was  born  in 
Philadelphia,  in  1770,  studied  law,  and  became  distinguished  for  his  profound 
and  varied  attainments,  and  as  an  advocate  of  singular  eloquence  and  ability. 
He  served  for  some  time  as  a  representative  in  Congress,  and  was  a  member  of  the 
Convention  which  re-modelled  the  Constitution  of  Pennsylvania.  In  1828,  he  was 
appointed  Judge  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Eastern  Dis- 
trict of  Pennsylvania,  which  office  he  filled  with  great  integrity  and  ability,  united 
to  singular  urbanity  and  kindness  of  manners;  and  retained  it  till  his  death, 
which  occurred  on  the  15th  of  January,  1S42.  At  the  time  of  his  death,  he  was 
Vice-President  of  the  American  Philosophical  Society,  and  President  of  the 
Academy  of  Fine  Arts. 

As  a  writer,  Judge  Hopkinson  is  chiefly  known  as  the  author  of  the  popular 
song  of 

HAIL,  COLUMBIA.2 

Hail,  Columbia!  happy  land! 

Hail,  yc  heroes  !  heaven-born  band ! 

Who  fought  and  bled  in  Freedom's  cause, 
Who  fought,  and  bled  in  Freedom's  cause, 


1  See  pages  59-CS  for  Life,  and  Extracts  from  his  works. 

2  The  following  account  of  the  circumstances  attending  the  composition  of  this 
song  were  communicated,  a  few  months  before  his  death,  to  the  late  Rev.  Dr. 
Griswold.  "  It  was  written  in  the  summer  of  1798,  when  war  with  France  was 
thought  to  be  inevitable.  Congress  was  then  in  session  in  Philadelphia,  delibe- 
rating upon  that  important  subject,  and  acts  of  hostility  had  actually  taken  place. 
The  contest  between  England  and  France  Avas  raging,  and  the  people  of  the 
United  States  were  divided  into  parties  for  the  one  side  or  the  other,  some  think- 
ing that  policy  and  duty  required  us  to  espouse  the  cause  of  republican  France,  as 
she  was  called ;  while  others  were  for  connecting  ourselves  with  England,  under 
the  belief  that  she  was  the  great  conservative  power  of  good  principles  and  safe 
government.  The  violation  of  our  rights  by  both  belligerents  was  forcing  us  from 
the  just  and  wise  policy  of  President  Washington,  which  was  to  do  equal  justice 
to  both,  to  take  part  with  neither,  but  to  preserve  a  strict  and  honest  neutrality 
between  them.  The  prospect  of  a  rupture  with  France  was  exceedingly  offensive 
to  the  portion  of  the  people  who  espoused  her  cause ;  and  the  violence  of  the 
spirit  of  party  has  never  risen  higher,  I  think  not  so  high,  in  our  country,  as  it  did 
at  that  time,  upon  that  question.  The  theatre  was  then  open  in  our  city.  A  young 
man  belonging  to  it,  whose  talent  was  as  a  singer,  was  about  to  take  his  benefit. 
1  had  known  him  when  he  was  at  school.    On  this  acquaintance,  he  called  on  mc 


JOSEPH  HOPKINSON. 


171 


And  when  the  storm  of  war  was  gone, 
Enjoy'd  the  peace  your  valor  won. 
Let  independence  be  our  boast, 
Ever  mindful  what  it  cost ; 
Ever  grateful  for  the  prize  : 
Let  its  altar  reach  the  skies. 

Firm — united — let  us  be, 

Rallying  round  our  liberty ; 

As  a  band  of  brothers  join'd, 

Peace  and  safety  we  shall  find. 

Immortal  patriots  !  rise  once  more  ; 

Defend  your  rights,  defend  your  shore  ; 
Let  no  rude  foe,  with  impious  hand, 
Let  no  rude  foe,  with  impious  hand, 

Invade  the  shrine  where  sacred  lies 

Of  toil  and  blood  the  well-earn'd  prize. 
While  offering  peace  sincere  and  just, 
In  Heaven  we  place  a  manly  trust, 
That  truth  and  justice  will  prevail, 
And  every  scheme  of  bondage  fail. 
Firm — united,  &c. 

Sound,  sound  the  trump  of  Fame ! 

Let  Washington's  great  name 

Ring  through  the  world  with  loud  applause, 
Ring  through  the  world  with  loud  applause; 

Let  every  clime  to  Freedom  dear 

Listen  with  a  joyful  ear. 

With  equal  skill  and  godlike  power, 
He  governs  in  the  fearful  hour 
Of  horrid  Avar ;  or  guides,  with  ease, 
The  happier  times  of  honest  peace. 
Firm — united,  &c. 

Behold  the  chief  who  now  commands, 
Once  more  to  serve  his  country  stands, — 
The  rock  on  which  the  storm  will  beat, 
The  rock  on  which  the  storm  will  beat; 


one  Saturday  afternoon,  his  benefit  being  announced  for  the  following  Monday. 
His  prospects  were  very  disheartening  ;  but  he  said  that  if  he  could  get  a  patri- 
otic song  adapted  to  the  tune  of  the  '  President's  March/  he  did  not  doubt  of  a 
full  house ;  that  the  poets  of  the  theatrical  corps  had  been  trying  to  accomplish 
it,  but  had  not  succeeded.  I  told  him  I  would  try  what  I  could  do  for  him.  He 
came  the  next  afternoon,  and  the  song,  such  as  it  is,  was  ready  for  him.  The 
object  of  the  author  was  to  get  up  an  American  spirit,  which  should  be  indepen- 
dent of,  and  above  the  interests,  passions,  and  policy  of  both  belligerents,  and 
look  and  feel  exclusively  for  our  own  honor  and  rights.  No  allusion  is  made  to 
France  or  England,  or  the  quarrel  between  them,  or  to  the  question  which  was 
most  in  fault  in  their  treatment  of  us.  Of  course  the  song  found  favor  with  both 
parties,  for  both  were  Americans :  at  least,  neither  could  disavow  the  sentiments 
and  feelings  it  inculcated.  Such  is  the  history  of  this  song,  which  has  endured 
infinitely  beyond  the  expectation  of  the  author,  as  it  is  beyond  any  merit  it  can 
boast  of,  except  that  of. being  truly  and  exclusively  patriotic  in  its  sentiments  and 
spirit." 


172 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN. 


But,  arm'cl  in  virtue  firm  and  true, 
His  hopes  are  fix'd  on  Heaven  and  you. 
When  Hope  was  sinking  in  dismay, 
And  glooms  obscured  Columbia's  day. 
His  steady  mind,  from  changes  free, 
Resolved  on  death  or  liberty. 
Firm — united,  &c. 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN,  mi— 1810. 

Charles  Brockden  Brown,  descended  from  a  highly  respectable  family,  whose 
ancestors  emigrated  Avith  William  Perm,  was  born  at  Philadelphia,  January  17, 
1771.  He  early  gave  evidence  of  his  studious  propensities,  and  at  the  age  of  eleven 
was  placed  under  the  tuition  of  Mr.  Robert  Proud,  the  author  of  the  History  of 
Pennsylvania.  Under  his  instruction  he  went  over  a  large  course  of  English  read- 
ing, and  acquired  the  elements  of  Greek  and  Latin,  applying  himself  to  his  studies 
with  great  assiduity.  But  his  sedentary  habits  began  to  impair  his  health,  and 
he  was  for  a  time  taken  from  his  books,  and  made  frequent  excursions  on  foot 
into  the  country.  He  left  Mr.  Proud's  school,  finally,  before  the  age  of  sixteen, 
and  s'oon  after  began  the  study  of  the  law.  But,  when  the  time  came  for  him 
to  enter  upon  the  practice  of  his  profession,  he  felt  his  repugnance  to  it  increase 
more  and  more,  and  he  determined  to  follow  his  own  tastes,  and  to  devote  his  life 
to  literary  pursuits. 

Having  formed  a  strong  and  congenial  friendship  with  two  or  three  gentle- 
men of  New  York,  he  established,  in  1798,  his  permanent  residence  in  that 
city.  The  same  year  appeared  Wieland,  the  first  of  that  remarkable  series  of 
fictions  which  flowed  with  such  rapid  succession  from  his  pen  in  that  and  three 
following  years.  They  are  of  the  intensely  terrific  school,  and  such  as  do  not 
leave  the  most  pleasant  impressions  upon  the  mind.  The  next  year  appeared 
Onnond,  and  soon  after  the  first  part  of  Arthur  3/ervyn  ;  or,  Memoirs  of  the  Year 
1793.  This  was  the  fatal  year  of  the  yellow  fever  in  Philadelphia,  and  Brown 
transferred  upon  paper  many  of  the  scenes  he  himself  had  witnessed.  The  fol- 
lowing is  one  of  them  : — 

THE  PESTILENCE  OF  1798. 

In  proportion  as  I  drew  near  the  city,  the  tokens  of  its  calami- 
tous condition  became  more  apparent.  Every  farm-house  was 
filled  with  supernumerary  tenants,  fugitives  from  home,  and 
haunting  the  skirts  of  the  road,  eager  to  detain  every  passenger 
with  inquiries  after  news.  The  passengers  were  numerous;  for 
the  tide  of  emigration  was  by  no  means  exhausted.  Some  were 
on  foot,  bearing  in  their  countenances  the  tokens  of  their  recent 
terror,  and  filled  with  mournful  reflections  on  the  forlornness  of 
their  state.    Few  had  secured  to  themselves  an  asylum ;  some 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN. 


173 


were  without  the  means  of  paying  for  victuals  or  lodging  for  the 
coming  night  j  others,  who  were  not  thus  destitute,  yet  knew  not 
-whither  to  apply  for  entertainment,  every  house  being  already 
overstocked  with  inhabitants,  or  barring  its  inhospitable  doors  at 
their  approach. 

Families  of  weeping  mothers  and  dismayed  children,  attended 
with  a  few  pieces  of  indispensable  furniture,  were  carried  in 
vehicles  of  every  form.  The  parent  or  husband  had  perished; 
and  the  price  of  some  movable,  or  the  pittance  handed  forth  by 
public  charity,  had  been  expended  to  purchase  the  means  of  re- 
tiring from  this  theatre  of  disasters,  though  uncertain  and  hope- 
less of  accommodation  in  the  neighboring  districts. 

Between  these  and  the  fugitives  whom  curiosity  had  led  to  the 
road,  dialogues  frequently  took  place,  to  which  I  was  suffered  to 
listen.  From  every  mouth  the  tale  of  sorrow  was  repeated  with 
new  aggravations.  Pictures  of  their  own  distress,  or  of  that  of 
their  neighbors,  were  exhibited  in  all  the  hues  which  imagination 
can  annex  to  pestilence  and  poverty. 

My  preconceptions  of  the  evil  now  appeared  to  have  fallen  short 
of  the  truth.  The  dangers  into  which  I  was  rushing  seemed  more 
numerous  and  imminent  than  I  had  previously  imagined.  I 
wavered  not  in  my  purpose.  A  panic  crept  to  my  heart,  which 
more  vehement  exertions  were  necessary  to  subdue  or  control ; 
but  I  harbored  not  a  momentary  doubt  that  the  course  which  I 
had  taken  was  prescribed  by  duty.  There  was  no  difficulty  or' re- 
luctance in  proceeding.  All  for  which  my  efforts  were  demanded 
was  to  walk  in  this  path  without  tumult  or  alarm. 

Various  circumstances  had  hindered  me  from  setting  out  upon 
this  journey  as  early  as  was  proper.  My  frequent  pauses  to  listen 
to  the  narratives  of  travellers  contributed  likewise  to  procrastina- 
tion. The  sun  had  nearly  set  before  I  reached  the  precincts  of 
the  city.  I  pursued  the  track  which  I  had  formerly  taken,  and 
entered  High  Street  after  nightfall.  Instead  of  equipages  and  a 
throng  of  passengers,  the  voice  of  levity  and  glee,  which  I  had  for- 
merly observed,  and  which  the  mildness  of  the  season  would  at 
other  times  have  produced,  I  found  nothing  but  a  dreary  solitude. 

The  market-place,  and  each  side  of  this  magnificent  avenue,  were 
illuminated,  as  before,  by  lamps ;  but  between  the  verge  of 
Schuylkill  and  the  heart  of  the  city,  I  met  not  more  than  a  dozen 
figures,  and  these  were  ghost-like,  wrapped  in  cloaks,  from  behind 
which  they  cast  upon  me  glances  of  wonder  and  suspicion,  and,  as 
I  approached,  changed  their  course,  to  avoid  touching  me.  Their 
clothes  were  sprinkled  with  vinegar,  and  their  nostrils  defended 
from  contagion  by  some  powerful  perfume. 

I  cast  a  look  upon  the  houses,  which  I  recollected  to  have  for- 
merly been  at  this  hour  brilliant  with  lights,  resounding  with 

15* 


174 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN. 


lively  voices,  and  thronged  with  busy  faces.  Now  they  were 
closed,  above  and  below,  dark,  and  without  tokens  of  being  in- 
habited. From  the  upper  windows  of  some,  a  gleam  sometimes  fell 
upon  the  pavement  I  was  traversing,  and  showed  that  their  tenants 
were  not  fled,  but  were  secluded  or  disabled. 

The  evening  had  now  advanced,  and  it  behooved  me  to  procure 
accommodation  at  some  of  the  inns.  These  were  easily  distin- 
guished by  their  signs;  but  many  were  without  inhabitants.  At 
length  I  lighted  upon  one,  the  hall  of  which  was  open  and  the 
windows  lifted.  After  knocking  for  some  time,  a  young  girl 
appeared,  with  many  marks  of  distress.  In  answer  to  my  ques- 
tion, she  answered  that  both  her  parents  were  sick,  and  that  they 
could  receive  no  one.  I  inquired  in  vain  for  any  other  tavern  at 
which  strangers  mi^ht  be  accommodated.  She  knew  of  none 
such ;  and  left  me,  on  some  one's  calling  to  her  from  above,  in  the 
midst  of  my  embarrassment.  After  a  moment's  pause,  I  returned, 
discomfited  and  perplexed,  to  the  street. 

I  proceeded,  in  a  considerable  degree,  at  random.  At  length  I 
reached  a  spacious  building  in  Fourth  Street,  which  the  sign-post 
showed  me  to  be  an  inn.  I  knocked  loudly  and  often  at  the  door. 
At  length  a  female  opened  the  window  of  the  second  story,  and, 
in  a  tone  of  peevishness,  demanded  what  I  wanted.  I  told  her 
that  I  wanted  lodging. 

"  Go,  hunt  for  it  somewhere  else,"  said  she  :  "  you'll  find  none 
here."  I  began  to  expostulate  5  but  she  shut  the  window  with 
quickness,  and  left  me  to  my  own  reflections. 

I  began  now  to  feel  some  regret  at  the  journey  I  had  taken. 
Never,  in  the  depth  of  caverns  or  forests,  was  I  equally  conscious 
of  loneliness.  I  was  surrounded  by  the  habitations  of  men  •  but 
I  was  destitute  of  associate  or  friend.  I  had  money  ;  but  a  horse- 
shelter  or  a  morsel  of  food  could  not  be  purchased.  I  came  for 
the  purpose  of  relieving  others,  but  stood  in  the  utmost  need  my- 
self. Even  in  health  my  condition  was  helpless  and  forlorn ;  but 
what  would  become  of  me  should  this  fatal  malady  be  contracted  ? 
To  hope  that  an  asylum  would  be  afforded  to  a  sick  man  which 
was  denied  to  one  in  health  was  unreasonable. 

The  first  impulse  which  flowed  from  these  reflections  was  to 
hasten  back  to  Malverton;  which,  with  sufficient  diligence,  I 
might  hope  to  regain  before  the  morning  light.  I  could  not, 
methought,  return  upon  my  steps  with  too  much  speed.  I  was 
prompted  to  run  as  if  the  pest  was  rushing  upon  me,  and  could  be 
eluded  only  by  the  most  precipitate  flight, 

The  publication  of  Arthur  Mervyn  was  succeeded  not  long  after  by  that  of  Edgar 
Huntly ;  or,  The  Adventures  of  a  Sleep- Walker.  The  scene  is  laid  in  the  interior 
of  Pennsylvania;  and  in  one  of  the  chapters,  Edgar  Huntly,  the  hero  of  the 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN. 


175 


story,  is  represented  in  a  wild  mountain-fastness,  on  the  brink  of  a  ravine,  from 
which  the  only  avenue  lies  over  the  body  of  a  tree  thrown  across  the  chasm.  The 
following  is  a  description  of  his 

PERILOUS  ENCOUNTER  WITH  A  PANTHER. 

As  soon  as  I  had  effected  my  dangerous  passage,  I  screened 
myself  behind  a  cliff,  and  gave  myself  up  to  reflection.  While 
occupied  with  these  reflections,  my  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the 
opposite  steeps.  The  tops  of  the  trees,  waving  to  and  fro  in  the 
wildest  commotion,  and  their  trunks  occasionally  bending  to  the 
blast,  which,  in  these  lofty  regions,  blew  with  a  violence  unknown 
in  the  tracts  below,  exhibited  an  awful  spectacle.  At  length  my 
attention  was  attracted  by  the  trunk  which  lay  across  the  gulf,  and 
which  I  had  converted  into  a  bridge.  I  perceived  that  it  had 
already  swerved  somewhat  from  its  original  position )  that  every 
blast  broke  or  loosened  some  of  the  fibres  by  which  its  roots  were 
connected  with  the  opposite  bank;  and  that,  if  the  storm  did  not 
speedily  abate,  there  was  imminent  danger  of  its  being  torn  from 
the  rock  and  precipitated  into  the  chasm.  Thus  my  retreat  would 
be  cut  oft,  and  the  evils  from  which  I  was  endeavoring  to  rescue 
another  would  be  experienced  by  myself. 

I  believed  my  destiny  to  hang  upon  the  expedition  with  which 
I  should  recross  this  gulf.  The  moments  that  were  spent  in  these 
deliberations  were  critical,  and  I  shuddered  to  observe  that  the 
trunk  was  held  in  its  place  by  one  or  two  fibres,  which  were 
already  stretched  almost  to  breaking. 

To  pass  along  the  trunk,  rendered  slippery  by  the  wet  and  un- 
steadfast  by  the  wind,  was  eminently  dangerous.  To  maintain 
my  hold  in  passing,  in  defiance  of  the  whirlwind,  required  the 
most  vigorous  exertions.  For  this  end,  it  was  necessary  to  dis- 
commode myself  of  my  cloak  and  of  the  volume  which  I  carried 
in  the  pocket  of  my  coat. 

Just  as  I  had  disposed  of  these  encumbrances,  and  had  risen 
from  my  seat,  my  attention  was  again  called  to  the  opposite  steep 
by  the  most  unwelcome  object  that  at  this  time  could  possibly 
occur.  Something  was  perceived  moving  among  the  bushes  and 
rocks,  which,  for  a  time,  I  hoped  was  nothing  more  than  a  raccoon 
or  opossum,  but  which  presently  appeared  to  be  a  panther.  His 
gray  coat,  extended  clawrs,  fiery  eyes,  and  a  cry  which  he  at  that 
moment  uttered,  and  which,  by  its  resemblance  to  the  human 
voice,  is  peculiarly  terrific,  denoted  him  to  be  the  most  ferocious 
and  untamable  of  that  detested  race.  The  industry  of  our 
hunters  has  nearly  banished  animals  of  prey  from  these  precincts. 
The  fastnesses  of  Norwalk,  however,  could  not  but  afford  refuge 
to  some  of  them.    Of  late  I  had  met  them  so  rarely  that  my  fears 


17G 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN. 


were  seldom  alive,  and  I  trod  without  caution  the  ruggedest  and 
most  solitary  haunts.  Still,  however,  I  had  seldom  been  unfur- 
nished in  my  rambles  with  the  means  of  defence. 

The  unfrequency  with  which  I  had  lately  encountered  this  foe, 
and  the  encumbrance  of  provision,  made  me  neglect,  on  this  occa- 
sion, to  bring  with  me  my  usual  arms.  The  beast  that  was  now 
before  me,  when  stimulated  by  hunger,  was  accustomed  to  assail 
whatever  could  provide  him  with  a  banquet  of  blood.  He  would 
set  upon  the  man  and  the  deer  with  equal  and  irresistible  fero- 
city. His  sagacity  was  equal  to  his  strength,  and  he  seemed  able 
to  discover  when  his  antagonist  was  armed  and  prepared  for 
defence. 

My  past  experience  enabled  me  to  estimate  the  full  extent  of 
my  danger.  He  sat  on  the  brow  of  the  steep,  eyeing  the  bridge, 
and  apparently  deliberating  whether  he  should  cross  it.  It  was 
probable  that  he  had  scented  my  footsteps  thus  far,  and,  should 
he  pass  over,  his  vigilance  could  scarcely  fail  of  detecting  my 
asylum. 

Should  he  retain  his  present  station,  my  danger  was  scarcely 
lessened.  To  pass  over  in  the  face  of  a  famished  tiger  was  only 
to  rush  upon  my  fate.  The  falling  of  the  trunk,  which  had 
lately  been  so  anxiously  deprecated,  was  now  with  no  less  solici- 
tude desired.  Every  new  gust,  I  hoped,  would  tear  asunder 
its  remaining  bands,  and,  by  cutting  off  all  communication  be- 
tween the  opposite  steeps,  place  me  in  security.  My  hopes,  how- 
ever, were  destined  to  be  frustrated.  The  fibres  of  the  prostrate 
tree  were  obstinately  tenacious  of  their  hold,  and  presently  the 
animal  scrambled  down  the  rock  and  proceeded  to  cross  it. 

Of  all  kinds  of  death,  that  which  now  menaced  me  was  the 
most  abhorred.  To  die  by  disease  or  by  the  hand  of  a  fellow- 
creature  was  propitious  and  lenient  in  comparison  with  being 
rent  to  pieces  by  the  fangs  of  this  savage.  To  perish  in  this  ob- 
scure retreat  by  means  so  impervious  to  the  anxious  curiosity  of 
my  friends,  to  lose  my  portion  of  existence  by  so  untoward  and 
ignoble  a  destiny,  was  insupportable.  I  bitterly  deplored  my 
rashness  in  coming  hither  unprovided  for  an  encounter  like 
this. 

The  evil  of  my  present  circumstances  consisted  chiefly  in  sus- 
pense. My  death  was  unavoidable,  but  my  imagination  had  leisure 
to  torment  itself  by  anticipations.  One  foot  of  the  savage  was 
slowly  and  cautiously  moved  after  the  other.  He  struck  his 
claws  so  deeply  into  the  bark  that  they  were  with  difficulty  with- 
drawn. At  length  he  leaped  upon  the  ground.  We  were  now 
separated  by  an  interval  of  scarcely  eight  feet.  To  leave  the  spot 
where  I  crouched  was  impossible.  Behind  and  beside  me  the 
cliff  rose  perpendicularly,  and  before  me  was  this  grim  and  ter- 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN. 


177 


rible  visage.  I  shrunk  still  closer  to  the  ground,  and  closed  my 
eyes. 

From  this  pause  of  horror  I  was  aroused  by  the  noise  occa- 
sioned by  a  second  spring  of  the  animal.  He  leaped  into  the  pit 
in  which  I  had  so  deeply  regretted  that  I  had  not  taken  refuge, 
and  disappeared.  My  rescue  was  so  sudden,  and  so  much  beyond 
my  belief  or  my  hope,  that  I  doubted  for  a  moment  whether  my 
senses  did  not  deceive  me.  This  opportunity  of  escape  was  not 
to  be  neglected.  I  left  my  place  and  scrambled  over  the  trunk 
with  a  precipitation  which  had  like  to  have  proved  fatal.  The 
tree  groaned  and  shook  under  me,  the  wind  blew  with  unexampled 
violence,  and  I  had  scarcely  reached  the  opposite  steep  when  the 
roots  were  severed  from  the  rock,  and  the  whole  fell  thundering 
to  the  bottom  of  the  chasm. 

My  trepidations  were  not  speedily  quieted.  I  looked  back 
with  wonder  on  my  hairbreadth  escape,  and  on  that  singular  con- 
currence of  events  which  had  placed  me  in  so  short  a  period  in 
absolute  security.  Had  the  trunk  fallen  a  moment  earlier,  I 
should  have  been  imprisoned  on  the  hill  or  thrown  headlong. 
Had  its  fall  been  delayed  another  moment,  I  should  have  been 
pursued ;  for  the  beast  now  issued  from  his  den,  and  testified  his 
surprise  and  disappointment  by  tokens  the  sight  of  which  made 
my  blood  run  cold. 

He  saw  me,  and  hastened  to  the  verge  of  the  chasm.  He 
squatted  on  his  hind  legs,  and  assumed  the  attitude  of  one  pre- 
paring to  leap.  My  consternation  was  excited  afresh  by  these 
appearances.  It  seemed  at  first  as  if  the  rift  was  too  wide  for  any 
power  of  muscles  to  carry  him  in  safety  over ;  but  I  knew  the  un- 
paralleled agility  of  this  animal,  and  that  his  experience  had  made 
him  a  better  judge  of  the  practicability  of  this  exploit  than  I  was. 

Still  there  was  hope  that  he  would  relinquish  this  design  as 
desperate.  This  hope  was  quickly  at  an  end.  He  sprung,  and 
his  fore-legs  touched  the  verge  of  the  rock  on  which  I  stood.  In 
spite  of  vehement  exertions,  however,  the  surface  was  too  smooth 
and  too  hard  to  allow  him  to  make  good  his  hold.  He  fell,  and  a 
piercing  cry  uttered  below,  showed  that  nothing  had  obstructed 
his  descent  to  the  bottom. 

In  1800,  Brown  published  the  second  part  of  Arthur  Mervyn,  and  in  1801,  Clara 
Howard.  This  year  he  returned  to  his  native  city,  and  established  his  residence 
in  his  brother's  family.  In  1803,  he  undertook  the  conduct  of  a  periodical, 
entitled  The  Literary  Magazine  and  American  Register,— of  which  five  volumes 
were  published.  During  his  residence  in  New  York,  he  had  formed  an  attach- 
ment to  Miss  Elizabeth  Linn,  daughter  of  the  Rev.  William  Linn,  D.D.,  of  that 
city,  and  in  November,  1804,  they  were  married. 

With  the  additional  responsibilities  of  his  new  station,  he  pursued  his  literary 
labors  with  increased  diligence,    lie  projected  the  plan  of  an  Annual  Register,  the 


178 


SAMUEL  J.  SMITH. 


first  volume  of  which  was  published  in  1806,  and  was  continued  till  1809,  with 
great  ability.  At  this  time  also  he  contributed  many  articles  of  a  political  and 
literary  character  to  the  "Portfolio."  But  his  constitution,  never  robust,  now 
began  to  give  way  under  his  sedentary  habits  and  intense  application.  His 
friends  insisted  upon  his  giving  up  his  literary  labors  for  a  time  and  taking  a 
journey.  He  did  so,  but  went  only  to  New  York,  and  returned  still  more  feeble. 
His  disorder — pulmonary  consumption — made  rapid  advances ;  and  on  the  22d 
of  February,  1810,  he  expired  calmly  and  without  a  struggle. 

Mr.  Brown's  character  was  one  of  great  amiability  and  moral  excellence,  and 
his  manners  were  distinguished  by  a  gentleness  and  unaffected  simplicity.  His 
great  colloquial  powers  made  him  a  most  agreeable  companion ;  and  his  unwearied 
application  is  attested  by  the  large  amount  of  his  works,  the  whole  number  of 
which,  including  his  editorial  labors,  must  be  equal  to  twenty-four  volumes, — 
a  vast  amount  to  be  produced  in  the  brief  compass  of  a  little  more  than  ten 
years.1 


SAMUEL  J.  SMITH,  1771—1835. 

This  excellent  man  and  true  poet  was  one  of  the  Smiths  of  Burlington,  New 
Jersey,  and  was  the  grandson  of  the  historian  of  that  State.  He  passed  a  life  of 
singular  seclusion  on  his  paternal  estate  near  the  city  of  Burlington,  in  the  prac- 
tice of  all  the  virtues  that  purify  and  ennoble  the  character.  Affluent,  unambi- 
tious, fond  of  general  reading  and  of  the  pursuits  of  a  country  life,  and  shrinking 
from  intercourse  with  strangers,  he  devoted  himself  to  the  duties  of  his  private 
station  j  was  the  counsellor  and  benefactor  of  the  poor  around  him ;  and,  to  the 
few  friends  who  enjoyed  his  intimacy,  one  of  the  most  charming  of  companions. 
His  verses  were  the  careless  effusions  of  a  man  of  genius,  indifferent  to  fame,  a 
shrewd  observer  of  life  and  manners,  of  keen  satiric  wit,  of  tender  sensibility,  of 
earnest  and  humble  piety.  A  volume  of  his  poetry  was  published  after  his  death, 
which  occurred  in  1835.  It  is  of  various  and  unequal  merit,  and  has  never  been 
widely  circulated.  From  this  volume  the  following  pieces  are  selected.  We  know 
of  no  Scripture  paraphrase  that  surpasses  the  stanzas  on  the  8th  chapter  of 
Matthew.  Their  chaste  and  classical  beauties,  their  pure  morality  and  religious 
feeling,  claim  for  them  a  place  in  every  collection  of  American  poetry. 


1  "  We  are  unwilling  to  part,  with  any  thing  like  a  tone  of  disparagement  lin- 
gering on  our  lips,  with  the  amiable  author  to  whom  our  rising  literature  is  under 
such  large  and  various  obligations;  who  first  opened  a  view  into  the  boundless 
fields  of  fiction  which  subsequent  adventurers  have  successfully  explored ;  who 
has  furnished  so  much  for  our  instruction  in  the  several  departments  of  history 
and  criticism,  and  has  rendered  still  more  effectual  service  by  kindling  in  the 
bosom  of  the  youthful  scholar  the  same  generous  love  of  letters  which  glowed  in 
his  own  ;  whose  writings,  in  fine,  have  uniformly  inculcated  the  pure  and  elevated 
morality  exemplified  in  his  life.  The  only  thing  we  can  regret  is  that  a  life  so 
useful  should  have  been  so  short,  if,  indeed,  that  can  be  considered  short  which 
has  done  so  much  towards  attaining  life's  great  end." — Biographical  and  Critical 
Miscellanies,  ly  William  H.  Prescott. 


SAMUEL  J.  SMITH. 


179 


"PEACE  BE  STILL."1 

When  on  His  mission  from  his  home  in  heaven, 
In  the  frail  bark  the  Saviour  deign'd  to  sleep  ; 

The  tempest  rose — with  headlong  fury  driven, 
The  wave-toss'd  vessel  whhTd  along  the  deep  : 

Wild  shriek'd  the  storm  amid  the  parting  shrouds, 

And  the  vex'd  billows  dash'd  the  darkening  clouds. 

Ah  !  then,  how  futile  human  skill  and  power, — 
"  Save  us  !  we  perish  in  the  o'erwhelming  wave," 

They  cried,  and  found,  in  that  tremendous  hour, 
"An  eye  to  pity,  and  an  arm  to  save." 

He  spoke,  and  lo !  obedient  to  his  will, 

The  raging  waters  and  the  winds  were  still. 

And  thou,  poor  trembler  on  life's  stormy  sea  ! 

Where  dark  the  waves  of  sin  and  sorrow  roll, 
To  Him  for  refuge  from  the  tempest  flee, — 

To  Him,  confiding,  trust  the  sinking  soul ; 
For  oh !  He  came  to  calm  the  tempest-toss'd, 
To  seek  the  wandering  and  to  save  the  lost. 

For  thee,  and  such  as  thee,  impell'd  by  love, 
He  left  the  mansions  of  the  blest  on  high ; 

Mid  sin,  and  pain,  and  grief,  and  fear,  to  move, — 
With  lingering  anguish  and  with  shame  to  die. 

The  debt  to  Justice  boundless  Mercy  paid, 

For  hopeless  guilt  complete  atonement  made. 

Oh !  in  return  for  such  surpassing  grace, 

Poor,  blind,  and  naked,  what  canst  thou  impart  ? 

Canst  thou  no  offering  on  His  altar  place  ? 
Yes,  lowly  mourner  !  give  him  all  thy  heart : 

That  simple  offering  he  will  not  disown. — 

That  living  incense  may  approach  his  throne. 

He  asks  not  herds,  and  flocks,  and  seas  of  oil, — 
No  vain  oblations  please  the  all-knowing  Mind ; 

But  the  poor,  weary,  sin-sick,  spent  with  toil, 
Who  humbly  seek  it,  shall  deliverance  find: 

Like  her,  the  sufferer,  who  in  secret  stole 

To  touch  His  garment,  and  at  once  was  whole. 

Oh,  for  a  voice  of  thunder  !  which  might  wake 
The  slumbering  sinner,  ere  he  sink  in  death ; 

Oh,  for  a  tempest,  into  dust  to  shake 

His  sand-built  dwelling,  while  he  yet.  has  breath ! 

A  viewless  hand,  to  picture  on  the  wall 

His  fearful  sentence,  ere  the  curtain  fall. 

Child  of  the  dust !  from  torpid  ruin  rise, — 
Be  earth's  delusions  from  thy  bosom  hurl'd; 

And  strive  to  measure  with  enlighten'd  eyes 
The  dread  importance  of  the  eternal  world. 


Lines  occasioned  by  reading  Matt.  viii.  24-26. 


SAMUEL  J.  SMITH. 


The  shades  of  night  are  gathering  round  thee  fast, — 
Arise  to  labor  ere  thy  day  be  past ! 

In  darkness  tottering  on  the  slippery  verge 
Of  frail  existence,  soon  to  be  no  more ; 

Death's  rude,  tempestuous,  ever-nearing  surge 
Shall  quickly  dash  thee  from  the  sinking  shore. 

But  ah!  the  secrets  of  the  following  day 

What  tongue  may  utter,  or  what  eye  survey  ! 

Oh  !  think  in  time,  then,  what  the  meek  inherit, — 
What  the  peace-maker's,  what  the  mourner's  part; 

The  allotted  portion  of  the  poor  in  spirit, — 
The  promised  vision  of  the  pure  in  heart. 

For  yet  in  Gilead  there  is  balm  to  spare, 

And,  prompt  to  succor,  a  Physician  there. 

A  MORNING  HYMN. 

Arise,  my  soul !  with  rapture  rise, 
And,  fill'd  with  love  and  fear,  adore 

The  awful  Sov'reign  of  the  skies, 

Whose  mercy  lends  me  one  day  more. 

And  may  this  day,  indulgent  Power ! 

Not  idly  pass,  nor  fruitless  be  ; 
But  may  each  swiftly  flying  hour 

xVdvance  my  soul  more  nigh  to  Thee. 

But  can  it  be  that  Power  divine, 

Whose  throne  is  light's  unbounded  blaze, 

While  countless  worlds  and  angels  join 
To  swell  the  glorious  song  of  praise, 

Will  deign  to  lend  a  favoring  ear 
When  I,  poor  abject  mortal,  pray? 

Yes,  boundless  Goodness  !  he  will  hear, 
Nor  cast  the  meanest  wretch  away. 

Then  let  me  serve  thee  all  my  days, 
And  may  my  zeal  with  years  increase  ; 

For  pleasant,  Lord!  are  all  thy  ways, 
And  all  thy  paths  are  paths  of  peace. 

FOR  AN  ALBUM. 

To  scenes  sequester'd  from  the  world's  applause, 

In  vain  the  lily  of  the  vale  withdraws ; 

In  vain  to  veil,  with  graceful  bend,  she  tries, 

Her  snowy  bosom  from  th'  enraptured  gaze ; 
In  vain  she  bids  protecting  foliage  rise, — 

Surrounding  sweetness  her  retreat  betrays. 

So,  though  o'ershadow'd  by  misfortune's  gloom, 
Through  time,  obscurely  may  the  good  man  move, 

His  blameless  life  ascends  a  sweet  perfume, 
And  angels  view  him  with  the  smiles  of  love. 


JOSIAH  QUINCY. 


181 


JOSIAH  QUIXCY. 

This  distinguished  statesman  and  scholar  was  horn  in  Boston,  on  the  4th  of 
February,  1772.  After  the  usual  preparatory  studies  at  Phillips  Andover 
Academy,  he  entered  Harvard  College,  graduated  in  1790,  and  then  entered  on 
the  practice  of  law  in  his  native  city.  In  1797,  he  married  Eliza  Susan,  daughter 
of  John  Morton,  a  merchant  of  Xew  York.  In  1804,  he  was  elected  representa- 
tive from  Boston  to  the  Congress  of  the  United  States,  and  held  that  station  eight 
successive  years,  until  he  declined  a  re-election  in  1813,  when  he  was  chosen 
senator  from  Suffolk  County  to  the  State  Senate,  which  position  he  held  till  1820. 
The  same  year  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the  House  of  Representatives  of  Massa- 
chusetts, and  was  made  speaker  at  the  opening  of  the  session.  In  1821,  he  was 
appointed  Judge  of  the  Municipal  Court,  but  resigned  the  office  on  his  election  as 
Mayor  of  Boston  in  1S23.  He  held  the  office  of  Mayor  six  successive  years, 
until  he  declined  a  re-election  in  December,  1S28.  In  January,  1S29,  he  was 
called,  to  use  his  own  words,  "from  the  dust  and  clamor  of  the  Capitol  to  the  Pre- 
sidency of  Harvard  University,"  and  retained  this  office  until  his  resignation  in 
1S45.  Since  that  time  he  has  held  no  public  office,  but  is  always  ready  to  lend  the 
influence  of  his  great  name  to  aid  every  cause  which  he  deems  connected  with  the 
public  good  or  national  honor. 

Such  is  an  outline  of  the  public  life  of  this  great  and  good  man,  and  true  patriot. 
He  has  held  no  office  which  he  did  not  fill  with  singular  fidelity,  wisdom,  and  zeal. 
With  an  ardor  of  temperament  and  energy  of  soul  seldom  equalled,  he  has  ever 
enlisted  these  high  characteristics  in  the  cause  of  truth,  justice,  liberty,  humanity; 
always  pursuing  the  right  rather  than  the  seemingly  expedient,  convinced  that  in 
the  long  run  the  right  is  the  expedient.  His  rare  moral  courage  has  more  than 
once  been  put  to  the  test,  when  he  has  stood  alone,  braving  any  amount  of  obloquy 
for  pursuing  what  he  deemed  the  truth,  and  what  duty  demanded  of  him.  When 
he  was  in  the  House  of  Representatives  of  the  United  States,  he  took  a  position, 
sometimes  literally  alone,  against  the  war  of  1S12,  pronouncing  it  "an  unjust, 
unnecessary,  and  iniquitous  war;"1  and  when  in  the  Senate  of  his  own  State,  in 
reference  to  a  recent  naval  victory,  he  presented  the  following  : — "  Resolved,  as 
the  sense  of  the  Senate  of  Massachusetts,  that,  in  a  war  like  the  present,  waged 
without  justifiable  cause,  and  prosecuted  in  a  manner  which  indicates  that  con- 
quest and  ambition  are  its  real  motives,  it  is  not  becoming  a  moral  and  religious 
people  to  express  any  approbation  of  military  or  naval  exploits,  which  are  not 
immediately  connected  with  the  defence  of  our  sea-coast  and  soil." 

As  Mayor  of  Boston,  Mr.  Quincy  showed  uncommon  energy,  wisdom,  and  exe- 
cutive power.  At  the  earliest  dawn,  he  might  ofteu  have  been  seen  on  horseback, 
traversing  the  various  streets  and  wharves  and  alleys,  personally  to  inspect  their 
condition,  and  to  see  what  improvements  might  be  made.  Some  of  his  plans  for 
advancing  the  best  interests  of  the  city  seemed  at  the  time,  to  many  cautious  men, 
altogether  too  extended  and  almost  visionary  :  but  time  has  proved  that  they  were 
conceived  with  wisdom,  as  they  were  executed  with  energy;  and  the  "  Hou?*>.  of 


1  For  myself,  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  that  the  calm  and  impartial  judgment 
of  posteritv  will  fully  endorse  this  sentiment. 

16 


182 


JOSIAH  QUINCY. 


Industry/'  the  "  House  of  Reformation  for  Juvenile  Offenders,"  as  well  as  the 
noble  granite  structure  that  bears  his  name, — "  Quincy  Market," — and  numerous 
other  improvements,  remain  monuments  of  his  wise  and  vigorous  administration.1 

As  President  of  Harvard  College,  Mr.  Quincy  exhibited  equal  fitness  for  guiding 
affairs  in  academic  shades.  During  his  Presidency,  debts  were  paid,  endowments 
secured,  buildings  renovated,  and  the  general  efficiency  of  this  ancient  institution 
largely  promoted.  The  LaAV  School,  under  Judge  Story,  was  enlarged,  Dane  and 
Gore  Halls  were  erected,  and  an  Astronomical  Observatory  established. 

Mr.  Quincy  is  now  enjoying  a  vigorous  old  age,  at  his  ancestral  estate  in 
Quincy  ;  and,  though  not  taking  an  active  part  in  public  affairs,  yet  feels  a  warm 
interest  in  them.  And,  when  recently  called  on  by  his  fellow-citizens,  he  lifted 
up  his  eloquent  and  courageous  voice  against  the  further  encroachments  of 
slavery,  and  urged  the  free  States  to  exert  their  proportionate  influence  in  the 
affairs  of  the  Government. 

The  literary  productions  of  Mr.  Quincy,  besides  his  Speeches  in  Congress,  and 
Orations  on  Various  Occasions,  which  have  been  published,  are  Memoir  of  JosiaJi 
Quincy,  Jr.,  of  3Iassachusctts,  (his  father;)  Centennial  Address  on  the  Two  Hun- 
dredth Anniversary  of  the  Settlement  of  Boston;  A  History  of  Harvard  University, 
2  vols.  8vo;  Memoir  of  James  Grahamc,  Historian  of  U.S.;  Memoir  of  Major 
Samuel  Shaw ;  History  of  the  Boston  Athenaeum;  and  A  Municipal  History  of  the 
Town  and  City  of  Boston  from  1630  to  1830,  1  vol.  8vo,  1852.2  His  last  work  is  a 
Memoir  of  the  Life  of  John  Quincy  Adams ;  Boston,  Phillips,  Sampson  &  Co.,  1S58.3 

THE  LIMITS  TO  LAWS.4 

Mr.  Chairman : — In  relation  to  the  subject  now  before  us, 
other  gentlemen  must  take  their  responsibilities  :  I  shall  take 
mine.  This  embargo  must  be  repealed.  You  cannot  enforce  it 
for  any  important  period  of  time  longer.  When  I  speak  of  your 
inability  to  enforce  this  law,  let  not  gentlemen  misunderstand  me. 
I  mean  not  to  intimate  insurrections  or  open  defiances  of  them; 
although  it  is  impossible  to  foresee  in  what  acts  that  u  oppression" 
will  finally  terminate,  which,  we  are  told,  "  makes  wise  men  mad." 
I  speak  of  an  inability  resulting  from  very  different  causes.  The 


1  His  son  Josiah  was  subsequently  Mayor  of  Boston,  inheriting  all  the  noble  and 
generous  characteristics  of  his  father. 

2  In  the  Presidential  campaign  of  1S50  he  took  the  deepest  interest,  and  pub- 
lished an  "Address  illustrative  of  the  Nature  and  Power  of  the  Slave  States,  and 
the  Duties  of  the  Pree  States ;  delivered  at  the  Bequest  of  the  Inhabitants  of  the 
Town  of  Quincy,  Mass." 

3  It  is  enough  to  say  in  its  praise  that  it  is  in  all  respects  worthy  of  its  venerable 
and  accomplished  author.  That  it  should  be  distinguished  for  research,  as  well  as 
a  careful  collation  and  happy  arrangement  of  facts,  is  what  we  might  suppose 
from  one  whose  scholarly  taste  has  generally  inclined  him  to  historical  subjects; 
but  that  it  should  be  written  in  a  style  of  such  unflagging  vigor  to  the  very 
close,  is  what  could  hardly  have  been  expected  from  an  author  of  an  age  so  far 
beyond  the  period  usually  allotted  to  the  life  of  man. 

4  Extract  from  the  Speech  of  Josiah  Quincy,  delivered  in  the  House  of  Bepre- 
sentatives  of  the  United  States,  November  28,  1808. 


JOSIAH  QUINCY. 


183 


gentleman  from  North  Carolina  exclaimed  the  other  day,  in  a 
strain  of  patriotic  ardor,  "  What !  Shall  not  our  laws  be  executed  ? 
Shall  their  authority  be  defied  ?  I  am  for  enforcing  them,  at 
every  hazard."  I  honor  that  gentleman's  zeal ;  and  I  mean  no 
deviation  from  that  true  respect  I  entertain  for  him,  when  I  tell 
him  that,  in  this  instance,  "  his  zeal  is  not  according  to  know- 
ledge." 

1  ask  this  House,  is  there  no  control  to  its  authority  ?  is  there 
no  limit  to  the  power  of  this  national  legislature  ?  I  hope  I  shall 
offend  no  man  when  I  intimate  that  two  limits  exist, — nature  and 
the  constitution.  Should  this  House  undertake  to  declare  that 
this  atmosphere  should  no  longer  surround  us,  that  water  should 
cease  to  flow,  that  gravity  should  not  hereafter  operate,  that  the 
needle  should  not  vibrate  to  the  pole, — sir,  I  hope  I  shall  not 
offend, — I  think  I  may  venture  to  affirm  that,  such  a  law  to  the 
contrary  notwithstanding,  the  air  would  continue  to  circulate,  the 
Mississippi,  the  Hudson,  and  the  Potomac  would  roll  their  floods 
to  the  ocean,  heavy  bodies  continue  to  descend,  and  the  myste- 
rious magnet  hold  on  its  course  to  its  celestial  cynosure. 

Just  as  utterly  absurd  and  contrary  to  nature  is  it  to  attempt  to 
prohibit  the  people  of  New  England,  for  any  considerable  length 
of  time,  from  the  ocean.  Commerce  is  not  only  associated  with 
all  the  feelings,  the  habits,  the  interests,  and  relations  of  that 
people,  but  the  nature  of  our  soil  and  of  our  coasts,  the  state  of 
our  population  and  its  mode  of  distribution  over  our  territory, 
render  it  indispensable.  We  have  five  hundred  miles  of  sea-coast, 
all  furnished  with  harbors,  bays,  creeks,  rivers,  inlets,  basins, 
with  every  variety  of  invitation  to  the  sea,  with  every  species  of 
facility  to  violate  such  laws  as  these.  Our  people  are  not  scat- 
tered over  an  immense  surface,  at  a  solemn  distance  from  each 
other,  in  lordly  retirement,  in  the  midst  of  extended  plantations 
and  intervening  wastes  :  they  are  collected  on  the  margin  of  the 
ocean,  by  the  sides  of  rivers,  at  the  heads  of  bays,  looking  into 
the  water,  or  on  the  surface  of  it,  for  the  incitement  and  the  re- 
ward of  their  industry.  Among  a  people  thus  situated,  thus  edu- 
cated, thus  numerous,  laws,  prohibiting  them  from  the  exercise 
of  their  natural  rights,  will  have  a  binding  effect  not  one  moment 
longer  than  the  public  sentiment  supports  them.  Gentlemen  talk 
of  twelve  revenue  cutters  additional,  to  enforce  the  embargo  laws. 
Multiply  the  number  by  twelve,  multiply  it  by  an  hundred,  join 
all  your  ships  of  war,  all  your  gun-boats,  and  all  your  militia,  in 
despite  of  them  all,  such  laws  as  these  are  of  no  avail  when  they 
become  odious  to  public  sentiment. 


184 


JOSIAH  QUINCY. 


AN  EMBARGO  LIBERTY. 

An  embargo  Liberty  was  never  cradled  in  Massachusetts.  Our 
Liberty  was  not  so  much  a  mountain  as  a  sea  nymph.  She  was 
free  as  air.  She  could  swim  or  she  could  run.  The  ocean  was 
her  cradle.  Our  fathers  met  her  as  she  came,  like  the  goddess  of 
beauty  from  the  waves.  They  caught  her  as  she  was  sporting  on 
the  beach.  They  courted  her  whilst  she  was  spreading  her  nets 
upon  the  rocks.  But  an  embargo  Liberty;  a  handcuffed  Liberty; 
a  Liberty  in  fetters ;  a  Liberty  traversing  between  the  four  sides 
of  a  prison,  and  beating  her  head  against  the  walls,  is  none  of  our 
offspring.    We  abjure  the  monster.    Its  parentage  is  all  inland. 

NEAV  ENGLAND.1 

What  lessons  has  New  England,  in  every  period  of  her  history, 
given  to  the  world  !  What  lessons  do  her  condition  and  example 
still  give  !  How  unprecedented ;  yet  how  practical !  how  simple ; 
yet  how  powerful !  She  has  proved  that  all  the  variety  of  Chris- 
tian sects  may  live  together  in  harmony,  under  a  government 
which  allows  equal  privileges  to  all, — exclusive  pre-eminence  to 
none.  She  has  proved  that  ignorance  among  the  multitude  is  not 
necessary  to  order,  but  that  the  surest  basis  of  perfect  order  is  the 
information  of  the  people.  She  has  proved  the  old  maxim,  that 
"  no  government,  except  a  despotism  with  a  standing  army,  can 
subsist  where  the  people  have  arms/'  is  false. 

Such  are  the  true  glories  of  the  institutions  of  our  fathers  ! 
Such  the  natural  fruits  of  that  patience  in  toil,  that  frugality  of 
disposition,  that  temperance  of  habit,  that  general  diffusion  of 
knowledge,  and  that  sense  of  religious  responsibility,  inculcated 
by  the  precepts,  and  exhibited  in  the  example,  of  every  generation 
of  our  ancestors !  *  *  * 

What,  then,  are  the  elements  of  the  liberty,  prosperity,  and 
safety  which  the  inhabitants  of  New  England  at  this  day  enjoy  ? 
In  what  language,  and  concerning  what  comprehensive  truths, 
does  the  wisdom  of  former  times  address  the  inexperience  of  the 
future  ? 

Those  elements  are  simple,  obvious,  and  familiar. 

Every  civil  and  religious  blessing  of  New  England,  all  that 
here  gives  happiness  to  human  life,  or  security  to  human  virtue,  is 
alone  to  be  perpetuated  in  the  forms  and  under  the  auspices  of  a 
free  commonwealth. 


1  From  the  "Centennial  Address,"  delivered  in  Boston,  September  17,  1830,  at 
the  close  of  the  second  century  from  the  first  settlement  of  the  city. 


JOSIAII  QUINCY. 


185 


The  commonwealth  itself  has  no  other  strength  or  hope  than  the 
intelligence  and  virtue  of  the  individuals  that  compose  it. 

For  the  intelligence  and  virtue  of  individuals,  there  is  no  other 
human  assurance  than  laws,  providing  for  the  education  of  the 
whole  people. 

These  laws  themselves  have  no  strength,  or  efficient  sanction, 
except  in  the  moral  and  accountable  nature  of  man,  disclosed  in 
the  records  of  the  Christian's  faith ;  the  right  to  read,  to  construe, 
and  to  judge  concerning  which,  belongs  to  no  class  or  caste  of  men, 
but  exclusively  to  the  individual,  who  must  stand  or  fall  by  his 
own  acts  and  his  own  faith,  and  not  by  those  of  another. 

The  great  comprehensive  truths,  written  in  letters  of  living- 
light  on  every  page  of  our  history, — the  language  addressed  by 
every  past  age  of  New  England  to  all  future  ages  is  this  :  Human 
happiness  has  no  perfect  security  but  freedom  ; — freedom  none  but 
virtue ; — virtue  none  but  knowledge ;  and  neither  freedom,  nor 
virtue,  nor  knowledge  has  any  vigor,  or  immortal  hope,  except  in 
the  principles  of  the  Christian  faith,  and  in  the  sanctions  of  the 
C hristian  religion. 

Men  of  Massachusetts  !  citizens  of  Boston  !  descendants  of  the 
early  emigrants  !  consider  your  blessings  ;  consider  your  duties. 
»  You  have  an  inheritance  acquired  by  the  labors  and  sufferings  of 
six  successive  generations  of  ancestors.  They  founded  the  fabric 
of  your  prosperity,  in  a  severe  and  masculine  morality  j  having 
intelligence  for  its  cement,  and  religion  for  its  ground-work.  Con- 
tinue to  build  on  the  same  foundation,  and  by  the  same  principles ; 
let  the  extending  temple  of  your  country's  freedom  rise,  in  the 
spirit  of  ancient  times,  in  proportions  of  intellectual  and  moral 
architecture, — just,  simple,  and  sublime.  As  from  the  first  to  this 
day,  let  New  England  continue  to  be  an  example  to  the  world,  of 
the  blessings  of  a  free  government,  and  of  the  means  and  capacity 
of  man  to  maintain  it !  And,  in  all  times  to  come,  as  in  all  times 
past,  may  Boston  be  among  the  foremost  and  the  boldest  to  exem- 
plify and  uphold  whatever  constitutes  the  prosperity,  the  happi- 
ness, and  the  glory  of  New  England  ! 

JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 

The  life  of  a  statesman  second  to  none  in  diligent  and  effective 
preparation  for  public  service,  and  faithful  and  fearless  fulfilment 
of  public  duty,  has  now  been  sketched,  chiefly  from  materials 
taken  from  his  published  works.  The  light  of  his  own  mind  has 
been  thrown  on  his  labors,  motives,  principles,  and  spirit.  In 
times  better  adapted  to  appreciate  his  worth,  his  merits  and  vir- 
tues will  receive  a  more  enduring  memorial.  The  present  is  not  a 
moment  propitious  to  weigh  them  in  a  true  balance.    He  knew 

16* 


186 


ARCHIBALD  ALEXANDER. 


how  little  a  majority  of  the  men  of  his  own  time  were  disposed 
or  qualified  to  estimate  his  character  with  justice.  To  a  future 
age  he  was  accustomed  to  look  with  confidence.  "Altero  seccido" 
was  the  appeal  made  by  him  through  his  whole  life,  and  is  now 
engraven  on  his  monument.  The  basis  of  his  moral  character 
was  the  religious  principle.  His  spirit  of  liberty  was  fostered  and 
inspired  by  the  writings  of  Milton,  Sydney,  and  Locke,  of  which 
the  American  Declaration  of  Independence  was  an  emanation,  and 
the  Constitution  of  the  United  States — with  the  exception  of  the 
clauses  conceded  to  slavery — an  embodiment.  He  was  the  asso- 
ciate of  statesmen  and  diplomatists  at  a  crisis  when  war  and  deso- 
lation swept  over  Europe,  when  monarchs  were  perplexed  with 
fear  of  change,  and  the  welfare  of  the  United  States  was  involved 
in  the  common  danger. 

After  leading  the  councils  which  restored  peace  to  conflicting 
nations,  he  returned  to  support  the  administration  of  a  veteran 
statesman,  and  then  wielded  the  chief  powers  of  the  republic  with 
unsurpassed  purity  and  steadiness  of  purpose,  energy,  and  wisdom. 
Kemoved  by  fiction  from  the  helm  of  state,  he  re-entered  the 
national  councils,  and,  in  his  old  age,  stood  panoplied  in  the  prin- 
ciples of  Washington  and  his  associates,  the  ablest  and  most 
dreaded  champion  of  freedom,  until,  from  the  station  assigned  him  • 
by  his  country,  he  departed,  happy  in  a  life  devoted  to  duty,  in  a 
death  crowned  with  every  honor  his  country  could  bestow,  and 
blessed  with  the  hope  which  inspires  those  who  defend  the  rights, 
and  uphold,  when  menaced,  momentous  interests  of  mankind. 

Close  of  the  Memoir  of  J.  Q.  Adams. 


ARCHIBALD  ALEXANDER,  1772—1851. 

The  ancestors  of  Archibald  Alexander  were  from  the  north  of  Ireland,  and 
emigrated  to  Virginia  in  1737.  He  was  the  son  of  William  Alexander,  and  was 
born  near  Lexington,  Rockbridge  County,  Virginia,  April  17,  1772.  In  1789,  he 
became  the  subject  of  a  "revival  of  religion"  at  his  native  place;  and,  in  1791, 
was  licensed  to  preach  the  gospel  by  the  Lexington  Presbytery.  In  1796,  he 
accepted  the  Presidency  of  Hampden  Sidney  College,  at  that  time  in  rather  a 
languishing  condition,  and  soon,  by  his  wisdom  and  energy,  imparted  to  it  a 
more  healthful  and  vigorous  tone.  He  was  often  sent  as  a  delegate  to  the  Gene- 
ral Assembly,  which  usually  met  in  Philadelphia ;  and  in  1S06  he  accepted  a  call 
from  the  Pine  Street  Church  of  that  city,  of  which  he  continued  pastor  for  six 
years.  In  1810,  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Divinity  was  conferred  upon  him  by  the 
College  of  New  Jersey;  and,  two  years  after,  the  General  Assembly  having  esta- 
blished at  Princeton  a  Theological  Seminary,  Dr.  Alexander  was  chosen  Professor 
of  Didactic  and  Polemic  Theology.    Here  he  continued  in  the  laborious  discharge 


ARCHIBALD  ALEXANDER. 


187 


of  the  duties  of  his  professorship,  with  great  ability  and  success,  until  within  a 
short  period  of  his  death,  which  occurred  on  the  22d  of  October,  1S51.1 

That  there  have  been  some  in  the  clerical  profession  of  more  learning,  genius, 
and  pulpit-eloquence  than  Dr.  Alexander,  none  will  deny;  but  no  one  has  pos- 
sessed iu  a  higher  degree  that  rare  combination  of  every  great  and  good  quality, 
of  wisdom  and  piety,  which  makes,  on  the  whole,  the  deepest  impression  and 
exerts  the  widest  influence.  Men  of  all  classes  felt  his  power  alike.  Beyond  any 
minister  of  his  day,  his  preaching  was  equally  acceptable  to  the  learned  and  the 
illiterate,  the  old  and  the  young,  the  untutored  and  the  refined;  and  the  works 
he  has  left,  replete  with  wisdom,  and  instruction,  and  pious  counsel,  will  remain 
an  ever-enduring  monument  to  his  exalted  worth. 

THE  RIGHT  USE  OE  REASON  IN  RELIGION. 

That  it  is  the  right  and  the  duty  of  all  men  to  exercise  their 
reason  in  inquiries  concerning  religion,  is  a  truth  so  manifest  that 
it  may  be  presumed  there  are  none  who  will  be  disposed  to  call  it 
in  question. 

Without  reason  there  can  be  no  religion  j  for  in  every  step 
which  we  take  in  examining  the  evidences  of  revelation,  in  inter- 
preting its  meaning,  or  in  assenting  to  its  doctrines,  the  exercise 
of  this  faculty  is  indispensable. 

When  the  evidences  of  Christianity  are  exhibited,  an  appeal  is 
made  to  the  reason  of  men  for  its  truth  •  but  all  evidence  and  all 
argument  would  be  perfectly  futile  if  reason  were  not  permitted 
to  judge  of  their  force.  This  noble  faculty  was  certainly  given  to 
man  to  be  a  guide  in  religion  as  well  as  in  other  things.  He 
possesses  no  other  means  by  which  he  can  form  a  judgment  on 
any  subject  or  assent  to  an}7  truth;  and  it  would  be  no  more  ab- 
surd to  talk  of  seeing  without  eyes  than  of  knowing  any  thing 
without  reason. 

It  is  therefore  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that  religion  forbids 
or  discourages  the  right  use  of  reason.  So  far  from  this,  she 
enjoins  it  as  a  duty  of  high  moral  obligation,  and  reproves  those 
who  neglect  to  judge  for  themselves  what  is  right. 

But  it  has  frequently  been  said  by  the  friends  of  revelation, 
that  although  reason  is  legitimately  exercised  in  examining  the 
evidences  of  revelation  and  in  determining  the  sense  of  the  words 
by  which  it  is  conveyed,  yet  it  is  not  within  her  province  to  sit 

1  At  the  end  of  the  life  of  this  good  man,  by  his  son,  James  W.  Alexander,  D.D., 
may  be  found  a  list  of  his  various  publications.  They  are  fifty-two  in  number, 
including  sermons  and  pamphlets.  The  following  are  the  principal  ones  : — Evi- 
dences of  the  Christian  Religion,  12mo,  1S25  ;  The  Canon  of  the  Old  Testament 
Ascertained,  12mo;  Biographical  Sketches  of  the  Founder  and  Principal  Alumni  of 
the  Log  College,  12mo;  A  History  of  the  Colonization  of  the  Western  Coast  of  Africa, 
8vo;  A  History  of  the  Israelitish  Nation,  Svo;  Outlines  of  Jforal  Science,  12mo; 
Letters  to  the  Aged,  ISmo ;  Counsels  of  the  Aged  to  the  Young,  18mo;  Thoughts  on 
lifligious  Experience,  12mo;  The  Way  of  Salvation  Familiarly  Explained,  in  a 
Conversation  between  a  Father  and  his  Children,  ISnio. 


\88 


ARCHIBALD  ALEXANDER. 


in  judgment  on  the  doctrines  contained  in  such  a  divine  com- 
munication. This  statement  is  not  altogether  accurate.  For 
it  is  manifest  that  Ave  can  form  no  conception  of  a  truth  of  any- 
kind  without  reason;  and  when  we  receive  any  thing  as  true, 
whatever  may  be  the  evidence  on  which  it  is  founded,  we  must 
view  the  reception  of  it  to  be  reasonable.  Truth  and  reason  are 
so  intimately  connected,  that  they  can  never  with  propriety  be 
separated.  Truth  is  the  object,  and  reason  the  faculty  by  which 
it  is  apprehended,  whatever  be  the  nature  of  the  truth  or  of  the 
evidence  by  which  it  is  established.  No  doctrine  can  be  a  proper 
object  of  our  faith  which  it  is  not  more  reasonable  to  receive  than 
to  reject.  If  a  book,  claiming  to  be  a  divine  revelation,  is  found 
to  contain  doctrines  which  can  in  no  way  be  reconciled  to  right 
reason,  it  is  a  sure  evidence  that  those  claims  have  no  solid 
foundation,  and  ought  to  be  rejected.  But  that  a  revelation 
should  contain  doctrines  of  a  mysterious  and  incomprehensible 
nature,  and  entirely  different  from  all  our  previous  conceptions, 
and,  considered  in  themselves,  improbable,  is  not  repugnant  to 
reason;  on  the  contrary,  judging  from  analogy,  sound  reason 
would  lead  us  to  expect  such  things  in  a  revelation  from  God. 
Every  thing  which  relates  to  this  infinite  Being  must  be  to  us,  in 
some  respect,  incomprehensible.  Every  new  truth  must  be  dif- 
ferent from  all  that  is  already  known ;  and  all  the  plans  and 
works  of  God  are  very  far  above  and  beyond  the  conception  of 
>uch  minds  as  ours.  Natural  religion  has  as  great  mysteries  as 
my  in  revelation ;  and  the  created  universe,  as  it  exists,  is  as 
iiffercnt  from  any  plan  which  men  would  have  conceived,  as  any 
:>f  the  truths  contained  in  a  revelation  can  be. 

But  it  is  reasonable  to  believe  what  by  our  senses  we  perceive 
to  exist ;  and  it  is  reasonable  to  believe  whatever  God  declares  to 
be  true. 

In  receiving,  therefore,  the  most  mysterious  doctrines  of  reve- 
lation, the  ultimate  appeal  is  to  reason.  Not  to  determine  whether 
she  could  have  discovered  these  truths,  not  to  declare  whether, 
considered  in  themselves,  they  appear  probable,  but  to  decide 
whether  it  is  not  more  reasonable  to  believe  what  God  speaks 
than  to  confide  in  our  own  crude  and  feeble  conceptions.  Just  as 
if  an  unlearned  man  should  hear  an  able  astronomer  declare  that 
the  diurnal  motion  of  the  heavens  is  not  real,  but  only  apparent, 
or  that  the  sun  was  nearer  to  the  earth  in  winter  than  in  summer; 
although  the  facts  asserted  appeared  to  contradict  his  senses,  yet 
it  would  be  reasonable  to  acquiesce  in  the  declarations  made  to 
him  by  one  who  understood  the  subject  and  in  whose  veracity  he 
had  confidence.  If,  then,  we  receive  the  witness  of  men  in  mat- 
ters above  our  comprehension,  much  more  should  we  receive  the 
witness  of  God. 


I 


ARCHIBALD  ALEXANDER.  189 
THE  BIBLE. 

The  Bible  evidently  transcends  all  human  effort.  It  has  upon 
its  face  the  impress  of  divinity.  It  shines  with  a  light  which, 
from  its  clearness  and  its  splendor,  shows  itself  to  be  celestial.  It 
possesses  the  energy  and  penetrating  influence  which  bespeak  the 
omnipotence  and  omniscience  of  its  Author.  It  has  the  effect  of 
enlightening,  elevating,  purifying,  directing,  and  comforting  all 
those  who  cordially  receive  it.  Surely,  then,  it  is  the  word  of 
God,  and  we  will  hold  it  fast,  as  the  best  blessing  which  God  has 
vouchsafed  to  man. 

THE  CONSOLATIONS  OF  THE  GOSPEL, 

There  is  an  efficacy  in  the  truths  of  the  Bible,  not  only  to  guide 
and  sanctify,  but  also  to  afford  consolation  to  the  afflicted  in  body 
or  mind.  Indeed,  the  gospel  brings  peace  into  every  bosom  where 
it  is  cordially  received.  When  the  conscience  is  pierced  with  the 
stings  of  guilt,  and  the  soul  writhes  under  a  wound  which  no 
human  medicine  can  heal,  the  promises  of  the  gospel  are  like  the 
balm  of  Gilead,  a  sovereign  cure  for  this  intolerable  and  deeply- 
seated  malady.  Under  their  cheering  influence,  the  broken  spirit 
is  healed,  and  the  burden  of  despair  is  removed  far  away.  The 
gospel,  like  an  angel  of  mercy,  can  bring  consolation  into  the 
darkest  scenes  of  adversity :  it  can  penetrate  the  dungeon,  and 
soothe  the  sorrows  of  the  penitent  in  his  chains  and  on  his  bed  of 
straw.  It  mitigates  the  sorrows  of  the  bereaved,  and  wipes  away 
the  bitter  tears  occasioned  by  the  painful  separation  of  affectionate 
friends  and  relatives.  By  the  bright  prospects  which  it  opens, 
and  the  lively  hopes  which  it  inspires,  the  darkness  of  the  tomb 
is  illuminated,  so  that  Christians  are  enabled,  in  faith  of  the 
resurrection  of  the  body,  to  commit  the  remains  of  their  dearest 
friends  to  the  secure  sepulchre,  in  confident  hope  that  after  a 
short  sleep  they  will  awake  to  life  everlasting. 

The  cottages  of  the  poor  are  often  blessed  with  the  consolations 
of  the  gospel,  which  is  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  children  of  afflic- 
tion and  poverty.  It  was  one  of  the  signs  of  Jesus  being  the  true 
Messiah  "  that  the  poor  had  the  gospel  preached  unto  them."  Among 
them  it  produces  contentment,  resignation,  mutual  kindness,  and 
the  longing  after  immortality.  The  aged  and  infirm,  who,  by  the 
gradual  failure  of  their  faculties,  or  by  disease  and  decrepitude, 
are  shut  out  from  the  business  and  enjoyments  of  this  world,  may 
find  in  the  word  of  God  a  fountain  of  consolation.  They  may, 
while  imbued  with  its  celestial  spirit,  look  upon  the  world  without 
the  least  regret  for  its  loss,  and  may  rejoice  in  the  prospect  before 
them,  with  a  joy  unspeakable  and  full  of  glory.    The  gospel  can 


190  ARCHIBALD  ALEXANDER. 

render  tolerable  even  the  yoke  of  slavery  and  the  chains  of  the 
oppressor.  How  often  is  the  pious  slave,  through  the  blessed  in- 
fluence of  the  word  of  God,  a  thousand  times  happier  than  his 
lordly  master  !  He  cares  not  for  this  short  deprivation  of  liberty ; 
he  knows  and  feels  that  he  is  "  Christ's  freeman,"  and  believes 
"  that  all  things  work  together  for  his  good,"  and  that  "  these 
light  afflictions,  which  are  for  a  moment,  will  work  out  for  him 
a  far  more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory  I" 

But,  moreover,  this  glorious  gospel  is  an  antidote  to  death  itself. 
He  that  does  the  sayings  of  Christ  shall  never  taste  of  death: 
that  is,  of  death  as  a  curse ;  he  shall  never  feel  the  envenomed 
sting  of  death.  How  often  does  it  overspread  the  spirit  of  the 
departing  saint  with  serenity  !  How  often  does  it  elevate,  and  fill 
with  celestial  joy,  the  soul  which  is  just  leaving  the  earthly  house 
of  this  tabernacle  !  It  actually  renders,  in  many  instances,  the 
bed  of  the  dying  a  place  of  sweet  repose.  No  terrors  hover  over 
them ;  no  anxious  care  corrodes  their  spirit ;  no  burden  oppresses 
the  heart.  All  is  light;  all  is  hope  and  assurance;  all  is  joy  and 
triumph ! 

Oh,  precious  gospel  !  Will  any  merciless  hand  endeavor  to 
tear  away  from  our  hearts  this  best,  this  last,  this  sweetest  con- 
solation ?  Would  you  darken  the  only  avenue  through  which  one 
ray  of  hope  can  enter  ?  Would  you  tear  from  the  aged  and  infirm 
poor  the  only  prop  on  which  their  souls  can  repose  in  peace  ? 
Would  you  deprive  the  dying  of  their  only  source  of  consolation  ? 
Would  you  rob  the  world  of  its  richest  treasure  ?  Would  you  let 
loose  the  floodgates  of  every  vice,  and  bring  back  upon  the  earth 
the  horrors  of  superstition  or  the  atrocities  of  atheism  ?  Then 
endeavor  to  subvert  the  gospel;  throw  around  you  the  firebrands 
of  infidelity  ;  laugh  at  religion,  and  make  a  mock  of  futurity ;  but 
be  assured  that  for  all  these  things  Grod  will  bring  you  into  judg- 
ment.1 


1  In  Sprague's  "Annals  of  the  American  Pulpit,"  vol.  iii.,  may  be  found  two 
very  interesting  letters  upon  the  character,  the  learning,  the  pulpit-eloquence,  and 
the  personal  manners  and  habits  of  Dr.  Alexander, — one  by  John  Hall,  D.D., 
and  the  other  by  Henry  A.  Boardman,  D.I). 

Two  of  Dr.  Alexander's  sons  are  highly  distinguished  as  scholars  as  well 
as  theologians.  Rev.  James  Waddel  Alexander,  D.I).,  pastor  of  a  Presbyterian 
church  in  New  York,  has  published  a  Life  of  his  father;  Consolation,  in  Discourses 
on  Select  Topics;  American  Mechanic  and  Working-Man;  The  Merchant's  Clerk 
Cheered  and  Counselled ;  Plain  Words  to  a  Young  Communicant;  American  Sun- 
day-School and  its  Adjuncts.  Rev.  Joseph  Addison  Alexander,  Professor  in  the 
Theological  Seminary  in  Princeton,  has  published  Critical  Commentaries  on  Isaiah, 

2  vols. ;  Acts  of  the  Apostles  Explained;  The  Psalms,  Translated  and  Explained, 

3  vols.  They  both  have  been  frequent  contributors  to  that  able  religious  quar- 
terly, "  The  Biblical  Repertory  and  Princeton  Review,"  which  was  begun  by  Pro- 
fessor Hodge  in  1825,  and  has  continued  mostly  under  his  direction  to  the  pre- 
sent time,  (1859.) 


WILLIAM  WIRT. 


191 


WILLIAM  WIRT,  1772—1834. 

William  Whit,  the  son  of  Jacob  and  Henrietta  Wirt,  was  born  in  Bladensburg, 
Maryland,  on  the  8th  of  November,  1772.  His  father  died  when  he  was  an  infant, 
and  his  mother  when  he  was  but  eight  years  old.1  An  orphan  at  this  tender  age, 
he  passed  into  the  family  and  under  the  guardianship  of  his  uncle,  Jasper  Wirt, 
who  resided  near  the  same  village.  His  uncle  and  aunt  did  all  they  could  to  sup- 
ply the  place  of  the  father  and  mother,  and  sent  him  to  a  classical  school  in 
Georgetown,  taught  by  a  Mr.  Dent.  At  the  age  of  eleven,  he  was  removed  to  a 
flourishing  school  kept  by  the  Rev.  James  Hunt,  in  Montgomery  County,  Mary- 
land, where  he  received  the  principal  part  of  his  education ;  having  learned  as 
much  of  the  Latin  and  Greek  classics  as  was  then  taught  in  grammai'-schools. 

In  the  spring  of  1790,  he  entered  upon  the  study  of  law,  at  Montgomery  Court- 
House,  with  Mr.  William  P.  Hunt,  the  son  of  his  old  preceptor;  and  in  1792  com- 
menced practice  at  Culpepper  Court-House,  in  Virginia,  at  the  age  of  twenty 
years.  In  a  year  or  two  his  business  had  considerably  extended,  and  in  1795  he 
married  the  eldest  daughter  of  Dr.  George  Gilmer,  a  distinguished  physician,  and 
took  up  his  residence  at  Pen  Park,  the  seat  of  his  father-in-law,  near  Charlottes- 
ville, where  he  formed  the  acquaintance  of  Jefferson,  Madison,  Monroe,  and  other 
persons  of  celebrity.  In  1799,  his  wife  died.  In  1800,  his  friends  urged  him  to 
allow  himself  to  be  nominated  as  clerk  to  the  House  of  Delegates.  He  was 
elected  j  and  after  having  performed  the  duties  of  this  office  two  years,  he  was, 
in  1802,  appointed  Chancellor  of  the  Eastern  District  of  Virginia,  and  took  up 
his  residence  at  Williamsburg.  In  the  same  year,  he  married  Elizabeth,  the 
daughter  of  Colonel  Gamble,  of  Richmond,2  with  whom  he  enjoyed,  through  life, 


1  Mr.  Wirt's  father  was  a  Swiss,  his  mother  a  German ;  and  his  face  and  figure 
clearly  showed  his  connection  with  the  German  race. 

Read  an  excellent  biographical  sketch,  by  Peter  Hoffman  Cruse,  of  Baltimore, 
prefixed  to  an  edition  of  "  The  British  Spy"  published  by  the  Harpers  in  1832. 
But  the  best  life  of  Mr.  Wirt  is  by  John  P.  Kennedy,  Esq.,  of  Baltimore.  Mr. 
Kennedy  was  born  in  Baltimore  in  1795,  graduated  at  Baltimore  College  in  1812, 
and  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  1816.  He  has  been  a  most  successful  lawyer,  an 
eminent  politician,  (having  been  twice  elected  to  the  House  of  Delegates  in  Mary- 
land, and  twice  to  our  National  Congress,)  and  an  author  of  much  eminence  in 
fictitious  literature.  His  principal  works  are,  "  Swallow  Barn/'  published  in 
1832:  "  Horse-Shoe  Robinson,"  1835;  "Rob  of  the  Bowl,"  1S38.  But  the  work 
by  which  he  will  be  best  known  is  his  Life  of  Wirt, — an  admirably-written  piece 
of  biography,  by  which  he  has  associated  his  own  name  imperishably  with  that 
of  his  illustrious  friend. 

2  "Of  all  the  fortunate  incidents  in  the  life  of  William  Wirt,  his  marriage  with 
this  lady  may  be  accounted  the  most  auspicious.  During  the  long  term  of  their 
wedlock,  distinguished  for  its  happy  influence  upon  the  fortunes  of  both,  her 
admirable  virtues  in  the  character  of  wife  and  mother,  her  tender  affection  and 
watchful  solicitude  in  every  thing  that  interested  his  domestic  regard,  and  in  all 
that  concerned  his  public  repute,  commanded  from  him  a  devotion  which,  to  the 
last  moment  of  his  life,  glowed  with  an  ardor  that  might  almost  be  called 
romantic." — Kennedy's  Life. 

Mrs.  Wirt  died  at  Annapolis,  Md.,  at  the  house  of  her  daughter  Elizabeth,  (Mrs, 
Goldsborough,)  January  21,  1857,  in  the  seventy-fourth  year  of  her  age. 


192 


WILLIAM  WIRT. 


the  greatest  domestic  happiness.  She  united  to  every  virtue  of  the  wife  and  the 
mother,  literary  attainments  of  no  ordinary  character.1 

At  the  close  of  the  year  1803,  Mr.  Wirt  removed  to  Norfolk,  and  entered  upon 
the  assiduous  practice  of  his  profession.  Just  before  this,  he  wrote  the  celebrated 
letters  published  in  the  "  Richmond  Argus"  under  the  title  of  The  British  Spy, 
which  were  afterwards  collected  into  a  small  volume,  and  have  passed  through 
numerous  editions.  In  180G,  he  took  up  his  residence  at  Richmond,  believing 
that  he  could  there  find  a  wider  and  more  lucrative  professional  field  ;  and  in  this 
city  he  remained  till  his  appointment  to  the  Attorney-Generalship  of  the  United 
States.  In  the  next  year,  he  greatly  distinguished  himself  in  the  trial  of  Aaron 
Burr  for  high  treason.  Few  trials  in  any  country  ever  excited  a  greater  sensa- 
tion than  this,  both  from  the  nature  of  the  accusation  and  the  eminent  talents  and 
political  station  of  the  accused.  Mr.  Wirt's  speech,  occupying  four  hours,  was 
distinguished  for  its  fine  fancy,  polished  wit,  keen  repartee,  elegant  and  apposite 
illustration,  and  logical  reasoning,  and  placed  him  at  once  in  the  rank  of  the  very 
first  advocates  in  the  country. 

In  1S08,  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the  Virginia  House  of  Delegates  for  the 
city  of  Richmond.  It  was  the  first  as  well  as  the  last  time  he  ever  sat  in  any 
legislative  body,  as  he  preferred  the  more  congenial  pursuits  of  his  profession.  In 
1812,  he  wrote  the  greater  part  of  a  series  of  essays  originally  published  in  the 
"Richmond  Enquirer"  under  the  title  of  The  Old  Bachelor,  which  have  since, 
in  a  collective  form,  passed  through  several  editions.2  The  Life  of  Patrick  Henri/, 
the  largest  of  his  literary  productions,  was  first  published  in  1817. 

In  1816,  he  was  appointed  by  Mr.  Madison  the  United  States  Attorney  for  the 
District  of  Virginia.  In  1817,  he  removed  to  Washington,  having  been  appointed 
by  Mr.  Monroe  Attorney-General  of  the  United  States,  a  post  which  he  occupied 
with  high  reputation  till  1828.  In  the  latter  part  of  this  year,  he  removed  to 
Baltimore,  where  he  resided  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  Previous  to  this,  in  October, 
1S2G,  he  pronounced  a  discourse  on  the  lives  and  character  of  Adams  and  Jeffer- 
son, one  of  the  best  of  his  literary  efforts,  and  worthy  of  the  impressive  occasion 
on  which  it  was  delivered.    In  1830,  he  delivered  an  address  before  one  of  the 


1  One  proof  of  her  extensive  reading,  as  well  as  of  her  delicate  taste,  is  the  work 
she  published  in  1829,  entitled  "  Flora's  Dictionary ;  by  a  Lady."  As  far  as  my 
knowledge  goes,  it  was  the  first  of  the  kind  published  in  our  country,  and  I  think 
it  has  never  been  excelled  by  any  of  its  numerous  competitors.  The  poetical  selec- 
tions are  very  tasteful  and  apposite,  and  are  enriched  here  and  there  by  original 
contributions  from  poetical  friends. 

2  «  Wirt's  papers  in  the  '  Old  Bachelor'  are  undoubtedly  the  best  of  all  his  lite- 
rary compositions;  and  in  the  perusal  of  them  we  are  constantly  led  to  repeat  our 
regrets  that  one  so  endowed  with  the  most  valuable  and  pleasant  gifts  of  author- 
ship had  not  been  favored  by  fortune  with  more  leisure  and  opportunity  for  the 
cultivation  and  empkvyment  of  a  talent  so  auspicious  to  his  own  fame,  and  so  well 
adapted  to  benefit  his  country." — Kennedy's  Life. 

The  "Old  Bachelor"  reached  thirty-three  numbers.  It  is  a  series  of  didactic 
and  ethical  essays,  put  together  somewhat  after  the  manner  of  the  Spectator.  In 
the  dramatis  personsc,  the  chief  part  is  borne  by  Dr.  Cecil,  written  by  Wirt  himself, 
and  engrossing  much  the  largest  share  of  the  whole.  The  other  contributors 
were  Dabney  Carr,  Judge  Tucker,  George  Tucker,  Dr.  Frank  Carr,  and  R.  E. 
Parker. 


WILLIAM  WIRT. 


193 


literary  societies  of  Rutgers  College;1  and  in  1831  the  Anti-Masonic  Convention 
that  assembled  in  Baltimore  nominated  him  as  their  candidate  for  the  Presidency 
of  the  United  States.  Though  he  obtained  but  the  vote  of  a  single  State,  Ver- 
mont, it  was  generally  felt  that  the  election  of  such  a  man  would  be  an  honor  to 
the  country. 

Mr.  Wirt  was  engaged  in  a  cause  which  was  to  come  before  the  Supreme  Court 
on  Monday,  February  10,  1834.  The  evening  before,  he  felt  unwell,  and  the  next 
day  he  was  confined  to  his  room.  On  Wednesday  he  was  much  worse,  and  his 
disease  was  pronounced  to  be  erysipelas.  On  Saturday  all  hopes  of  his  life  were 
given  up.  About  noon  on  Monday,  consciousness  had  returned,  and  he  had 
power  to  speak  a  few  words.  Nature  had  made  a  last  effort  to  enable  him  to  take 
leave  of  his  family  and  friends,  to  give  them  assurance  that  he  died  in  Christian 
hope,  and  to  join  with  them  in  prayer  to  God.  During  the  last  eighteen  hours,  he 
was  tranquil  as  a  child ;  and  at  eleven  o'clock  on  Tuesday  morning,  February  18, 
he  breathed  his  last,  leaving  a  nation  to  mourn  his  loss. 

As  a  public  and  professional  man,  Mr.  Wirt  may  be  ranked  among  the  first 
men  of  our  country;  and  in  all  the  relations  of  private  life,  as  a  man  and  a 
Christian,  he  was  most  exemplary.  In  person  he  was  strikingly  elegant  and  com- 
manding, with  a  face  of  the  first  order  of  masculine  beauty,  animated,  and  express- 
ing high  intellect.  His  voice  was  clear  and  musical,  and  gave  a  fascinating 
power  to  his  eloquence.  If  to  these  attractions  we  add  a  diction  of  great  force, 
purity,  variety,  and  splendor,  a  wit  prompt,  pure,  and  brilliant,  and  an  imagi- 
nation both  vivid  and  playful,  we  have  some  idea  of  the  character  of  the  man 
who  was  the  charm  of  every  social  circle,  and  who  was  regarded  by  all  who  knew 
him  with  singular  affection  and  veneration.2 

THE  BLIND  PREACHER.3 

It  was  one  Sunday,  as  I  travelled  through  the  county  of  Orange, 
that  my  eye  was  caught  by  a  cluster  of  horses  tied  near  a  ruinous, 
old  wooden  house  in  the  forest,  not  far  from  the  roadside.  Having 


1  This  admirable  address  has  been  republished  in  England,  and  also  in  France 
and  Germany. 

2  I  trust  I  shall  be  pardoned  for  introducing  an  anecdote  of  a  personal  character, 
to  show  Mr.  Wirt's  estimation  of  the  educational  profession.  I  had  seen  him  two 
or  three  times  at  his  house  in  Washington,  before  he  removed  to  Baltimore,  in 
1828 ;  and  a  few  days  after  he  had  settled  in  that  city  he  called  at  my  school,  to 
place  his  three  boys  under  my  care.  On  taking  leave  of  me,  he  most  cordially  in- 
vited me  to  visit  his  family  at  all  times,  concluding  with  this  remark  : — "  There 
are  three  persons,  Mr.  Cleveland,  to  whom  my  house  is  always  open,  and  with 
whom  I  wish  to  be  on  intimate  terms  of  friendship  and  social  intercourse, — my 
clergyman,  the  teacher  of  my  children,  and  my  physician."  Accepting  his  cordial 
invitation,  I  had  every  opportunity  of  observing  his  character  in  private  and 
social  intercourse ;  and  I  can  truly  say  that  it  fell  short  in  nothing  that  the 
most  ardent  admirer  of  his  talents,  eloquence,  and  public  character  could  desire. 
How  few  parents,  comparatively,  have  such  a  right  sense  of  what  is  due  to  the 
teacher  of  their  children,  or  indeed  any  just  appx-eciation  of  the  moral  dignity  of 
the  educational  profession  ! 

3  The  "  Blind  Preacher,"  thus  described  hy  Mr.Wirt  in  1803,  was  the  Rev.  James 
Waddel,  born  in  Ireland  in  1739,  and  brought  here  in  his  infancy  by  his  parents, 
who  settled  in  Delaware  County,  Pennsylvania.  He  became  a  fine  classical  scholar, 

17 


194 


WILLIAM  WIRT. 


frequently  seen  such  objects  before  in  travelling  through  these 
States,  I  had  no  difficulty  in  understanding  that  this  was  a  place 
of  religious  worship. 

Devotion  alone  should  have  stopped  me,  to  join  in  the  duties  of 
the  congregation  j  but  I  must  confess  that  curiosity  to  hear  the 
preacher  of  such  a  wilderness  was  not  the  least  of  my  motives.  On 
entering,  I  was  struck  with  his  preternatural  appearance.  He  was 
a  tall  and  very  spare  old  man  ;  his  head,  which  was  covered  with 
a  white  linen  cap,  his  shrivelled  hands,  and  his  voice,  were  all 
shaking  under  the  influence  of  a  palsy ;  and  a  few  moments  ascer- 
tained to  me  that  he  was  perfectly  blind. 

The  first  emotions  which  touched  my  breast  were  those  of  min- 
gled pity  and  veneration.  But  ah  !  how  soon  were  all  my  feelings 
changed  !  The  lips  of  Plato  were  never  more  worthy  of  a  prog- 
nostic swarm  of  bees  than  were  the  lips  of  this  holy  man  !  It  was 
a  day  of  the  administration  of  the  sacrament;  and  his  subject,  of 
course,  was  the  passion  of  our  Saviour.  I  had  heard  the  subject 
handled  a  thousand  times;  I  had  thought  it  exhausted  long 
ago.  Little  did  I  suppose  that  in  the  wild  woods  of  America 
I  was  to  meet  with  a  man  whose  eloquence  would  give  to  this 
topic  a  new  and  more  sublime  pathos  than  I  had  ever  before 
witnessed. 

As  he  descended  from  the  pulpit  to  distribute  the  mystic  sym- 
bols, there  was  a  peculiar,  a  more  than  human,  solemnity  in  his 
air  and  manner,  which  made  my  blood  run  cold,  and  my  whole 
frame  shiver. 

He  then  drew  a  picture  of  the  sufferings  of  our  Saviour;  his 
trial  before  Pilate;  his  ascent  up  Calvary;  his  crucifixion,  and  his 
death.  I  knew  the  whole  history;  but  never,  until  then,  had  I 
heard  the  circumstances  so  selected,  so  arranged,  so  colored.  It 
was  all  new ;  and  I  seemed  to  have  heard  it  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life.  His  enunciation  was  so  deliberate,  that  his  voice  trem- 
bled on  every  syllable ;  and  every  heart  in  the  assembly  trembled 
in  unison.  His  peculiar  phrases  had  that  force  of  description, 
that  the  original  scene  appeared  to  be,  at  that  moment,  acting  be- 
fore our  eyes.    We  saw  the  very  faces  of  the  Jews ;  the  staring, 


and  first  concluded  to  devote  his  life  to  teaching;.  But,  his  views  undergoing  a 
change,  he  determined  to  enter  the  ministry,  and  he  was  licensed  in  1761,  and 
settled  over  a  Presbyterian  church  in  Lancaster  County.  In  1776,  he  removed  to 
Virginia;  and,  his  salary  being  small,  he  received  some  pupils  for  classical  in- 
struction in  his  own  house.  He  resided  in  Louisa  County  for  twenty  years,  and 
died  there.  He  lost  his  eyesight  the  latter  part  of  his  life.  Patrick  Henry  pro- 
nounced him  the  greatest  orator  he  ever  heard.  The  late  Dr.  Archibald  Alex- 
ander married  one  of  his  daughters,  and  hence  the  middle  name  of  the  Rev.  James 
Waddel  Alexander,  D.D.,  of  New  York.  To  the  latter  Mr.  Wirt  stated,  in  1830, 
that,  so  far  from  having  colored  too  highly  the  picture  of  his  eloquence,  he  had 
fallen  below  the  truth. 


WILLIAM  WIRT. 


195 


frightful  distortions  of  malice  and  rage.  We  saw  the  buffet :  my 
soul  kindled  with  a  flame  of  indignation,  and  my  hands  were  in- 
voluntarily and  convulsively  clenched. 

But  when  he  came  to  touch  on  the  patience,  the  forgiving  meek- 
ness of  our  Saviour ;  when  he  drew,  to  the  life,  his  blessed  eyes 
streaming  in  tears  to  heaven  j  his  voice  breathing  to  God  a  soft 
and  gentle  prayer  of  pardon  on  his  enemies,  "  Father,  forgive 
them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do," — the  voice  of  the  preacher, 
which  had  all  along  faltered,  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  until,  his 
utterance  being  entirely  obstructed  by  the  force  of  his  feelings, 
he  raised  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes,  and  burst  into  a  loud  and 
irrepressible  flood  of  grief.  The  effect  is  inconceivable.  The 
whole  house  resounded  with  the  mingled  groans,  and  sobs,  and 
shrieks  of  the  congregation. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  tumult  had  subsided  so  far  as  to 
permit  him  to  proceed.  Indeed,  judging  by  the  usual,  but  falla- 
cious, standard  of  my  own  weakness,  I  began  to  be  very  uneasy 
for  the  situation  of  the  preacher.  For  I  could  not  conceive  how 
he  would  be  able  to  let  his  audience  down  from  the  height  to 
which  he  had  wound  them,  without  impairing  the  solemnity  and 
dignity  of  his  subject,  or  perhaps  shocking  them  by  the  abruptness 
of  the  fall.  But  no ;  the  descent  was  as  beautiful  and  sublime 
as  the  elevation  had  been  rapid  and  enthusiastic. 

The  first  sentence  with  which  he  broke  the  awful  silence  was  a 
quotation  from  Rousseau  : — u  Socrates  died  like  a  philosopher,  but 
Jesus  Christ,  like  a  Grod  lM 

I  despair  of  giving  you  any  idea  of  the  effect  produced  by  this 
short  sentence,  unless  you  could  perfectly  conceive  the  whole  man- 
ner of  the  man,  as  well  as  the  peculiar  crisis  in  the  discourse. 
Never  before  did  I  completely  understand  what  Demosthenes 
meant  by  laying  such  stress  on  deliver?/.  You  are  to  bring  before 
you  the  venerable  figure  of  the  preacher  j  his  blindness,  constantly 
recalling  to  your  recollection  old  Homer,  Ossian,  and  Milton,  and 
associating  with  his  performance  the  melancholy  grandeur  of  their 
geniuses  j  you  are  to  imagine  that  you  hear  his  slow,  solemn,  well- 
accented  enunciation,  and  his  voice  of  affecting,  trembling  melody; 
you  are  to  remember  the  pitch  of  passion  and  enthusiasm  to  which 
the  congregation  were  raised ;  and  then  the  few  minutes  of  por- 
tentous, death-like  silence  which  reigned  throughout  the  house ; 
the  preacher  removing  his  white  handkerchief  from  his  aged  face, 
(even  yet  wet  from  the  recent  torrent  of  his  tears,)  and,  slowly 
stretching  forth  the  palsied  hand  which  holds  it,  begins  the  sen- 
tence, "  Socrates  died  like  a  philosopher,"  then  pausing,  raising 
his  other  hand,  pressing  them  both  clasped  together  with  warmth 
and  energy  to  his  breast,  lifting  his  "  sightless  balls"  to  heaven, 
and  pouring  his  whole  soul  into  his  tremulous  voice, — "  but 


196 


WILLIAM  WIRT. 


Jesus  Christ,  like  a  God !"  If  he  had  been  indeed  and  in  truth 
an  angel  of  light,  the  effect  could  scarcely  have  been  more  divine. 

British  Spy. 

THE  POWER  OF  KINDNESS.1 

I  want  to  tell  you  a  secret.  The  way  to  make  yourself  pleasing 
to  others  is  to  show  that  you  care  for  them.  The  whole  world  is 
like  the  miller  of  31ansfield,  "who  cared  for  nobody — no,  not  he 
— because  nobody  cared  for  him  and  the  whole  world  will  serve 
you  so  if  you  give  them  the  same  cause.  Let  every  one,  there- 
fore, see  that  you  do  care  for  them,  by  showing  them  what  Sterne 
so  happily  calls  "  the  small,  sweet  courtesies  of  life/' — those 
courtesies  in  which  there  is  no  parade,  whose  voice  is  too  still  to 
teaze,  and  which  manifest  themselves  by  tender  and  affectionate 
looks,  and  little,  kind  acts  of  attention, — giving  others  the  pre- 
ference in  every  little  enjoyment  at  the  table,  in  the  field,  walk- 
ing, sitting,  or  standing.  This  is  the  spirit  that  gives  to  your 
time  of  life  and  to  your  sex  its  sweetest  charm.  It  constitutes 
the  sum-total  of  all  the  witchcraft  of  woman.  Let  the  world  see 
that  your  first  care  is  for  yourself,  and  you  will  spread  the  soli- 
tude of  the  Upas-tree  around  you,  a.nd  in  the  same  way,  by  the 
emanation  of  a  poison  which  kills  all  the  kindly  juices  of  affection 
in  its  neighborhood.  Such  a  girl  may  be  admired  for  her  under- 
standing and  accomplishments,  but  she  will  never  be  beloved. 
The  seeds  of  love  can  never  grow  but  under  the  warm  and  genial 
influence  of  kind  feeling  and  affectionate  manners.  Vivacity  goes 
a  great  way  in  young  persons.  It  calls  attention  to  her  who  dis- 
plays it,  and,  if  it  then  be  found  associated  with  a  generous  sensi- 
bility, its  execution  is  irresistible.  On  the  contrary,  if  it  be  found 
in  alliance  with  a  cold,  haughty,  selfish  heart,  it  produces  no  far- 
ther effect,  except  an  adverse  one.  Attend  to  this,  my  daughter : 
it  flows  from  a  heart  that  feels  for  you  all  the  anxiety  a  parent 
can  feel,  and  not  without  the  hope  which  constitutes  the  parent's 
highest  happiness.    May  Grod  protect  and  bless  you  ! 

COMMON  SENSE.2 

Common  sense  is  a  much  rarer  quality  than  genius.  This  may 
sound  to  you  a  little  paradoxical  at  first,  but  you  will  find  it  true ; 
for  common  sense  is  not,  as  superficial  thinkers  are  apt  to  sup- 
pose, a  mere  negative  faculty :  it  is  a  positive  faculty,  and  one 
of  the  highest  power.    It  is  this  faculty  that  instructs  us  when  to 


1  From  a  letter  to  his  daughter  Laura. 

2  From  a  letter  to  his  daughter  Elizabeth. 


WILLIAM  WIRT. 


107 


speak,  when  to  be  silent,  when  to  act,  when  to  be  still;  and, 
moreover,  it  teaches  us  what  to  speak  and  what  to  suppress,  what 
to  do  and  what  to  forbear.  Now,  pause  a  moment  to  reflect  on 
the  number  of  faculties  which  must  be  combined  to  constitute 
this  common  sense  :  a  rapid  and  profound  foresight  to  calculate 
the  consequences  of  what  is  to  be  said  or  done,  a  rapid  circum- 
spection and  extensive  comprehension  so  as  to  be  sure  of  taking 
in  all  the  circumstances  which  belong  to  the  case  and  missing  no 
figure  in  this  arithmetic  of  the  mind,  and  an  accuracy  of  decision 
which  must  be  as  quick  as  lightning,  so  as  not  to  let  the  occasion 
slip.  See  what  a  knowledge  of  life,  either  by  experience  or  in- 
tuition, and  what  a  happy  constitutional  poise  between  the  pas- 
sions and  the  reason,  or  what  a  powerful  self-command  all  enter 
into  the  composition  of  that  little,  demure,  quiet,  unadmired,  and 
almost  despised  thing  called  common  sense.  It  pretends  to  no 
brilliancy,  for  it  possesses  none;  it  has  no  ostentation,  for  it  has 
nothing  to  show  that  the  world  admires.  The  powerful  and  con- 
stant action  of  the  intellect,  which  makes  its  nature,  is  unob- 
served even  by  the  proprietor;  for  every  thing  is  done  with 
intuitive  ease,  with  a  sort  of  unconscious  felicity.  See,  then,  the 
quick  and  piercing  sagacity,  the  prophetic  penetration,  the  wide 
comprehension,  and  the  prompt  and  accurate  judgment,  which 
combine  to  constitute  common  sense,  which  is  as  inestimably 
valuable  as  the  solar  light  and  as  little  thought  of. 

BURR  AND  BLANNERHASSET.1 

Let  us  put  the  case  between  Burr  and  Blannerhasset.  Let  us 
compare  the  two  men  and  settle  this  question  of  precedence  be- 
tween them.  It  may  save  a  good  deal  of  troublesome  ceremony 
hereafter. 

Who  Aaron  Burr  is,  we  have  seen  in  part  already.  I  will  add 
that,  beginning  his  operations  in  New  York,  he  associates  with 
him  men  whose  wealth  is  to  supply  the  necessary  funds.  Pos- 
sessed of  the  main-spring,  his  personal  labor  contrives  all  the 
machinery.  Pervading  the  continent  from  New  York  to  New 
Orleans,  he  draws  into  his  plan,  by  every  allurement  which  he 
can  contrive,  men  of  all  ranks  and  descriptions.  To  youthful 
ardor  he  presents  danger  and  glory ;  to  ambition,  rank  and  titles 
and  honors ;  to  avarice,  the  mines  of  Mexico.  To  each  person 
whom  he  addresses  he  presents  the  object  adapted  to  his  taste. 
His  recruiting-omcers  are  appointed.  Men  are  engaged  through- 
out the  continent.    Civil  life  is,  indeed,  quiet  upon  its  surface, 


1  Read  an  interesting  article  in  the  "  North  American  Review,"  (lxxii.  112, 
•July,  1851,)  upon  the  Life  and  Character  of  Blannerhasset. 

17* 


198 


WILLIAM  WIRT. 


but  in  its  bosom  this  man  has  contrived  to  deposit  the  materials 
which,  with  the  slightest  touch  of  his  match,  produce  an  explosion 
to  shake  the  continent.  All  this  his  restless  ambition  has  con- 
trived j  and,  in  the  autumn  of  1806,  he  goes  forth  for  the  last 
time  to  apply  this  match.  On  this  occasion  he  meets  with 
Blannerhasset. 

Who  is  Blannerhasset  ?  A  native  of  Ireland,  a  man  of  letters, 
who  fled  from  the  storms  of  his  own  country  to  find  quiet  in  ours. 
His  history  shows  that  war  is  not  the  natural  element  of  his 
mind ;  if  it  had  been,  he  never  would  have  exchanged  Ireland  for 
America.  So  far  is  an  army  from  furnishing  the  society  natural 
and  proper  to  Mr.  Blannerhasset's  character,  that,  on  his  arrival 
in  America,  he  retired  even  from  the  population  of  the  Atlantic 
States,  and  sought  quiet  and  solitude  in  the  bosom  of  our  Western 
forests.  But  he  carried  with  him  taste  and  science  and  wealth  • 
and,  lo  !  the  desert  smiled.  Possessing  himself  of  a  beautiful 
island  in  the  Ohio,  he  rears  upon  it  a  palace  and  decorates  it  with 
every  romantic  embellishment  of  fancy.  A  shrubbery  that  Shen- 
stone  might  have  envied  blooms  around  him.  Music  that  might 
have  charmed  Calypso  and  her  nymphs  is  his.  An  extensive 
library  spreads  its  treasures  before  him.  A  philosophical  appa- 
ratus offers  to  him  all  the  secrets  and  mysteries  of  nature.  Peace, 
tranquillity,  and  innocence  shed  their  mingled  delights  around 
him.  And,  to  crown  the  enchantment  of  the  scene,  a  wife,  who 
is  said  to  be  lovely  even  beyond  her  sex,  and  graced  with  every 
accomplishment  that  can  render  it  irresistible,  had  blessed  him 
with  her  love  and  made  him  the  father  of  several  children.  The 
evidence  would  convince  you  that  this  is  but  a  faint  picture  of  the 
real  life.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  peace,  this  innocent  simplicity 
and  this  tranquillity,  this  feast  of  the  mind,  this  pure  banquet  of 
the  heart,  the  destroyer  comes ;  he  comes  to  change  this  paradise 
into  a  hell.  Yet  the  flowers  do  not  wither  at  his  approach.  No 
monitory  shuddering  through  the  bosom  of  their  unfortunate  pos- 
sessor warns  him  of  the  ruin  that  is  coming  upon  him.  A  stranger 
presents  himself.  Introduced  to  their  civilities  by  the  high  rank 
which  he  had  lately  held  in  his  country,  he  soon  finds  his  way  to 
their  hearts  by  the  dignity  and  elegance  of  his  demeanor,  the  light 
and  beauty  of  his  conversation,  and  the  seductive  and  fascinating- 
power  of  his  address.  The  conquest  was  not  difficult.  Innocence 
is  ever  simple  and  credulous.  Conscious  of  no  design  itself,  it 
suspects  none  in  others.  It  wears  no  guard  before  its  breast. 
Every  door  and  portal  and  avenue  of  the  heart  is  thrown  open, 
and  all  who  choose  it  enter.  Such  was  the  state  of  Eden  when 
the  serpent  entered  its  bowers.  The  prisoner,  in  a  more  engaging 
form,  winding  himself  into  the  open  and  unpractised  heart  of  the 
unfortunate  Blannerhasset,  found  but  little  difficulty  in  changing 


WILLIAM  WIRT. 


199 


the  native  character  of  that  heart  and  the  objects  of  its  affection. 
By  degrees  he  infuses  into  it  the  poison  of  his  own  ambition.  He 
breathes  into  it  the  fire  of  his  own  courage, — a  daring  and  despe- 
rate thirst  for  glory,  an  ardor  panting  for  great  enterprises,  for 
all  the  storm  and  bustle  and  hurricane  of  life.  In  a  short  time 
the  whole  man  is  changed,  and  every  object  of  his  former  delight 
is  relinquished.  No  more  he  enjoys  the  tranquil  scene :  it  has 
become  flat  and  insipid  to  his  taste.  His  books  are  abandoned. 
His  retort  and  crucible  are  thrown  aside.  His  shrubbery  blooms 
and  breathes  its  fragrance  upon  the  air  in  vain  :  he  likes  it  not. 
His  ear  no  longer  drinks  the  rich  melody  of  music  :  it  longs  for 
the  trumpet's  clangor  and  the  cannon's  roar.  Even  the  prattle  of 
his  babes,  once  so  sweet,  no  longer  affects  him;  and  the  angel- 
smile  of  his  wife,  which  hitherto  touched  his  bosom  with  ecstasy 
so  unspeakable,  is  now  unseen  and  unfelt.  Greater  objects  have 
taken  possession  of  his  soul.  His  imagination  has  been  dazzled 
by  visions  of  diadems,  of  stars  and  garters  and  titles  of  nobility. 
He  has  been  taught  to  burn  with  restless  emulation  at  the  names 
of  great  heroes  and  conquerors.  His  enchanted  island  is  destined 
soon  to  relapse  into  a  wilderness;  and  in  a  few  months  we  find 
the  beautiful  and  tender  partner  of  his  bosom,  whom  he  lately 
"  permitted  not  the  winds  of"  summer  "  to  visit  too  roughly/'  we 
find  her  shivering  at  midnight  on  the  wintry  banks  of  the  Ohio, 
and  mingling  her  tears  with  the  torrents  that  froze  as  they  fell. 
Yet  this  unfortunate  man,  thus  deluded  from  his  interest  and  his 
happiness,  thus  seduced  from  the  paths  of  innocence  and  peace, 
thus  confounded  in  the  toils  that  were  deliberately  spread  for  him, 
and  overwhelmed  by  the  mastering  spirit  and  genius  of  another, — 
this  man,  thus  ruined  and  undone  and  made  to  play  a  subordinate 
part  in  this  grand  drama  of  guilt  and  treason, — this  man  is  to  be 
called  the  principal  offender,  while  he  by  whom  he  was  thus 
plunged  in  misery  is  comparatively  innocent, — a  mere  accessory  ! 
Is  this  reason  ?  Is  it  law  ?  Is  it  humanity  ?  Sir,  neither  the 
human  heart  nor  the  human  understanding  will  bear  a  perversion 
so  monstrous  and  absurd  !  so  shocking  to  the  soul !  so  revolting 
to  reason  !  Let  Aaron  Burr,  then,  not  shrink  from  the  high  des- 
tination which  he  has  courted;  and,  having  already  ruined 
Blannerhasset  in  fortune,  character,  and  happiness  forever,  let 
him  not  attempt  to  finish  the  tragedy  by  thrusting  that  ill-fated 
man  between  himself  and  punishment. 


EVERY  ONE  THE  ARCHITECT  OF  HIS  OWN  FORTUNE. 

Allow  me,  young  gentlemen,  to  impress  upon  your  minds  this 
truth  : — the  education,  moral  and  intellectual,  of  every  individual, 
must  be  chiefly  his  own  work.     You  must  be  awakened  to  the 


200 


WILLIAM  WIRT. 


important  truth  that,  if  you  aspire  to  excellence,  you  must  be- 
come active  and  vigorous  co-operators  with  your  teachers,  and 
work  out  your  own  distinction  with  an  ardor  that  cannot  he 
quenched,  a  perseverance  that  considers  nothing  done  while  any 
thing  yet  remains  to  be  done.  Rely  upon  it  that  the  ancients  were 
right, —  Quisque  suae  fortunse  faber:  both  in  morals  and  intellect 
we  give  their  final  shape  to  our  own  characters,  and  thus  become  em- 
phatically the  architects  of  our  fortunes.  How  else  should  it  happen 
that  young  men,  who  have  had  precisely  the  same  opportunities, 
should  be  continually  presenting  us  with  such  different  results, 
and  rushing  to  such  opposite  destinies  ?  Difference  of  talent  will 
not  solve  it,  because  that  difference  is  very  often  in  favor  of  the 
disappointed  candidate.  You  shall  see  issuing  from  the  walls  of 
the  same  school — nay,  sometimes  from  the  bosom  of  the  same 
family — two  young  men,  of  whom  the  one  shall  be  admitted  to 
be  a  genius  of  high  order,  the  other  scarcely  above  the  point  of 
mediocrity ;  yet  you  shall  see  the  genius  sinking  and  perishing  in 
poverty,  obscurity,  and  wretchedness ;  while,  on  the  other  hand, 
you  shall  observe  the  mediocre  plodding  his  slow  but  sure  way  up 
the  hill  of  life,  gaining  steadfast  footing  at  every  step,  and  mount- 
ing at  length  to  eminence  and  distinction,  an  ornament  to  his 
family  and  a  blessing  to  his  country.  Now,  whose  work  is  this  ? 
Manifestly,  their  own.  They  are  the  architects  of  their  respective 
fortunes.  And  of  this  be  assured, — I  speak  from  observation  a' 
certain  truth, —  There  is  no  excellence  without  great  labor.  It  is 
ihc  fiat  of  Fate,  from  which  no  power  of  genius  can  absolve  you. 
Genius  unexerted  is  like  the  poor  moth  that  flutters  around  a 
candle  till  it  scorches  itself  to  death.  It  is  the  capacity  for  high 
and  long-continued  exertion,  the  vigorous  power  of  profound  and 
searching  investigation,  the  careering  and  wide-sweeping  compre- 
hension of  mind,  and  those  long  reaches  of  thought  that 

"  pluck  bright  honor  from  the  pale-faced  moon, 

Or  dive  into  the  bottom  of  the  deep, 

Where  fathom-line  could  never  touch  the  ground, 

And  drag  up  drowned  honor  by  the  locks." 

This  is  the  prowess  and  these  the  hardy  achievements  which  are 
to  enroll  your  names  among  the  great  men  of  the  earth. 

But  how  are  you  to  gain  the  nerve  and  the  courage  for  enter- 
prises of  this  pith  and  moment?  I  will  tell  you.  As  Milo 
gained  that  strength  which  astounded  Greece, — by  your  oxen  self- 
discipline.  You  have  it  in  your  power,  indeed,  to  make  your- 
selves just  what  you  please ;  and  of  the  truth  of  this  hypothesis, 
to  an  extent  quite  incredible  to  yourselves  at  this  time,  observa- 
tion and  experience  leave  no  doubt  in  my  own  mind.  You  may, 
if  you  please,  become  literary  fops  and  dandies,  and  acquire  the 


ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 


201 


affected  lisp  and  drawling  nonchalance  of  the  London  cockney, 
or  you  may  learn  to  wield  the  Herculean  club  of  Dr.  Johnson. 
You  may  skim  the  surface  of  science,  or  fathom  its  depths.  You 
may  become  florid  declaimers  or  cloud-compelling  reasoners. 
You  may  dwindle  into  political  ephemera,  or  plume  your  wings 
for  immortality  with  Franklin,  Hamilton,  Jay,  Jefferson,  the 
Adamses,  and  a  host  of  living  worthies.  You  may  become  dis- 
solute Voluptuaries  and  debauchees,  and  perish  in  disgrace,  or 
you  may  climb  the  steeps  of  glory,  and  have  your  names  given, 
by  the  trumpet  of  Fame,  to  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe.  In 
short,  you  may  become  a  disgrace  and  a  reproach  to  this  institu- 
tion, or  her  proudest  boast  and  honor ;  you  may  make  yourselves 
the  shame  or  the  ornament  of  your  families,  and  a  curse  or  a 
blessing  to  your  country.1 

Address  at  Rutgers  College,  1830. 


ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE,  1773—1811. 

Robert  Treat  Paine,  son  of  the  Hon.  R.  Treat  Paine,  one  of  the  signers  of  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  was  born  in  Taunton,  Massachusetts,  December  9, 
1773.  He  entered  Harvard  College  in  1788,  and  graduated  Avith  high  honor  in 
1792,  delivering  an  English  poem  on  The  Nature  and  Progress  of  Liberty.  For 
some  years  after,  he  had  no  fixed  employment,  but  sustained  himself  chiefly  by  his 
pen,  writing  prologues  for  the  theatre,  and  poems  and  editorials  for  the  news- 
papers. In  June,  1798,  at  the  request  of  the  "Massachusetts  Charitable  Fire 
Society,"  soon  to  celebrate  its  anniversary,  he  wrote  his  celebrated  political  song 
of  Adams  and  Liberty.  Political  excitement  ran  very  high  at  the  time ;  for,  as 
the  French,  whom  the  anti-Federalists  of  the  day  much  favored,  had  behaved 
towards  us  in  a  very  insulting  manner,  it  was  thought  by  many  that  a  war  would 
result.  But  happily  this  was  averted  by  the  firmness  of  President  Adams,  whose 
course  Washington  himself  so  much  approved,  that  he  consented,  if  it  should  be- 
come necessary,  once  more  to  take  the  command  of  the  army. 

In  1799,  Paine  entered  the  law-office  of  Judge  Parsons,  at  Newburyport,  and  in 
1802  was  admitted  to  the  bar;  but,  though  for  a  short  time  he  gave  promise  of 


1  "We  have  remarked  of  Wirt  that  his  life  is  peculiarly  fraught  with  materials 
for  the  edification  of  youth.  His  career  is  full  of  wholesome  teaching  to  the  young 
votary  who  strives  for  the  renown  of  an  honorable  ambition.  Its  difficulties  and 
impediments,  its  temptations  and  trials,  its  triumphs  over  many  obstacles,  its  re- 
wards, both  in  the  self-approving  judgment  of  his  own  heart  and  in  the  success 
won  by  patient  labor  and  well-directed  study,  and  the  final  consummation  of  his 
hopes,  in  an  old  age  not  less  adorned  by  the  applause  of  good  men  than  by  the 
serene  and  cheerful  temper  inspired  by  a  devout  Christian  faith, — all  these  present 
a  type  of  human  progress  worthy  of  the  imitation  of  the  young  and  gifted,  in 
which  they  may  find  the  most  powerful  incentives  towards  the  accomplishment  of 
the  noblest  ends  of  a  generous  love  of  fame." — Kennedy's  Life. 


202 


ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 


great  eminence  in  his  profession,  he  soon  relaxed  into  his  former  indolent  habits, 
living  from  year  to  year  on  a  very  precarious  support,  and  died  on  the  11th  of 
November,  1811,  leaving  a  wife  and  two  children  entirely  destitute.  His  father, 
however,  took  them  to  his  house,  and  made  liberal  provision  for  them.  His 
works  in  prose  and  verse  were  collected,  two  years  after  his  death,  in  one  octavo 
volume  of  464  pages,  and  were  highly  lauded  at  the  time.  Of  all  his  writings, 
however,  none  are  now  read  but  his  celebrated  political  song  of 

ADAMS  AND  LIBERTY. 

Ye  sons  of  Columbia,  -who  bravely  have  fought 

For  those  rights  which  unstain:d  from  your  sires  had  descended, 
May  you  long  taste  the  blessings  your  valor  has  bought, 
And  your  sons  reap  the  soil  which  their  fathers  defended. 
'Mid  the  reign  of  mild  Peace, 
May  your  nation  increase, 
With  the  glory  of  Rome  and  the  wisdom  of  Greece ; 
And  ne'er  shall  the  sons  of  Columbia  be  slaves, 
AVhile  the  earth  bears  a  plant,  or  the  sea  rolls  its  waves. 

In  a  clime  wThose  rich  vales  feed  the  marts  of  the  world, 

Whose  shores  are  unshaken  by  Europe's  commotion, 
The  trident  of  commerce  should  never  be  hurl'd, 
To  incense  the  legitimate  powers  of  the  ocean. 
But  should  pirates  invade, 
Though  in  thunder  array'd, 
Let  your  cannon  declare  the  free  charter  of  trade. 
For  ne'er  shall  the  sons,  &c. 

The  fame  of  our  arms,  of  our  laws  the  mild  sway, 

Had  justly  ennobled  our  nation  in  story, 
Till  the  dark  clouds  of  faction  obscured  our  young  day, 
And  enveloped  the  sun  of  American  glory. 
But  let  traitors  be  told, 
Who  their  country  have  sold, 
And  barter'd  their  God  for  his  image  in  gold, 
That  ne'er  will  the  sons,  &c. 

While  France  her  huge  limbs  bathes  recumbent  in  blood, 

And  Society's  base  threats  with  wide  dissolution, 
May  Peace,  like  the  dove  who  return'd  from  the  flood, 
Find  an  ark  of  abode  in  our  mild  constitution. 
For  though  peace  is  our  aim, 
Yet  the  boon  we  disclaim, 
[f  bought  by  our  sovereignty,  justice,  or  fame. 
For  ne'er  shall  the  sons,  &c. 

'Tis  the  fire  of  the  flint,  each  American  warms ; 

Let  Rome's  haughty  victors  beware  of  collision, 
Let  them  bring  all  the  vassals  of  Europe  in  arms, 
We're  a  world  by  ourselves,  and  disdain  a  division. 
While  with  patriot  pride, 
To  our  laws  we're  allied, 
No  foe  can  subdue  us,  no  faction  divide. 

For  ne"er  shall  the  sons,  &c. 


WILLIAM  SULLIVAN. 


203 


Our  mountains  are  crown'd  -with  imperial  oak; 

Whose  roots,  like  our  liberties,  ages  have  nourish'd ; 
But  long  e'er  our  nation  submits  to  the  yoke, 

Not  a  tree  shall  be  left  on  the  field  where  it  flourish'd. 
Should  invasion  impend, 
Every  grove  -would  descend 
From  the  hill-tops  they  shaded,  our  shores  to  defend. 
For  ne'er  shall  the  sons,  &c. 

Let  our  patriots  destroy  Anarch's  pestilent  worm ; 

Lest  our  Liberty's  growth  should  be  check'd  by  corrosion ; 
Then  let  clouds  thicken  round  us ;  we  heed  not  the  storm; 
Our  realm  fears  no  shock  but  the  earth's  own  explosion. 
Foes  assail  us  in  vain, 
Though  their  fleets  bridge  the  main, 
For  our  altars  and  laws  with  our  lives  we'll  maintain. 
For  ne'er  shall  the  sons,  &c. 

Should  the  Tempest  of  War  overshadow  our  land, 

Its  bolts  could  ne'er  rend  Freedom's  temple  asunder; 
For.  unmoved,  at  its  portal  would  Washington  stand,1 
And  repulse  with  his  breast  the  assaults  of  the  thunder! 
His  sword  from  the  sleep 
Of  its  scabbard  would  leap, 
And  conduct,  with  its  point,  every  flash  to  the  deep ! 
For  ne'er  shall  the  sons,  &c. 

Let  Fame  to  the  world  sound  America's  voice  ; 

No  intrigues  can  her  sons  from  their  government  sever ; 
Her  pride  is  her  Adams :  her  laws  are  his  choice, 
And  shall  flourish  till  Liberty  slumbers  forever. 
Then  unite  heart  and  hand, 
Like  Leonidas'  band, 
And  swear  to  the  God  of  the  ocean  and  land, 
That  ne'er  shall  the  sons  of  Columbia  be  slaves, 
While  the  earth  bears  a  plant,  or  the  sea  rolls  its  waves. 


WILLIAM  SULLIVAN,  1774—1839. 

Johx  Sullivax,  a  gentleman  of  liberal  education  and  of  cultivated  manners, 
came  to  this  country  from  Ireland  about  the  year  1730,  and  settled  in  Berwick, 
Maine.  He  left  two  sons,  George  and  James.  James  entered  the  legal  profession, 
and  became  Governor  of  Massachusetts.    He  died  in  1S08,  leaving  five  sons  and 

1  The  following  anecdote  is  related  of  this  ode : — Paine  had  written  all  he  in- 
tended, and,  being  at  the  house  of  Major  Russell,  the  editor  of  the  "Boston  Cen- 
tinel,"  showed  him  the  verses.  They  were  highly  approved,  but  pronounced 
imperfect,  as  the  name  of  Washington  was  omitted.  Paine  was  just  then  on  the 
point  of  helping  himself  to  some  of  the  drinks  upon  the  sideboard,  when  Major 
Russell  pleasantly  interposed,  and  said  that  he  must  take  nothing  till  he  had 
written  a  stanza  introducing  the  name  of  Washington.  Paine  walked  back  and 
forth  a  few  minutes,  when  he  suddenly  called  for  a  pen,  and  immediately  wrote 
this  brilliant  stanza,  second  to  none  in  the  ode. 


204 


WILLIAM  SULLIVAN. 


one  daughter.  The  second  of  these  sons,  William,  the  subject  of  this  notice,  was 
born  at  Saco,  Maine,  on  the  12th  of  November,  1774,  graduated  at  Harvard 
in  1792,  and  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  1795.  He  devoted  himself  assiduously 
to  his  profession,  and  became  eminently  successful  in  it,  enjoying,  from  his 
unsullied  purity  and  integrity  of  character,  the  highest  confidence  of  his  fellow- 
citizens. 

About  the  time  of  his  entering  upon  his  professional  career,  the  country  was 
divided  into  two  great  political  parties, — the  "Federalists"  and  the  "Republicans," 
— whose  zeal  for  their  respective  causes  engendered  the  bitterest  feelings  of  ani- 
mosity. Mr.  Sullivan  early  took  sides  with  the  Federalists,  became  a  prominent 
member  of  the  party,  and  was  consequently  brought  in  contact  with  all  its  lead- 
ing and  best  men.  He  early  visited  Philadelphia,  and  enjoyed  the  friendship  of 
Washington  and  many  others  who  subsequently  rose  to  the  highest  distinction  in 
the  country. 

Though  for  many  years  Mr.  Sullivan's  time  was  much  engrossed  by  his  pro- 
fessional duties,  he  never  gave  up  entirely  his  literary  pursuits ;  and  so  strong 
was  his  attachment  to  letters,  that  during  the  last  ten  years  of  his  life  he 
declined  all  professional  engagements,  devoting  himself,  with  great  ardor,  from 
twelve  to  fourteen  hours  daily,  to  studies  chiefly  pertaining  to  history  and 
moral  philosophy.  But  his  intense  application  without  sufficient  exercise  under- 
mined his  constitution,  and  he  died  on  the  3d  of  September,  1839,  aged  sixty- 
four  years. 

Mr.  Sullivan's  publications,  besides  his  occasional  Addresses  and  Essays,  were, — 
1.  The  Political  Class-Booh:  intended  to  instruct  the  Higher  Classes  in  Schools  in 
the  Origin,  Nature,  and  Use  of  Political  Power:  2.  The  Moral  C lass-Book,  or  the 
Law  of  Ilorals :  3.  Historical  Class-Book ;  containing  sketches  of  ancient  history 
to  the  end  of  the  Western  Roman  Empire,  476  A.D. :  4.  Historical  Causes  and 
Effects  from  the  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  476,  to  the  Reformation,  1517.  These 
are  all  admirable  works  for  schools,  full  of  sound  instruction,  and  pervaded  by  a 
pure  moral  tone  that  cannot  fail  to  exert  a  happy  influence  on  the  youthful  mind. 
But  the  work  most  likely  to  perpetuate  his  name  is  the  volume  entitled  The  Public 
Men  of  the  Revolution ;  including  Events  from  the  Peace  of  1783  to  the  Peace  of 
1815  :  in  a  Series  of  Letters.  This  is  a  work  which  all  should  read  who  desire 
an  accurate  acquaintance  with  these  eventful  times,  and  to  learn  those  stern  facts 
which  too  many  of  our  historians,  for  the  sake  of  popularity,  have  cautiously 
avoided. 

THE  "FEDERALISTS." 

The  intelligent  and  honest  men  who  hazarded  their  lives  in 
the  field,  or  councils,  or  in  both,  to  free  this  country  from  the 
monarchy  and  tyranny  of  Great  Britain ;  the  men  who  united  to 
form  for  thirteen  free,  sovereign,  and  independent  States  an  elect- 
ive, national,  republican  government;  the  men  who  thus  resisted, 
English  monarchy  and  tyranny,  and  who  thus  formed  this  re- 
publican and  national  union,  were  Federalists. 

The  President  of  the  convention  which  framed  this  constitution 
must  have  been  well  informed,  by  the  discussions  which  he  heard, 


WILLIAM  SULLIVAN. 


205 


of  the  true  meaning  and  practical  application  of  every  sentence 
and  phrase  in  that  instrument.  He  was  the  first  President  of  the 
United  States,  selected  to  execute  the  powers  which  that  instru- 
ment conferred.  The  Senate  and  House  of  Representatives  were 
composed  of  men,  many  of  whom  had  been  zealous  patriots 
throughout  the  Revolutionary  struggle,  and  most  of  whom  had 
been  members  of  the  national  or  state  conventions,  or  who  were 
otherwise  informed  of  the  true  meaning  and  intent  of  the  con- 
stitution. The  first  Vice-President  was  a  man  who  had  devoted 
himself  to  the  cause  of  the  Revolution,  and  who  may  be  said 
to  have  stood  second  to  no  one  in  efforts,  as  a  civilian,  to  free 
the  country  from  foreign  dominion,  and  to  enable  it  to  govern 
itself  as  a  republic.  The  President,  the  Vice-President,  and 
a  large  majority  of  both  branches  of  Congress,  were  Fede- 
ralists. 

This  new  form  of  government  was  organized.  All  the  various 
powers  delegated  by  the  constitution  were  defined  by  wise  laws, 
and  carried  into  effect.  The  whole  country  arose,  almost  miracu- 
lously, from  a  state  of  confusion,  despondency,  idleness,  and  immi- 
nent peril,  to  one  of  peace,  confidence,  industry,  security,  and 
unexampled  prosperity.  The  wreck  and  ruin  which  the  Revolu- 
tionary struggle  brought  on,  both  of  private  and  public  credit, 
disappeared ;  and  all  the  benefits,  which  those  who  led  the 
country  through  the  Revolution  had  desired  or  imagined,  were 
fully  realized.  The  people  of  the  United  States,  in  their  new  and 
flourishing  republic,  took  their  place  among  the  nations  of  the 
earth.    This  was  the  achievement  of  Federalists. 

In  the  first  twelve  years  of  the  national  administration,  the  wars 
of  Europe  hazarded  the  peace  of  the  United  States.  The  aggres- 
sions of  the  belligerents,  the  insolent  and  seductive  character  of 
French  enthusiasm,  secret  combinations,  and  claims  for  gratitude 
(to  revolutionary  France)  called  for  all  the  firmness,  wisdom, 
and  personal  influence  of  Washington,  and  for  the  best  exer- 
tions of  his  political  associates,  to  save  the  United  States  from  the 
loss  of  all  the  benefits  which  had  been  acquired  by  previous  toils 
and  sacrifices.  Compensation  for  wrongs  was  amicably  made  by 
one  of  the  belligerents,  and  a  treaty,  highly  beneficial  and  honor- 
able, was  negotiated  and  ratified.  With  another,  peace  and  com- 
pensation were  sought,  and  insolently  denied ;  all  connection  by 
treaty  was  annulled ;  the  attitude  of  war  was  assumed ;  and  then 
the  rights  of  the  country  were  immediately  recognised  even  by 
fraudulent  and  unprincipled  France.  The  prosperity  of  the 
country  and  the  benefits  of  enriching  neutrality  were  secured, 
amidst  all  the  desolating  conflicts  of  Europe.  This  was  the  work 
of  Federalists. 

is 


206 


LYMAN  BEECHER. 


THE  WASHINGTON  ADMINISTRATION. 

In  the  discretionary  exercise  of  executive  power,  the  Washing- 
ton administration  was  wise  and  tolerant.  In  filling  offices,  the 
President  preferred,  when  he  could,  the  Revolutionary  chiefs,  of 
whose  integrity  and  ability  he  had  ample  proofs.  No  one  will  say 
that  such  men  did  not  deserve  the  honors  and  emoluments  of 
office,  which  their  own  perilous  efforts  helped  to  establish.  He 
did  not,  like  some  of  his  successors,  profess  to  ask  :  Is  he  honest, 
is  he  capable,  is  he  faithful  to  the  constitution?  He  appointed 
men  that  were  so.  He  displaced  no  man  for  the  expression  of  his 
opinions,  even  in  the  feverish  excitement  of  French  delusion. 

With  regard  to  all  other  foreign  governments, — the  judiciary; 
the  national  bank;  the  Indian  tribes;  the  mint;  in  his  deport- 
ment to  his  own  ministers ;  his  communications  to  Congress ;  his 
construction  of  the  constitution  ;  his  sacred  regard  for  it ;  his 
devotion  to  the  whole  Union ;  his  magnanimity  and  forbearance ; 
his  personal  dignity; — in  all  these,  and  in  relation  to  all  other 
subjects,  how  great  and  honorable  was  his  example,  how  tran- 
scendently  above  all  praise  that  man  can  bestow  !  And  yet  how 
utterly  have  his  views  and  his  example  been  disregarded  within 
these  thirty  years  ! 

August,  1833. 


LYMAN  BEECHER. 

This  venerable  and  eloquent  clergyman  was  born  at  New  Haven,  on  tbe  12th 
of  October,  1775.  After  going  through  the  usual  course  of  preparatory  studies,  he 
entered  Yale  College,  and,  after  graduating,  he  studied  divinit}7  under  Dr.  Dwight. 
He  entered  the  ministry  in  179S,  and  in  the  following  year  was  settled  at  East 
Hampton,  Long  Island.  Here,  in  1S06,  (two  years  after  Hamilton  was  killed  by 
Burr,)  he  preached  that  admirable  sermon,  entitled  Remedy  for  Duelling,  which, 
had  he  published  nothing  else,  is  enough  to  preserve  his  name  to  posterity.1  In 
1810,  he  took  charge  of  the  First  Congregational  Church  in  Litchfield,  Connec- 
ticut, where  he  remained  about  sixteen  years,  and  preached  with  great  success, 
exerting,  as  such  a  mind  of  course  must,  a  commanding  influence  upon  his  minis- 
terial brethren,  and  the  church  at  large.2  During  this  period,  he  assisted  in  the 
establishment  of  the  Connecticut  Missionary  Society,  the  Connecticut  Education 
Society,  the  American  Bible  Society,  and  other  associations  of  a  similar  charac- 
ter.   In  1826,  he  accepted  the  call  to  the  Hanover  Street  Church,  Boston,  where 

1  "While  at  East  Hampton,  he  published  three  other  discourses, —  The  History  of 
East  Hampton  ;  The  Government  of  God  Desirable  :  and  a  Funeral  Sermon. 

2  While  at  Litchfield,  he  published  sermons  on  the  Reformation  of  Morals ; 
Building  v])  of  Waste  Places;  A  Funeral  Discourse  ;  The  Bible  a  Code  of  Laws; 
The  Faith  once  Delivered  to  the  Saints  ;  The  Designs,  Bights,  and  Duties  of  Local 
Churches;  and  The  Means  of  National  Prosperity. 


LYMAN  BEECIIER. 


207 


his  labors  for  two  or  three  years  -were  most  arduous  and  unremitted  in  the  causo 
of  religion,  and  the  revival  of  the  early  Puritan  faith,  in  that  great  literary  and 
commercial  city.  Among  other  labors,  he  assisted  in  establishing  The  Spirit  of 
the  Pilgrims,  (a  monthly  religious  journal,)  and  preached,  and  prepared  for  the 
press,  Six  Sermons  on  the  Nature,  Occasions,  Signs,  Evils,  and  Remedy  of  Intempe- 
rance,1 of  the  power  and  eloquence  of  which  it  is  enough  to  say  that,  notwith- 
standing all  that  has  been  written  and  published  since  on  this  great  theme,  these 
sermons  yet  remain  unrivalled.2  In  1S32,  he  was  called  to  the  Presidency  of  Lane 
Theological  Seminary,  Cincinnati;  and  for  ten  years,  in  conjunction  with  his 
academic  duties,  he  sustained  the  pastoral  care  of  the  Second  Presbyterian  Church 
in  that  city.  He  resigned  the  pastoral  office  in  1844,  and  the  Presidency  of  the 
Seminary  in  1817,  and  returned  to  Boston  in  1850,  where  he  now  resides.  Such 
is  the  brief  chronological  outline  of  Dr.  Beecher's  life.3 

Dr.  Beecher's  chief  publications  consist  of  sermons  and  addresses,  and  a  work 
on  Political  Atheism.  A  collection  of  his  writings,  in  four  compact  duodecimo 
volumes,  was  published  in  Boston,  in  1852. 

THE  SIN  OF  TRAFFICKING  IN  ARDENT  SPIRITS. 

Has  not  God  connected  with  all  lawful  avocations  the  welfare 
of  the  life  that  now  is,  and  of  that  which  is  to  come  ?  And  can 
we  lawfully  amass  property  by  a  course  of  trade  which  fills  the 
land  with  beggars,  and  widows,  and  orphans,  and  crimes ;  which 


1  It  has  been  well  said :  "  Had  Dr.  Beecher  no  other  distinction,  his  connection 
with  the  great  moral  movement  of  our  age — the  Temperance  Reform  (of  which  he 
may  be  considered  one  of  the  founders,  if  not  the  founder) — would  entitle  him  to 
an  enviable  eminence  in  the  history  of  his  times." 

2  The  following  racy  criticism  upon  Dr.  Beecher's  writings  appeared  in  the 
Bibliotheca  Sacra,"  1852  : — "  His  mind  is  thoroughly  of  the  New  England 

stamp;  and,  whatever  subject  it  touches,  its  constant  struggle  is  foi  defnitcness, 
clearness,  and  utility.  Beautiful  tropes  which  adorn  nothingness  and  cover  up 
emptiness, — fine  language  which  would  express  a  thought  handsomely,  if  there 
were  any  thought  there  to  be  expressed  by  it, — for  such  things  as  these  you  will 
look  in  vain  among  Dr.  Beecher's  works.  In  his  style  there  is  conciseness  and 
pungency,  brilliancy  and  vigor,  clearness  and  sharpness,  rhetoric  and  logic,  in 
remarkable  combination." 

3  In  the  progress  of  his  life,  he  writes  : — "  I  have  laid  no  plans  of  my  own,  but 
simply  consecrated  myself  to  Christ  and  his  cause,  confiding  in  his  guidance  and 
preservation  ;  and  meeting,  as  I  might  be  able,  such  exigencies  as  his  providence 
placed  before  me,  which  has  always  kept  my  head,  hands,  and  heart  full." — Brief 
Memoirs  of  the  Class  1797,  of  Yale  College. 

"  He  has  devoted  his  long  life,  with  prodigious  activity  and  vigor,  to  the  pro- 
motion of  religion,  learning,  and  the  larger  humanities  of  life.  As  a  preacher  ho 
was  very  effective,  possessing  surpassing  powers  of  statement,  illustration,  and 
argument." — Goodrich's  Recollections. 

Of  the  many  anecdotes  illustrative  of  his  ready  wit,  the  following  is  told.  Going 
home  one  evening,  with  a  volume  of  "  Rees's  EncyclopaKlia"  under  his  arm,  a 
skunk  crossed  his  path,  when  the  Doctor  quickly  threw  the  book  at  him.  Upon 
this  the  animal  retorted,  and  with  such  effect  that  he  reached  home  in  a  very  sorry 
plight.  Some  time  after,  he  was  assailed,  rather  abusively,  by  a  controversialist, 
and  a  friend  advised  the  Doctor  to  reply.  "  No,"  said  he,  "  I  once  discharged  a 
quarto  at  a  skunk,  and  I  got  the  worst  of  it,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  try  it  again." 


208 


LYMAN  BEECHER. 


peoples  the  graveyard  with  premature  mortality,  and  the  world  of 
woe  with  the  victims  of  despair  ?  Could  all  the  forms  of  evil 
produced  in  the  land  by  intemperance  come  upon  us  in  one  horrid 
array,  it  would  appall  the  nation,  and  put  an  end  to  the  traffic  in 
ardent  spirits.  If  in  every  dwelling  built  by  blood  the  stone  from 
the  wall  should  utter  all  the  cries  which  the  bloody  traffic  extorts, 
and  the  beam  out  of  the  timber  should  echo  them  back,  who  would 
build  such  a  house  ?  and  who  would  dwell  in  it  ?  What  if,  in 
every  part  of  the  dwelling, — from  the  cellar  upward,  through  all 
the  halls  and  chambers, — babblings,  and  contentions,  and  voices, 
and  groans,  and  shrieks,  and  wailings,  were  heard  day  and  night  ? 
What  if  the  cold  blood  oozed  out,  and  stood  in  drops  upon  the 
walls ;  and,  by  preternatural  art,  all  the  ghastly  skulls  and  bones 
of  the  victims  destroyed  by  intemperance  should  stand  upon  the 
walls  in  horrid  sculpture,  within  and  without  the  building !  who 
would  rear  such  a  building  ?  What  if  at  eventide,  and  at  mid- 
night, the  airy  forms  of  men  destroyed  by  intemperance  were 
dimly  seen  haunting  the  distilleries  and  stores  where  they  received 
their  bane ;  following  the  track  of  the  ship  engaged  in  the  com- 
merce ;  walking  upon  the  waves  j  flitting  athwart  the  deck ;  sitting 
upon  the  rigging,  and  sending  up,  from  the  hold  within  and  from 
the  waves  without,  groans,  and  loud  laments,  and  wailings  !  Who 
would  attend  such  stores  ?  Who  would  labor  in  such  distilleries  t 
Who  would  navigate  such  ships  ? 


APPEAL  TO  YOUNG  MEN. 

Could  I  call  around  me  in  one  vast  assembly  the  temperate 
young  men  of  our  land,  I  would  say, — Hopes  of  the  nation,  blessed 
be  ye  of  the  Lord  now  in  the  dew  of  your  youth.  But  look  well 
to  your  footsteps;  for  vipers,  and  scorpions,  and  adders  surround 
your  way.  Look  at  the  generation  who  have  just  preceded  you : 
the  morning  of  their  life  was  cloudless,  and  it  dawned  as  brightly 
as  your  own ;  but  behold  them  bitten,  swollen,  enfeebled,  inflamed, 
debauched,  idle,  poor,  irreligious,  and  vicious,  with  halting  step 
dragging  onward  to  meet  an  early  grave  !  Their  bright  prospects 
are  clouded,  and  their  sun  is  set  never  to  rise.  No  house  of  their 
own  receives  them,  while  from  poorer  to  poorer  tenements  they 
descend,  and  to  harder  and  harder  fare,  as  improvidence  dries  up 
their  resources.  And  now,  who  are  those  that  wait  on  their  foot- 
steps with  muffled  faces  and  sable  garments  ?  That  is  a  father — 
and  that  is  a  mother — whose  gray  hairs  are  coming  with  sorrow  to 
the  grave.  That  is  a  sister,  weeping  over  evils  which  she  cannot 
arrest  •  and  there  is  the  broken-hearted  wife ;  and  there  are  the 
children,  hapless  innocents,  for  whom  their  father  has  provided 
the  inheritance  only  of  dishonor,  and  nakedness,  and  woe.  And 


LYMAN  BEECHER.  209 

is  this,  beloved  young  men,  the  history  of  your  course  ?  In  this 
scene  of  desolation,  do  you  behold  the  image  of  your  future  selves? 
Is  this  the  poverty  and  disease  which,  as  an  armed  man,  shall 
take  hold  on  you  ?  And  are  your  fathers,  and  mothers,  and  sisters, 
and  wives,  and  children,  to  succeed  to  those  who  now  move  on  in 
this  mournful  procession,  weeping  as  they  go?  Yes:  bright  as 
your  morning  now  opens,  and  high  as  your  hopes  beat,  this  is 
your  noon,  and  your  night,  unless  you  shun  those  habits  of  intem- 
perance which  have  thus  early  made  theirs  a  day  of  clouds,  and 
of  thick  darkness.  If  you  frequent  places  of  evening  resort  for 
social  drinking;  if  you  set  out  with  drinking,  daily,  a  little, 
temperately,  prudently,  it  is  }*ourselves  which,  as  in  a  glass,  you 
behold. 


THE  DUELLIST  UNFIT  FOR  OFFICE. 

And  now,  let  me  ask  you  solemnly, — with  these  considerations 
in  view,  will  you  persist  in  your  attachment  to  these  guilty  men  ? 
Will  you  any  longer,  either  deliberately  or  thoughtlessly,  vote  for 
them  ?  Will  you  renounce  allegiance  to  your  Maker,  and  cast 
the  Bible  behind  your  back  ?  Will  you  confide  in  men  void  of 
the  fear  of  God  and  destitute  of  moral  principle  ?  Will  you  in- 
trust life  to  murderers,  and  liberty  to  despots?  Are  you 
patriots,  and  will  you  constitute  those  legislators  who  despise  you, 
and  despise  equal  laws,  and  wage  war  with  the  eternal  principles 
of  justice  ?  Are  you  Christians,  and,  by  upholding  duellists,  will 
you  deluge  the  land  with  blood,  and  fill  it  with  widows  and  with 
orphans  ?  Will  you  aid  in  the  prostration  of  justice,  in  the  escape 
of  criminals,  in  the  extinction  of  liberty  ?  Will  you  place  in  the 
chair  of  state,  in  the  senate,  or  on  the  bench  of  justice,  men  who, 
if  able,  would  murder  you  for  speaking  truth  ?  Shall  your  elec- 
tions turn  on  expert  shooting,  and  your  deliberative  bodies  become 
an  host  of  armed  men  ?  Will  you  destroy  public  morality  by 
tolerating,  yea,  by  rewarding,  the  most  infamous  crimes  ?  Will 
you  teach  your  children  that  there  is  no  guilt  in  murder  ?  Will 
you  instruct  them  to  think  lightly  of  duelling,  and  train  them  up 
to  destroy  or  be  destroyed  in  the  bloody  field  '?  Will  you  bestow 
your  suffrage,  when  you  know  that  by  withholding  it  you  may 
arrest  this  deadly  evil )  when  this,  too,  is  the  only  way  in  which  it 
can  be  done,  and  when  the  present  is  perhaps  the  only  period  in 
which  resistance  can  avail ;  when  the  remedy  is  so  easy,  so  entirely 
in  your  power )  and  when  God,  if  you  do  not  punish  these  guilty 
men,  will  most  inevitably  punish  you  ? 

Had  you  beheld  a  dying  father  conveyed  bleeding  and  agonizing 
to  his  distracted  family,  had  you  heard  their  piercing  shrieks  and 
witnessed  their  frantic  agony,  would  you  reward  the  savage  man 

18*- 


210 


LYMAN  BEECIIER. 


who  had  plunged  them  in  distress  ?  Had  the  duellist  destroyed 
your  neighbor  ■  had  your  own  father  been  killed  by  the  man  who 
solicits  your  suffrage  j  had  your  son,  laid  low  by  his  hand,  been 
brought  to  your  door  pale  in  death  and  weltering  in  blood  j  would 
you  then  think  the  crime  a  small  one  ?  "Would  you  honor  with 
your  confidence,  and  elevate  to  power  by  your  vote,  the  guilty 
monster  ?  And  what  would  you  think  of  your  neighbors  if,  re' 
gardless  of  your  agony,  they  should  reward  him  ?  xVnd  yet  such 
scenes  of  unutterable  anguish  are  multiplied  every  year.  Every 
year  the  duellist  is  cutting  down  the  neighbor  of  somebody. 
Every  year,  and  many  times  in  the  year,  a  father  is  brought 
dead  or  dying  to  his  family,  or  a  son  laid  breathless  at  the  feet  of 
his  parents ;  and  every  year  you  are  patronizing  by  your  votes  the 
men  who  commit  these  crimes,  and  looking  with  cold  indifference 
upon,  and  even  mocking,  the  sorrows  of  your  neighbour.  Beware, 
— I  admonish  you  to  beware,  and  especially  such  of  you  as  have 
promising  sons  preparing  for  active  life,  lest,  having  no  feeling 
for  the  sorrows  of  another,  you  be  called  to  weep  for  your  own 
sorrow ;  lest  your  sons  fall  by  the  hands  of  the  very  murderer  for 
whom  you  vote,  or  by  the  hand  of  some  one  whom  his  example  has 
trained  to  the  work  of  blood. 


THE  EAST  AND  THE  WEST  ONE. 

What  will  become  of  the  West  if  her  prosperity  rushes  up  to 
such  a  majesty  of  power,  while  those  great  institutions  of  learning 
and  religion  linger  which  are  necessary  to  form  the  mind,  and  the 
conscience,  and  the  heart  of  that  vast  world  ?  It  must  not  be 
permitted.  And  yet  what  is  done  must  be  done  quickly;  for 
population  will  not  wait,  and  commerce  will  not  cast  anchor,  and 
manufactures  will  not  shut  off  the  steam  nor  shut  down  the  gate, 
and  agriculture,  pushed  by  millions  of  freemen  on  their  fertile 
soil,  will  not  withhold  her  corrupting  abundance. 

We  must  educate  !  we  must  educate  !  or  we  must  perish  by  our 
own  prosperity.  If  we  do  not,  short  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave 
will  be  our  race.  If,  in  our  haste  to  be  rich  and  mighty,  we  out- 
run our  literary  and  religious  institutions,  they  will  never  over- 
take us,  or  only  come  up  after  the  battle  of  liberty  is  fought  and 
lost,  as  spoils  to  grace  the  victory,  and  as  resources  of  inexorable 
despotism  for  the  perpetuity  of  our  bondage.  And  let  no  man  at 
the  East  quiet  himself  and  dream  of  liberty  whatever  may  be- 
come of  the  West,  Our  alliance  of  blood,  and  political  institu- 
tions, and  common  interests,  is  such  that  we  cannot  stand  aloof  in 
the  hour  of  her  calamity,  should  it  ever  come.  Her  destiny  is 
our  destiny;  and  the  day  that  her  gallant  ship  goes  down,  our 
little  boat  sinks  in  the  vortex  ! 


JAMES  K.  PAULDING. 


211 


I  would  add,  as  a  motive  to  immediate  action,  that  if  we  do  fail 
in  our  great  experiment  of  self-government,  our  destruction  will 
be  as  signal  as  the  birthright  abandoned,  the  mercies  abused,  and 
the  provocation  offered  to  beneficent  Heaven.  The  descent  of  de- 
solation will  correspond  with  the  past  elevation.  No  punishments 
of  Heaven  are  so  severe  as  those  for  mercies  abused ;  and  no  in- 
strumentality employed  in  their  infliction  is  so  dreadful  as  the 
wrath  of  man.  No  spasms  are  like  the  spasms  of  expiring  liberty, 
and  no  waitings  such  as  her  convulsions  extort.  It  took  Rome 
three  hundred  years  to  die;  and  our  death,  if  we  perish,  will  be 
as  much  more  terrific  as  our  intelligence  and  free  institutions  have 
given  to  us  more  bone  and  sinew  and  vitality.  May  God  hide  me 
from  the  day  when  the  dying  agonies  of  my  country  shall  begin  ! 
0  thou  beloved  land,  bound  together  by  the  ties  of  brother- 
hood, and  common  interest,  and  perils,  live  forever, — one  and 
undivided  !  Plea  for  the  West,  1835. 


JAMES  K.  PAULDING. 

It  is  now1  more  than  half  a  century  since  James  Kirke  Paulding  made  bis  first 
appearance  as  an  author.  He  is  of  the  old  Dutch  stock,  and  was  born  in  Plea- 
sant Valley,  a  town  in  Dutchess  County,  New  York,  on  the  22d  of  August,  177S. 
All  the  advantages  of  education  which  he  had  were  such  only  as  a  country  school 
could  afford;  and  at  about  the  age  of  eighteen,  through  the  assistance  of  one 
of  his  brothers,  he  obtained  a  place  in  a  public  office  in  New  York  City.  His 
sister  had  married  Peter  Irving,  a  merchant  of  high  character,  who  was  after- 
wards a  representative  to  Congress,  and  through  him  he  became  acquainted  with 
his  younger  brother,  Washington  Irving,  with  whom  he  contracted  an  intimate 
friendship.  This  resulted  in  the  publication,  in  1S07,  of  a  series  of  papers,  writ- 
ten sometimes  by  one  and  sometimes  by  the  other,  and  sometimes  jointly  by  both, 
called  Salmagundi,2 — the  principal  object  of  which  was  to  satirize  the  follies  of 
fashionable  life.  Contrary  to  the  expectation  of  the  authors,  it  became  very 
popular,  and  had  a  wide  circulation,  though  at  this  day  most  of  its  wit  and  satire 
is  little  appreciated. 

The  success  of  this  work  probably  decided  the  authors  to  a  literary  life,  who, 
however,  in  future  pursued  their  avocations  separately.  In  1817,  Mr.  Paulding 
published  the  Lay  of  a  Scotch  Fiddle,  a  satirical  poem,  and  Jokehj,  a  burlesque 
of  "  B.okeby,"  in  six  cantos ;  and  the  next  year,  a  prose  pamphlet  entitled  The 
United  States  and  England,  which  was  called  forth  by  a  criticism  in  the  "London 
Quarterly"  on  "  Inchiquiu's  Letters,"  written  by  Mr.  Charles  J.  Ingersoll,  of  Phila- 
delphia.1   In  1815,  he  passed  part  of  the  summer  in  a  tour  through  Virginia, 


1  1859. 

2  A  word  of  French  derivation,  meaning  a  medley,  a  mixture  of  various  ingre- 
dients. 

3  See  note  on  page  103  for  an  account  of  Inchiquiu's  Letters. 


212 


JAMES  K.  PAULDING. 


where  lie  wrote  and  afterwards  published  his  Letters  from  the  South,  containing 
sketches  of  scenery,  manners,  and  character.1  In  1816,  he  published  The  Divert- 
ing History  of  John  Bull  and  Brother  Jonathan,  the  most  popular  of  his  satires; 
in  1818,  The  Backwoodsman,  a  descriptive  poem;  in  the  next  year,  the  second 
series  of  Salmagundi,  of  which  he  was  the  sole  author;  and  in  1823,  Konigsmarhe, 
a  novel  founded  on  the  history  of  the  Swedish  settlements  on  the  Delaware,  the 
title  of  which  was  afterwards  changed  to  that  of  Old  Times  in  the  New  World.  In 
1824  appeared  John  Bull  in  America,  or  The  New  Munchausen;  in  1820,  Merry 
Talcs  of  the  Three  Wise  Jfcn  of  Gotham;  and,  in  the  two  following  years,  The 
New  Pilgrim's  Progress,  and  The  Tides  of  a  Good  Woman  by  a  Doubtful  Gentleman. 
In  1S31,  he  published  his  Dutchman's  Fireside,  the  best  of  his  novels.  It  is  a 
domestic  story  of  the  Old  French  "War,  and  the  scene  is  laid  among  the  sources 
of  the  Hudson  and  the  borders  of  Lake  Champlain.  In  the  three  following  years 
appeared  Westward  Ho,  a  novel  founded  on  forest-life,  the  scenery  of  which  is 
chiefly  in  Kentuckj^;  Life  of  Washington;  and  Slavery  in  the  United  States.2 

From  1837  to  1841,  Mr.  Paulding  was  at  the  head  of  the  Navy  Department 
of  the  United  States,  under  the  Van  Buren  administration ;  since  which  he  has 
retired  from  public  life,  and  now  resides  on  the  east  bank  of  the  Hudson,  about 
eight  miles  above  Poughkeepsie.  In  1846,  he  published  a  new  novel, — The  Old 
Continental ;  and,  in  1850,  his  last  work, — The  Puritan's  Daughter,  the  scenery  of 
which  is  laid  partly  in  England  and  partly  in  the  United  States. 

murderer's  creek. 

Little  more  than  a  century  ago,  the  beautiful  region  watered  by 
this  stream3  was  possessed  by  a  small  tribe  of  Indians,  which  has 
long  since  become  extinct  or  incorporated  with  some  other  savage 
nation  of  the  West.  Three  or  four  hundred  yards  from  where 
the  stream  discharges  itself  into  the  Hudson,  a  white  family,  of 
the  name  of  Stacy,  had  established  itself  in  a  log  house,  by  tacit 
permission  of  the  tribe,  to  whom  Stacy  had  made  himself  useful 
by  his  skill  in  a  variety  of  little  arts  highly  estimated  by  the 
savages.  In  particular,  a  friendship  subsisted  between  him  and 
an  old  Indian,  called  Naoman,  who  often  came  to  his  house  and 
partook  of  his  hospitality.  The  Indians  never  forgive  injuries  nor 
forget  benefits.  The  family  consisted  of  Stacy,  his  wife,  and  two 
children,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  the  former  five,  the  latter  three, 
years  old. 


1  A  large  portion  of  Letter  XL,  upon  slavery,  which,  with  comments  creditable 
to  the  author's  humanity,  pictures  a  distressing  scene  of  a  slave-gang, — men, 
women,  and  children, — chained  together,  and  driven  southward  for  a  market,  was 
suppressed  in  a  second  edition,  a  little  before  the  time  he  was  made  Secretary 
of  the  Navy,  under  Van  Buren. 

2  This  book,  which  does  little  credit  to  the  author,  is  now  out  of  print;  and  I 
presume  another  edition  will  never  be  called  for.  How  wide  the  difference  be- 
tween what  is  written  for  the  times,  to  please  a  diseased,  popular  taste,  and  that 
which  is  written  for  universal,  ever-enduring  truth  ! 

3  In  Orange  County,  New  York. 


JAMES   K.  PAULDING. 


213 


One  day,  Naoman  came  to  Stacy's  log  hut  in  his  absence, 
lighted  his  pipe,  and  sat  down.  He  looked  very  serious,  some- 
times sighed  deeply,  but  said  not  a  word.  Stacy's  wife  asked 
him  what  was  the  matter, — if  he  was  sick.  He  shook  his  head, 
sighed,  but  said  nothing,  and  soon  went  away.  The  next  day,  he 
came  again  and  behaved  in  the  same  manner.  Stacy's  wife  began 
to  think  strange  of  this,  and  related  it  to  her  husband,  who  ad- 
vised her  to  urge  the  old  man  to  an  explanation  the  next  time  he 
came.  Accordingly,  when  he  repeated  his  visit  the  day  after,  she 
was  more  importunate  than  usual.  At  last  the  old  Indian  said, 
¥  I  am  a  red  man,  and  the  pale  faces  are  our  enemies  :  why  should 
I  speak  ?" — "  But  my  husband  and  I  are  your  friends  :  you  have 
eaten  salt  with  us  a  thousand  times,  and  my  children  have  sat  on 
your  knees  as  often.  If  you  have  any  thing  on  your  mind,  tell  it 
me." — "  It  will  cost  me  my  life  if  it  is  known,  and  the  white- 
faced  women  are  not  good  at  keeping  secrets,"  replied  Naoman. — 
"  Try  me,  and  see." — "  Will  you  swear  by  your  Great  Spirit  that 
you  will  tell  none  but  your  husband  ?" — u  I  have  none  else  to 
tell." — "But  will  you  swear?" — "I  do  swear  by  our  Great  Spirit 
I  will  tell  none  but  my  husband." — "  Not  if  my  tribe  should  kill 
you  for  not  telling?" — "Not  if  your  tribe  should  kill  me  for  not 
telling." 

Naoinan  then  proceeded  to  tell  her  that,  owing  to  some  en- 
croachments of  the  white  people  below  the  mountains,  his  tribe 
had  become  irritated,  and  were  resolved  that  night  to  massacre  all 
the  white  settlers  within  their  reach ;  that  she  must  send  for  her 
husband,  inform  him  of  the  danger,  and,  as  secretly  and  speedily 
as  possible,  take  their  canoe  and  paddle  with  all  haste  over  the 
river  to  Fishkill  for  safety.  "  Be  quick,  and  do  nothing  that  may 
excite  suspicion,"  said  Naoman,  as  he  departed.  The  good  wife 
sought  her  husband,  who  was  down  on  the  river  fishing;  told  him 
the  story,  and,  as  no  time  was  to  be  lost,  they  proceeded  to  their 
boat,  which  was  unluckily  filled  with  water.  It  took  some  time 
to  clear  it  out,  and,  meanwhile,  Stacy  recollected  his  gun,  which 
had  been  left  behind.  He  proceeded  to  the  house,  and  returned 
with  it.  All  this  took  up  considerable  time,  and  precious  time  it 
proved  to  this  poor  family.  The  daily  visits  of  old  Naoman,  and 
his  more  than  ordinary  gravity,  had  excited  suspicion  in  some  of 
the  tribe,  who  had,  accordingly,  paid  particular  attention  to  the 
movements  of  Stacy.  One  of  the  young  Indians,  who  had  been 
kept  on  the  watch,  seeing  the  whole  family  about  to  take  to  the 
boat,  ran  to  the  little  Indian  village,  about  a  mile  off,  and  gave  the 
alarm.  Five  Indians  collected,  ran  down  to  the  river,  where  their 
canoes  were  moored,  jumped  in,  and  paddled  after  Stacy,  who  by 
this  time  had  got  some  distance  out  into  the  stream.  They  gained 
on  him  so  fast  that  twice  he  dropped  his  paddle  and  took  up  his 


214 


JAMES  K.  PAULDING. 


gun.  But  his  wife  prevented  his  shooting  by  telling  him  that,  if 
he  fired  and  they  were  afterwards  overtaken,  they  would  meet 
with  no  mercy  from  the  Indians.  He  accordingly  refrained,  and 
plied  his  paddle  till  the  sweat  rolled  in  big  drops  down  his  fore- 
head. All  would  not  do  :  they  were  overtaken  within  a  hundred 
yards  from  the  shore,  and  carried  back  with  shouts  of  yelling 
triumph. 

When  they  got  ashore,  the  Indians  set  fire  to  Stacy's  house, 
and  dragged  himself,  his  wife  and  children,  to  their  village. 
Here  the  principal  old  men,  and  Naoman  among  them,  assembled 
to  deliberate  on  the  affair.  The  chief  men  of  the  council  stated 
that  some  of  the  tribe  had  undoubtedly  been  guilty  of  treason,  in 
apprizing  Stacy,  the  white  man,  of  the  designs  of  the  tribe, 
whereby  they  took  the  alarm  and  wellnigh  escaped.  He  proposed 
to  examine  the  prisoners,  to  learn  who  gave  the  information.  The 
old  men  assented  to  this,  and  Naoman  among  the  rest.  Stacy  was 
first  interrogated  by  one  of  the  old  men,  who  spoke  English  and 
interpreted  to  the  others.  Stacy  refused  to  betray  his  informant. 
His  wife  was  then  questioned  j  while,  at  the  same  moment,  two 
Indians  stood  threatening  the  two  children  with  tomahawks,  in 
case  she  did  not  confess.  She  attempted  to  evade  the  truth,  by 
declaring  she  had  a  dream  the  night  before,  which  alarmed  her, 
and  that  she  had  persuaded  her  husband  to  fly.  "  The  Great 
Spirit  never  deigns  to  talk  in  dreams  to  a  white  face,"  said  the  old 
Indian.  "  Woman,  thou  hast  two  tongues  and  two  faces.  Speak 
the  truth,  or  thy  children  shall  surely  die."  The  little  boy  and 
girl  were  then  brought  close  to  her,  and  the  two  savages  stood 
over  them,  ready  to  execute  their  bloody  orders. 

"  Wilt  thou  name,"  said  the  old  Indian,  "  the  red  man  who  be- 
trayed his  tribe  ?  I  will  ask  thee  three  times."  The  mother 
answered  not.  "  Wilt  thou  name  the  traitor  ?  This  is  the  second 
time."  The  poor  mother  looked  at  her  husband  and  then  at  her 
children,  and  stole  a  glance  at  Naoman,  who  sat  smoking  his  pipe 
with  invincible  gravity.  She  wrung  her  hands,  and  wept,  but  re- 
mained silent.  "  Wilt  thou  name  the  traitor?  'Tis  the  third  and 
last  time."  The  agony  of  the  mother  waxed  more  bitter :  again 
she  sought  the  eye  of  Naoman,  but  it  was  cold  and  motionless. 
A  pause  of  a  moment  awaited  her  reply,  and  the  tomahawks  were 
raised  over  the  heads  of  the  children,  who  besought  their  mother 
not  to  let  them  be  murdered. 

"  Stop,"  cried  Naoman.  All  eyes  were  turned  upon  him. 
"  Stop,"  repeated  he,  in  a  tone  of  authority.  "  White  woman, 
thou  hast  kept  thy  word  with  me  to  the  last  moment.  I  am  the 
traitor.  I  have  eaten  of  the  salt,  warmed  myself  at  the  fire, 
shared  the  kindness,  of  these  Christian  white  people,  and  it  was  I 
that  told  them  of  their  danger.    I  am  a  withered,  leafless,  branch- 


JAMES  K.  PAULDING 


215 


less  trunk.  Cut  me  down,  if  you  will :  I  am  ready."  A  yell  of 
indignation  sounded  on  all  sides.  Naoman  descended  from  the 
little  bank  where  he  sat,  shrouded  his  face  with  his  mantle  of 
skins,  and  submitted  to  his  fate.  He  fell  dead  at  the  feet  of  the 
white  woman  by  a  blow  of  the  tomahawk. 

But  the  sacrifice  of  Naoman  and  the  firmness  of  the  Christian 
white  woman  did  not  suffice  to  save  the  lives  of  the  other  victims. 
They  perished, — how,  it  is  needless  to  say;  and  the  memory  of 
their  fate  has  been  preserved  in  the  name  of  the  pleasant  stream 
on  whose  banks  they  lived  and  died,  which  to  this  day  is  called 
.Murderer's  Creek. 

QUARREL  OF  SQUIRE  BULL  AND  HIS  SON. 

John  Bull  was  a  choleric  old  fellow,  who  held  a  good  manor  in 
the  middle  of  a  great  mill-pond,  and  which,  by  reason  of  its  being 
quite  surrounded  by  water,  was  generally  called  Bulloch  Maud. 
Bull  was  an  ingenious  man,  an  exceedingly  good  blacksmith,  a 
dexterous  cutler,  and  a  notable  weaver  and  pot-baker  besides.  He 
also  brewed  capital  porter,  ale,  and  small  beer,  and  was  in  fact  a 
sort  of  Jack-of-all-trades,  aud  good  at  each.  In  addition  to  these, 
he  was  a  hearty  fellow,  an  excellent  bottle-companion,  and  pass- 
ably honest  as  times  go. 

But  what  tarnished  all  these  qualities  was  a  very  quarrelsome, 
overbearing  disposition,  which  was  always  getting  him  into  some 
scrape  or  other.  The  truth  is,  he  never  heard  of  a  quarrel  going 
on  among  his  neighbors  but  his  fingers  itched  to  be  in  the  thickest 
of  them  \  so  that  he  was  hardly  ever  seen  without  a  broken  head, 
a  black  eye,  or  a  bloody  nose.  Such  was  Squire  Bull,  as  he  was 
commonly  called  by  the  country-people  his  neighbors, — one  of 
those  odd,  testy,  grumbling,  boasting  old  codgers,  that  never  get 
credit  for  what  they  are,  because  they  are  always  pretending  to  be 
what  they  are  not. 

The  squire  was  as  tight  a  hand  to  deal  with  in  doors  as  out ; 
sometimes  treating  his  family  as  if  they  were  not  the  same  flesh 
and  blood,  when  they  happened  to  differ  with  him  in  certain 
matters.  One  day  he  got  into  a  dispute  with  his  youngest  son 
Jonathan,  who  was  familiarly  called  Brother  Jonathan,  about 
whether  churches  ought  to  be  called  churches  or  meeting-houses, 
and  whether  steeples  were  not  an  abomination.  The  squire,  either 
having  the  worst  of  the  argument,  or  being  naturally  impatient 
of  contradiction,  (I  can't  tell  which,)  fell  into  a  great  passion,  and 
swore  he  would  physic  such  notions  out  of  the  boy's  noddle.  So 
he  went  to  some  of  his  doctors  and  got  them  to  draw  up  a  pre- 
scription, made  up  of  thirty-nine  different  articles,  many  of  them 
bitter  enough  to  some  palates.    This  he  tried  to  make  Jonathan 


21G 


JAMES  K.  PAULDING. 


swallow,  and,  finding  he  made  villanous  wry  faces,  and  would  not 
do  it,  fell  upon  him  and  beat  him  like  fury.  After  this,  he  made 
the  house  so  disagreeable  to  him,  that  Jonathan,  though  as  hard 
as  a  pine^knot  and  as  tough  as  leather,  could  bear  it  no  longer. 
Taking  his  gun  and  his  axe,  he  put  himself  in  a  boat  and  paddled 
over  the  mill-pond  to  some  new  lands  to  which  the  squire  pre- 
tended some  sort  of  claim,  intending  to  settle  them,  and  build  a 
meeting-house  without  a  steeple  as  soon  as  he  grew  rich  enough. 

When  he  got  over,  Jonathan  found  that  the  land  was  quite  in 
a  state  of  nature,  covered  with  wood,  and  inhabited  by  nobody  but 
wild  beasts.  But,  being  a  lad  of  mettle,  he  took  his  axe  on  one 
shoulder  and  his  gun  on  the  other,  marched  into  the  thickest  of 
the  wood,  and,  clearing  a  place,  built  a_  log  hut.  Pursuing  his 
labors,  and  handling  his  axe  like  a  notable  woodman,  he  in  a  few 
years  cleared  the  land,  which  he  laid  out  into  th  irteen  good  farms} 
and,  building  himself  a  fine  frame  house,  about  half  finished,  began 
to  be  quite  snug  and  comfortable. 

But  Squire  Bull,  who  was  getting  old  and  stingy,  and,  besides, 
was  in  great  want  of  money,  on  account  of  his  having  lately  been 
made  to  pay  swinging  damages  for  assaulting  his  neighbors  and 
breaking  their  heads, — the  squire,  I  say,  finding  Jonathan  was 
getting  well  to  do  in  the  world,  began  to  be  very  much  troubled 
about  his  welfare;  so  he  demanded  that  Jonathan  should  pay  him 
a  good  rent  for  the  land  which  he  had  cleared  and  made  good  for 
something.  He  trumped  up  I  know  not  what  claim  against  him, 
and,  under  different  pretences,  managed  to  pocket  all  Jonathan's 
honest  gains.  In  fact,  the  poor  lad  had  not  a  shilling  left  for 
holiday  occasions  ',  and,  had  it  not  been  for  the  filial  respect  he 
felt  for  the  old  man,  he  would  certainly  have  refused  to  submit  to 
such  impositions. 

But,  for  all  this,  in  a  little  time  Jonathan  grew  up  to  be  very 
large  of  his  age,  and  became  a  tall,  stout,  double-jointed,  broad- 
footed  cub  of  a  fellow,  awkward  in  his  gait  and  simple  in  his  ap- 
pearance, but  showing  a  lively,  shrewd  look,  and  having  the  pro- 
mise of  great  strength  when  he  should  get  his  full  growth.  He 
was  rather  an  odd-looking  chap,  in  truth,  and  had  many  queer 
ways  ;  but  everybody  that  had  seen  John  Bull  saw  a  great  like- 
ness between  them,  and  swore  he  was  John's  own  boy,  and  a  true 
chip  of  the  old  block.  Like  the  old  squire,  he  was  apt  to  be 
blustering  and  saucy,  but  in  the  main  was  a  peaceable  sort  of 
careless  fellow,  that  would  quarrel  with  nobody  if  you  only  let 
him  alone. 

While  Jonathan  was  outgrowing  his  strength,  Bull  kept  on 
picking  his  pockets  of  every  penny  he  could  scrape  together ;  till 
at  last  one  day  when  the  squire  was  even  more  than  usually  press- 
ing in  his  demands,  which  he  accompanied  with  threats,  Jonathan 


"WILLIAM  TUDOR. 


217 


started  up  in  a  furious  passion,  and  threw  the  tea-kettle  at  the 
old  man's  head.  The  choleric  Bull  was  hereupon  exceedingly 
enraged ;  and,  after  calling  the  poor  lad  an  undutiful,  ungrateful, 
rebellious  rascal,  seized  him  by  the  collar,  and  forthwith  a  furious 
scuffle  ensued.  This  lasted  a  long  time ;  for  the  squire,  though 
in  years,  was  a  capital  boxer,  and  of  most  excellent  bottom.  At 
last,  however,  Jonathan  got  him  under,  and,  before  he  would  let 
him  up,  made  him  sign  a  paper  giving  up  all  claim  to  the  farms, 
and  acknowledging  the  fee-simple  to  be  in  Jonathan  forever. 


"WILLIAM  TUDOR,  1779—1830. 

The  family  of  Tudor  is  of  "Welsh  origin.  John,  the  first  of  the  name  in  America, 
came  to  Boston  early  the  last  century.  His  son  "William,  having  graduated  at 
Harvard  College  in  1769,  commenced  the  practice  of  law  in  Boston,  and  married 
Delia  Jarvis,  a  lady  of  refinement  and  of  taste  congenial  with  his  own.  Their 
son  William,  the  subject  of  this  biographical  sketch,  was  born  in  Boston  on  the 
28th  of  January,  1779,  was  fitted  for  college  at  Phillips  Academy,  in  Andover, 
and  graduated  at  Harvard  in  1796.  Being  destined  for  commercial  life,  he 
entered  the  counting-room  of  John  Codman;  and  when  he  was  twenty-one,  he 
was  sent  by  him  to  Paris,  as  his  confidential  agent  in  a  matter  of  great  business 
interest.  After  being  abroad  nearly  a  year,  he  returned  home,  and  soon  after 
went  to  Leghorn  on  commercial  business ;  visiting  also  Prance,  Germany,  and 
England,  and  returned  to  America,  confirmed  in  his  love  of  letters,  which,  amid 
all  the  turmoil  of  business,  he  ever  continued  to' cherish.  A  few  of  his  friends  and 
associates  had  for  sometime  contemplated  the  formation  of  a  literary  club :  he 
entered  warmly  into  their  views,  and  soon  the  Anthology  Society  was  formed,  of 
which  he  was  one  of  the  most  efficient  as  well  as  earliest  members.1 


1  The  Monthly  Anthology  was  begun  by  Mr.  Phineas  Adams,  a  graduate  of 
Harvard,  and  then  a  schoolmaster  in  Boston.  The  first  number,  under  the  title 
of  "  The  Monthly  Anthology  and  Boston  Review,  edited  by  Sylvanus  Per-se," 
was  published  in  Boston  by  E.  Lincoln,  in  November,  1803.  At  the  end  of  six 
months,  he  gave  it  up  to  the  Rev.  "William  Emerson,*  who  induced  two  or  three 
gentlemen  to  join  with  him  in  the  care  of  the  work,  and  thus  laid  the  foundation 
of  the  Anthology  Club.  The  club  was  regularly  organized  and  governed  by  rules  ; 
the  number  of  resident  members  varied  from  eight  to  sixteen.  It  was  one  of  its 
rules  that  every  member  should  write  for  the  work,  and  nothing  was  published 
without  the  consent  of  the  society.  The  club  met  once  a  week  in  the  evening, 
and.  after  deciding  on  the  merits  of  the  manuscripts  offered,  partook  of  a  plain 
supper,  and  enjoyed  the  full  pleasure  of  a  literary  chat.  The  following  were  the 
members  of  the  club,  some  for  a  short  time  only,  others  during  the  greater  part 


*  Mr.  Emerson  was  pastor  of  the  -  First  Church"  in  Boston  from  1799  to  1811.  It  wis  on 
his  motion,  in  the  Anthology  Club,  seconded  by  Wm.  Smith  Shaw,  that  the  vote  to  establish 
a  library  of  periodical  publications  was  adopted:  and  this  constituted  the  first  step  towards 
the  establishment  of  the  Boston  Athen£eum,  whose  library  is  now  one  of  the  best  in  the 
country.  While  this  noble  institution  endures,  it  will  perpetuate  the  memory  of  the 
"  Anthology  Club." 

19 


218 


WILLIAM  TUDOR. 


In  the  year  1S05,  Frederick  Tudor,  the  brother  of  William,  formed  the  plan  of 
establishing  a  new  branch  of  commerce,  by  the  transportation  of  ice  to  the  tropi- 
cal climates.  The  plan  was,  of  course,  ridiculed  by  a  large  portion  of  the  com- 
munity; but  he  persevered.  William  was  sent  as  his  agent  to  the  West  Indies; 
and  though  many  obstacles,  as  might  be  expected,  were  encountered,  yet  the  per- 
severance of  Frederick  finally  triumphed  over  all.  He  established  the  traffic, 
accpuired  in  it  great  affluence,  and  created  for  his  country  an  important  branch 
of  commerce,  of  which  he  was  unquestionably  the  author  and  founder. 

On  his  return  from  the  Y\"est  Indies,  William  Tudor  rejoined  the  Anthology 
Club,  was  chosen  a  member  of  the  Massachusetts  Legislature  for  the  town  of  Bos- 
ton, and,  at  the  request  of  its  authorities,  delivered  an  oration  on  the  4th  of  July, 
1S09.  In  1S10,  he  again  went  to  Europe,  in  the  employ  of  Stephen  Higginson, 
Jr.,  an  eminent  Boston  merchant,  upon  commercial  business;  but  returned,  the 
next  year,  to  devote  his  time  to  pursuits  more  kindred  to  his  genius.  Indeed, 
general  literature  and  the  political  relations  of  his  country  now  became  the  chief 
objects  of  his  attention ;  and  to  open  a  field  for  the  discussion  of  these  subjects,  he 
formed,  in  1811,  the  design  of  establishing  the  "Xorth  American  Review,"  which 
still  continues  a  noble  monument  of  his  industry,  intellectual  power,  and  varied 
learning.    In  May,  1815,  it  first  made  its  appearance.1    Mr.  Tudor  took  upon 

of  its  existence: — Rev.  Drs.  Gardiner,  Kirkland,  and  McKean,  Professor  Sidney 
Willard,  Rev.  Messrs.  Emerson,  Buckminster,  S.  C.  Thacher,  and  Tuckerman  ; 
Drs.  Jackson,  Warren,  Gorham,  and  Bigelow;  Messrs.  W.  S.  Shaw,  Wm.  Tudor, 
Peter  Thacher,  Arthur  M.  Walter,  Edmund  T.  Dana,  Wm.  Wells,  R.  H.  Gardiner, 
B.  Welles,  J.  Savage,  J.  Field,  Winthrop  Sargent,  Thomas  Gray,  J.  Stickney, 
Alex.  H.  Everett,  J.  Head,  Jr.,  and  George  Ticknor.  This  work  undoubtedly 
rendered  great  service  to  our  literature,  and  aided  in  the  diffusion  of  good  taste  in 
the  community.  It  was  one  of  the  first  efforts  of  regular  criticism  on  American 
books,  and  it  suffered  few  productions  of  the  day  to  escape  its  notice.  The 
writers,  of  course,  received  no  pay:  they  worked  in  this  field  for  the  love  of  it; 
for  the  profits  of  the  Review  did  not  pay  for  their  suppers. 

1  The  "  Xorth  American  Review"  came  out,  under  Mr.  Tudor's  editorship, 
in  May,  1S15.  It  was  published  at  first  every  two  months,  and  was  thus  con- 
tinued to  the  twenty-first  number,  (inclusive.)  which  was  the  number  for  Septem- 
ber, 1818.  Three  numbers  constituted  a  volume :  consequently,  the  first  seven 
volumes  are  of  the  bi-monthly  issue.  With  December,  ISIS,  commenced  the 
eighth  volume  with  the  quarterly  issue.  The  tenth  volume  begins  with  January, 
1S20,  and  is  called  the  first  of  the  "  new  series,"  probably  because  it  passed  over 
December,  in  order  that  the  volumes  might  thenceforth  correspond  with  the  years, 
there  being  two  volumes  in  the  same  year.  The  following  have  been  the  editors 
of  this  ablest  and  oldest  of  American  periodicals  : — 


William  Tudor   from  Mav,  1S15,  to  March,  1817,  inclusive,   4  vols. 

Jared  Sparks   "  Mav,  1S17,  to  March,  1S18,  "  2  " 

Edward  T.  Channine....  "  May,  1818,  to  Sept.,    1S19,  "  3  " 

Edward  Everett  .T....  "  Jan.,  1820,  to  Oct.,     1823,  «  8  " 

Jared  Sparks   "  Jan.,  1 S24,  to  April,   1830,  «  13  « 

Alex.  H.  Everett   "  July,  1830,  to  Oct.,     1835,  "  11  « 

John  G.  Palfrey   "  Jan.,  1836,  to  Oct.,     1842,  «  14  " 

Francis  Bowen   "  Jan.,  1843,  to  Oct.,     1S53,  "  22  " 

Andrew  P.  Peabody   «  Jan.,  1854,  to  Oct.,     1S58,  "  10  " 


Total  volumes  to  185S,  inclusive...  87 
The  Rev.  Andrew  P.  Peabody,  of  Portsmouth,  N.H.,  still  continues  the  editorship 
of  this  review,  of  whom  it  is  praise  enough  to  say  that  he  fully  sustains  it?  pre- 
vious high  reputation. 


WILLIAM  TUDOR. 


219 


himself,  avowedly,  the  character  of  editor,  and  sustained  the  work  with  little 
external  aid.  Of  the  first  four  volumes,  three-fourths  of  the  articles  arc  known 
to  he  wholly  from  his  pen. 

In  1S19,  Mr.  Tudor  published  Letters  on  the  Eastern  States  ;  in  1S21,  a  volume 
of  Miscellanies  j  and  in  1S23,  the  Life  of  James  Otis,  a  most  instructive  and  inte- 
resting piece  of  biography,  which  may  indeed  be  regarded  as  a  history  of  the 
times.  In  the  same  year,  he  conceived  the  design  of  purchasing  the  summit  of 
Bunker  Hill,  and  erecting  thereon  a  monument  commemorative  of  the  battle. 
Xot  having  the  means  himself,  he  communicated  his  views  to  some  wealthy 
friends,  and  the  result  was  the  organization  of  the  "Bunker  Hill  Monument 
Association." 

In  1S23,  he  was  appointed  Consul  at  Lima  and  the  ports  of  Peru,  the  duties  of 
which  office  he  discharged  with  singular  ability.  There  he  remained  till,  in  1S27, 
he  received  the  appointment  of  Charge  d'Affaires  of  the  United  States  at  Rio 
Janeiro,  where  he  died  on  the  9th  of  March,  1S30,  of  a  fever  incident  to  the 
climate. 

In  "William  Tudor,  the  qualities  of  the  gentleman  and  the  man  of  busiuess,  of 
the  scholar  and  the  man  of  the  world,  were  so  manifestly  and  so  happily  blended, 
that,  both  in  public  conduct  and  private  intercourse,  his  character  commanded 
universal  respect  and  confidence.  And  when  we  look  at  the  part  he  took  in  sus- 
taining the  "  Monthly  Anthology,"  at  a  time  when  we  hardly  had  any  literature 
of  our  own,  and  subsequently  as  the  founder  of  the  "  North  American  Review," 
and  the  chief  writer  of  its  earlier  volumes,  we  must  say  that  to  no  one  is  the  cause 
of  American  literature  more  deeply  indebted.1 

INFLUENCE  OF  FEMALES  ON  SOCIETY. 

From  an  accurate  account  of  the  condition  of  women  in  any 
country,  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  infer  the  whole  state  of  society. 
So  great  is  the  influence  they  exercise  on  the  character  of  men, 
that  the  latter  will  be  elevated  or  degraded  according  to  the  situa- 
tion of  the  weaker  sex.  Where  women  are  slaves,  as  in  Turkey, 
the  men  will  be  the  same ;  where  they  are  treated  as  moral  beings, 
where  their  minds  are  cultivated,  and  they  are  considered  equals, 
the  state  of  society  must  be  high,  and  the  character  of  the  men 
energetic  and  noble.  There  is  so  much  quickness  of  comprehen- 
sion, so  much  susceptibility  of  pure  and  generous  emotion,  so 
much  ardor  of  affection,  in  women,  that  they  constantly  stimulate 
men  to  exertion,  and  have  at  the  same  time  a  most  powerful 
agency  in  soothing  the  angry  feelings,  and  in  mitigating  the  harsh 
and  narrow  propensities,  which  are  generated  in  the  strife  of  the 
passions. 

The  advantages  of  giving  a  superior  education  to  women  are  not 
confined  to  themselves,  but  have  a  salutary  influence  on  our  sex. 


1  Read  an  excellent  sketch  of  his  life  in  "  The  History  of  the  Boston  Athe- 
naeum," by  Hon.  Josiah  Quincy. 


220 


WILLIAM  TUDOR. 


The  fear  that  increased  instruction  will  render  them  incompetent 
or  neglectful  in  domestic  life,  is  absurd  in  theory  and  completely 
destroyed  by  facts.  Women,  as  well  as  men,  when  once  esta- 
blished in  life,  know  that  there  is  an  end  of  trifling ;  its  solicitudes 
and  duties  multiply  upon  them  equally  fast ;  the  former  are  apt  to 
feel  them  much  more  keenly,  and  too  frequently  abandon  all  pre- 
vious acquirements  to  devote  themselves  wholly  to  these.  But  if 
the  one  sex  have  cultivated  and  refined  minds,  the  other  must 
meet  them  from  shame,  if  not  from  sympathy.  If  a  man  finds 
that  his  wife  is  not  a  mere  nurse  or  a  housekeeper ;  that  she  can, 
when  the  occupations  of  the  day  are  over,  enliven  a  winter's  even- 
ing; that  she  can  converse  on  the  usual  topics  of  literature,  and 
enjoy  the  pleasures  of  superior  conversation,  or  the  reading  of  a 
valuable  book,  he  must  have  a  perverted  taste  indeed  if  it  does  not 
make  home  still  dearer,  and  prevent  him  from  resorting  to  taverns 
for  recreation  The  benefits  to  her  children  need  not  be  men- 
tioned ;  instruction  and  cultivated  taste  in  a  mother  enhance  their 
respect  and  affection  for  her  and  their  love  of  home,  and  throw  a 
charm  over  the  whole  scene  of  domestic  life. 

CHARACTER  OF  JAMES  OTIS. 

James  Otis  was  one  of  the  most  able  and  high-minded  men  that 
this  country  has  produced  He  was,  in  truth,  one  of  the  master- 
spirits who  began  and  conducted  an  opposition  which  at  first  was 
only  designed  to  counteract  and  defeat  an  arbitrary  administration, 
but  which  ended  in  a  revolution,  emancipated  a  continent,  and 
established,  by  the  example  of  its  effects,  a  lasting  influence  on  all 
the  governments  of  the  civilized  world.  He  espoused  the  cause 
of  his  country  not  merely  because  it  was  popular,  but  because  he 
saw  that  its  prosperity,  freedom,  and  honor  would  be  all  dimi- 
nished, if  the  usurpation  of  the  British  Parliament  was  successful. 
His  enemies  constantly  represented  him  as  a  demagogue,  yet  no 
man  was  less  so ;  his  character  was  too  liberal,  proud,  and  honest 
to  play  that  part.  He  led  public  opinion  by  the  energy  which 
conscious  strength,  elevated  views,  and  quick  feelings  inspire ;  and 
was  followed  with  that  deference  and  reliance  which  great  talents 
instinctively  command.  These  were  the  qualifications  that  made 
him  for  many  years  the  oracle  and  guide  of  the  patriotic  party.  It 
was  not  by  supple  and  obscure  intrigues,  by  unworthy  flatteries 
and  compliances,  by  a  degrading  adoption  of  plebeian  dress,  man- 
ners, or  language,  that  he  obtained  the  suffrages  of  the  people,  but 
by  their  opinion  of  his  uprightness,  their  knowledge  of  his  disin- 
terestedness, and  their  conviction  of  his  ability.  He  vindicated 
the  rights  of  his  countrymen,  not  in  the  spirit  of  a  factious  tri- 
bune, aiming  to  subvert  established  authority,  but  as  a  Roman 


WILLIAM  TUDOR. 


221 


senator,  who  became  the  voluntary  advocate  of  an  injured  pro- 
vince. He  valued  his  own  standing,  and  that  of  his  family,  in 
society,  and  did  not  wish  a  change  or  a  revolution.  He  acknow- 
ledged a  common  interest  with  his  countrymen,  and  sacrificed  in 
their  support  all  his  hopes  of  personal  aggrandizement.  Had  he 
taken  part  with  the  administration,  he  might  have  commanded 
every  favor  in  their  power  to  bestow ;  in  sustaining  that  of  his 
native  land,  he  well  knew  that  his  only  reward  would  be  the  good 
will  of  its  inhabitants,  and  the  sweet  consciousness  of  performing 
his  duty ;  and  that  he  must  be  satisfied  with  the  common  lot  of 
great  patriotism  in  all  ages, — present  poverty  and  future  fame. 

In  fine,  he  was  a  man  of  powerful  genius  and  ardent  temper, 
with  wit  and  humor  that  never  failed  :  as  an  orator,  he  was  bold, 
argumentative,  impetuous,  and  commanding,  with  an  eloquence 
that  made  his  own  excitement  irresistibly  contagious;  as  a  lawyer, 
his  knowledge  and  ability  placed  him  at  the  head  of  his  profession ; 
as  a  scholar,  he  was  rich  in  acquisition,  and  governed  by  a  classic 
taste;  as  a  statesman  and  civilian,  he  was  sound  and  just  in  his 
views ;  as  a  patriot,  he  resisted  all  allurements  that  might  weaken 
the  cause  of  that  country  to  which  he  devoted  his  life,  and  for 
which  he  sacrificed  it.  The  future  historian  of  the  United  States, 
in  considering  the  foundations  of  American  independence,  will 
find  that  one  of  the  corner-stones  must  be  inscribed  with  the 
name  of  James  Otis. 

CAUSE  OE  THE  AMERICAN  REVOLUTION. 

The  following  authentic  anecdote  on  the  origin  of  American 
taxation  may  be  gratifying  to  persons  who  are  fond  of  tracing  the 
currents  of  events  up  to  their  primitive  sources,  and  who  know 
how  often  changes  in  human  affairs  are  first  put  in  motion  by 
very  trifling  causes.  When  President  Adams  was  minister  at  the 
Court  of  St.  James,  he  often  saw  his  countryman,  Benjamin  West, 
the  late  President  of  the  Royal  Academy.  Mr.  West  always  re- 
tained a  strong  and  unyielding  affection  for  his  native  land,  which, 
to  borrow  a  term  of  his  own  art,  was  in  fine  keeping  with  his  ele- 
vated genius.  The  patronage  of  the  king  was  nobly  bestowed 
upon  him;  and  it  forms  a  fine  trait  in  the  character  of  both,  that, 
when  a  malicious  courtier  endeavored  to  embarrass  him,  by  asking 
his  opinion  on  the  news  of  some  disastrous  event  to  America,  in 
the  presence  of  the  king,  he  replied  that  he  never  could  rejoice  in 
any  misfortune  to  his  native  country ;  for  which  answer  the  king 
immediately  gave  him  his  protecting  approbation.  Mr.  West  one 
day  asked  Mr.  Adams  if  he  should  like  to  take  a  walk  with  him, 
and  see  the  cause  of  the  American  Revolution.  The  minister, 
having  known  something  of  this  matter,  smiled  at  the  proposal, 


222 


FRANCIS  S.  KEY. 


but  told  him  that  he  should  be  glad  to  see  the  cause  of  that  revo- 
lution, and  to  take  a  walk  with  his  friend  West  anywhere.  The 
next  morning  he  called,  according  to  agreement,  and  took  Mr. 
Adams  into  Hyde  Park,  to  a  spot  near  the  Serpentine  River, 
where  he  gave  him  the  following  narrative  : — "  The  king  came  to 
the  throne  a  young  man,  surrounded  by  flattering  courtiers,  one 
of  whose  frequent  topics  it  was  to  declaim  against  the  meanness 
of  his  palace,  which  was  wholly  unworthy  a  monarch  of  such  a 
country  as  England.  They  said  that  there  was  not  a  sovereign  in 
Europe  who  was  lodged  so  poorly;  that  his  sorry,  dingy,  old  brick 
palace  of  St.  James  looked  like  a  stable,  and  that  he  ought  to 
build  a  palace  suited  to  his  kingdom.  The  king  was  fond  of  archi- 
tecture, and  would  therefore  more  readily  listen  to  suggestions 
which  were,  in  fact,  all  true.  This  spot  that  you  see  here  was 
selected  for  the  site,  between  this  and  this  point,  which  were 
marked  out.  The  king  applied  to  his  ministers  on  the  subject; 
they  inquired  what  sum  would  be  wanted  by  his  majesty,  who  said 
that  he  would  begin  with  a  million.  They  stated  the  expenses  of 
the  war,  and  the  poverty  of  the  treasury,  but  that  his  majesty's 
wishes  should  be  taken  into  full  consideration.  Some  time  after- 
wards, the  king  was  informed  that  the  wants  of  the  treasury  were 
too  urgent  to  admit  of  a  supply  from  their  present  means,  but  that 
a  revenue  might  be  raised  in  America  to  supply  all  the  king's 
wishes.  This  suggestion  was  followed  up,  and  the  king  was  in 
this  way  first  led  to  consider,  and  then  to  consent  to,  the  scheme 
for  taxing  the  colonies." 


FRANCIS  S.  KEY,  1779—1843. 

Francis  Scott  Key,  the  son  of  an  officer  in  the  army  of  the  Revolution,  was 
born  in  Frederick  County,  Maryland,  August  1,  1779.  He  studied  law,  and  in 
1801  established  himself  in  his  profession  at  Fredericktown ;  but,  after  a  few 
years,  he  removed  to  "Washington,  D.  C,  and  became  District-Attorney  for  the 
city,  where  he  lived  till  his  death,  January  11,  1843. 

A  small  volume  of  Mr.  Key's  poems  was  published,  with  an  introductory  letter 
by  Chief-Justice  Taney,  in  1S57.  Besides  that  stirring  national  song  by  which 
he  is  chiefly  known,  it  contains  many  pieces  of  very  great  beauty. 

THE  STAR-SPANGLED  BANNER.1 
I. 

Oh,  say,  can  you  see,  by  the  dawn's  early  light, 

What  so  proudly  we  hail'd,  at  the  twilight's  last  gleaming  ? 


1  In  1814,  when  the  British  fleet  was  at  the  mouth  of  the  Potomac  River,  and 
intended  to  attack  Baltimore,  Mr.  Key  and  Mr.  Skinner  were  sent  in  a  vessel  with 


FRANCIS  S.  KEY. 


223 


Whose  broad  stripes  and  bright  stars,  through  the  perilous  fight, 

O'er  the  ramparts  we  watch'd,  were  so  gallantly  streaming ; 
And  the  rockets'  red  glare,  the  bombs  bursting  in  air, 
Gave  proof  through  the  night  that  our  flag  was  still  there: 
Oh,  say,  does  that  Star-Spangled  Banner  yet  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave  ? 

ii. 

On  that  shore,  dimly  seen  through  the  mists  of  the  deep, 
Where  the  foe's  haughty  host  in  dread  silence  reposes, 
What  is  that  which  the  breeze,  o'er  the  towering  steep, 

As  it  fitfully  blows,  now  conceals,  now  discloses? 
Now  it  catches  the  gleam  of  the  morning's  first  beam, 
In  full  glory  reflected  now  shines  in  the  stream : 
'Tis  the  Star-Spangled  Banner;  oh,  long  may  it  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave ! 

in. 

And  where  are  the  foes  who  so  vauntingly  swore 

That  the  havoc  of  war,  and  the  battle's  confusion, 
A  home  and  a  country  should  leave  us  no  more  ? 

Their  blood  has  wash'd  out  their  foul  footsteps'  pollution ; 
No  refuge  could  save  the  hireling  and  slave 
From  the  terror  of  flight,  or  the  gloom  of  the  grave ; 
And  the  Star-Spangled  Banner  in  triumph  doth  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave! 

TV. 

Oh,  thus  be  it  ever,  when  freemen  shall  stand 

Between  their  loved  homes  and  the  war's  desolation ! 

Blest  with  victory  and  peace,  may  the  heaven-rescued  land 
Praise  the  Power  that  hath  made  and  preserved  us  a  nation ! 

Then  conquer  we  must,  when  our  cause  it  is  just, 

And  this  be  our  motto,  "  In  God  is  our  trust ;" 


a  flag  of  truce  to  obtain  the  release  of  some  prisoners  the  English  had  taken  in 
their  expedition  against  Washington.  They  did  not  succeed,  and  were  told  that 
they  would  be  detained  till  after  the  attack  had  been  made  on  Baltimore.  Ac- 
cordingly, they  went  in  their  own  vessel,  strongly  guarded,  with  the  British  fleet 
as  it  sailed  up  the  Patapsco :  and  when  they  came  within  sight  of  Fort  McHenry, 
a  short  distance  below  the  city,  they  could  see  the  American  flag  distinctly  flying 
on  the  ramparts.  As  the  day  closed  in,  the  bomhardment  of  the  fort  commenced, 
and  Mr.  Key  and  Mr.  Skinner  remained  on  deck  all  night,  watching  with  deep 
anxiety  every  shell  that  was  fired.  While  the  bombardment  continued,  it  was 
sufficient  proof  that  the  fort  had  not  surrendered.  It  suddenly  ceased  some  time 
before  day  ,•  but  as  they  had  no  communication  with  any  of  the  enemy's  ships, 
they  did  not  know  whether  the  fort  had  surrendered,  or  the  attack  upon  it  had 
been  abandoned.  They  paced  the  deck  the  rest  of  the  night  in  painful  suspense, 
watching  with  intense  anxiety  for  the  return  of  day.  At  length  the  light 
came,  and  they  saw  that  ''our  flag  was  still  there,"  and  soon  they  were  informed 
that  the  attack  had  failed.  In  the  fervor  of  the  moment,  Mr.  Key  took  an  old 
letter  from  his  pocket,  and  on  its  back  wrote  the  most  of  this  celebrated  song, 
finishing  it  as  soon  as  he  reached  Baltimore.  He  showed  it  to  his  friend  Judge 
Nicholson,  who  was  so  pleased  with  it  that  he  placed  it  at  once  in  tbe  hands  of 
the  printer,  and  in  an  hour  after  it  was  all  over  the  city,  and  hailed  with  enthu- 
siasm, and  took  its  place  at  once  as  a  national  song. 


224 


FRANCIS  S.  KEY. 


And  the  Star-Spangled  Banner  in  triumph  shall  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave ! 

Of  Mr.  Key's  sacred  lyrics  there  are  two — exquisite  little  gems — that  should  be 
found  in  every  collection  of  American  poetry. 

LIFE. 

If  life's  pleasures  cheer  thee, 

Give  them  not  thy  heart,  / 
Lest  the  gifts  ensnare  thee 
From  thy  God  to  part: 
His  praises  speak,  his  favor  seek, 

Fix  there  thy  hopes'  foundation ; 
Love  him,  and  he  shall  ever  be 
The  rock  of  thy  salvation. 

If  sorrow  e'er  befall  thee, 

Painful  though  it  be, 
Let  not  fear  appall  thee : 
To  thy  Saviour  flee : 
He,  ever  near,  thy  prayer  will  hear, 

And  calm  thy  pert  urbation  ; 
The  waves  of  woe  shall  ne'er  o'erflow 
The  rock  of  thy  salvation. 

Death  shall  never  harm  thee, 
Shrink  not  from  his  blow, 
For  thy  God  shall  arm  thee, 
And  victory  bestow : 
For  death  shall  bring  to  thee  no  sting, 

The  grave  no  desolation  ; 
'Tis  gain  to  die,  with  Jesus  nigh, 
The  rock  of  thy  salvation. 


HYMN. 

Lord,  with  glowing  heart  I'd  praise  thee 

For  the  bliss  thy  love  bestows, 
For  the  pardoning  grace  that  saves  me, 

And  the  peace  that  from  it  flows. 
Help,  0  God!  my  weak  endeavor., 

This  dull  soul  to  rapture  raise  ; 
Thou  must  light  the  flame,  or  never 

Can  my  love  be  warm'd  to  praise. 

Praise,  my  soul,  the  God  that  sought  thee, 

Wretched  wanderer,  far  astray  ; 
Found  thee  lost,  and  kindly  brought  thee 

From  the  paths  of  death  away. 
Praise,  with  love's  devoutest  feeling, 

Him  who  saw  thy  guilt-born  fear, 
And,  the  light  of  hope  revealing, 

Bade  the  blood-stain'd  cross  appear. 


JOSEPH  T.  BUCKINGHAM.  225 

Lord !  this  "bosom's  ardent  feeling 

Vainly  would  my  lips  express ; 
Low  before  thy  footstool  kneeling, 

Deign  thy  suppliant's  prayer  to  bless. 
Let  thy  grace,  my  soul's  chief  treasure, 

Love's  pure  flame  within  me  raise ; 
And,  since  words  can  never  measure, 

Let  my  life  show  forth  thy  praise. 


JOSEPH  T.  BUCKINGHAM. 

Joseph  T.  Buckingham,  one  of  the  most  prominent  journalists  of  New  Eng- 
land, was  born  at  Windham,  Connecticut,  on  the  21st  of  December,  1779.  After 
working  upon  a  farm  till  he  was  sixteen  years  old,  he  obtained  a  situation  in  the 
printing-office  of  David  Carlisle,  the  publisher  of  "  The  Farmer's  Museum,"  at 
Walpole,  N.  H. ;  which  he  left  in  a  few  months,  and  apprenticed  himself  in  the 
office  of  the  "  Greenfield  Gazette." 

In  1800,  he  went  to  Boston,  and  in  1805  he  commenced  the  publication,  on  his 
own  account,  of  a  magazine,  under  the  title  of  The  Pvlyanthos.  It  was  suspended 
in  1807,  resumed  in  1812,  and  continued  till  1815.  In  January,  1809,  he  published 
the  first  number  of  The  Ordeal,  a  political  weekly,  of  sixteen  pages,  octavo,  which 
was  discontinued  in  six  months.  In  1817,  he  commenced,  with  Samuel  L.  Knapp, 
a  lawyer  of  Boston,  a  weekly  paper,  entitled  The  New  England  Galaxy  and  Masonic 
Magazine,  which  was  conducted  with  great  spirit,  talent,  and  independence,  and 
obtained  a  large  circulation.  In  1828,  he  sold  it  in  order  to  devote  his  entire 
attention  to  "The  Boston  Courier,"  a  daily  paper  which  he  had  commenced  in 
March,  1824.  He  continued  to  edit  the  "  Courier"  with  great  ability  till  1848, 
when  he  sold  out  his  interest  in  this  also. 

In  1831,  Mr.  Buckingham  commenced,  in  conjunction  with  his  son  Edwin, 
The  New  England  Magazine, — a  monthly  of  ninety-six  pages,  octavo,  and  one  of 
the  best  of  its  class  ever  published  in  our  country,  containing  articles  by  some 
of  the  best  writers  and  most  popular  authors  of  the  day.  In  less  than  two  years 
his  son  Edwin  died  at  sea,  in  a  voyage  undertaken  for  the  benefit  of  his  health; 
and,  in  1834,  the  magazine  was  transferred  to  Dr.  Samuel  G.  Howe  and  John  O. 
Sargent. 

Mr.  Buckingham  was  a  member  of  the  Massachusetts  House  of  Representatives 
for  seven  years,  (four  from  Boston  and  three  from  Cambridge,)  and  of  the  Senate 
four  years  from  Middlesex  County.  Since  he  retired  from  the  press,  he  has  pub- 
lished Specimens  of  Newspaper  Literature,  with  Personal  Memoirs,  Anecdotes,  and 
Reminiscences,  in  two  volumes,  and  Personal  Memoirs  and  Recollections  of  Editorial 
Life,  also  in  two  volumes.  These  are  very  interesting  and  instructive  books,  and 
give  us  a  high  opinion  of  the  author,  as  an  industrious  and  upright  man,  never 
discouraged  by  difficulties ;  as  a  writer  of  pure  and  nervous  English ;  and  as  an 
editor,  truthful,  independent,  courageous,  and  loving  the  right  more  than  the  ex- 
pedient.   As  a  legislator,  Mr.  Buckingham  did  himself  lasting  honor  by  the  re- 


226 


JOSEPH  T.  BUCKINGHAM. 


ports  ho  presented  as  chairman  of  committees  on  Lotteries,  on  the  Mexican  War, 
on  the  Fugitive  Slave  Bill,  and  on  many  other  questions  of  public  interest. 

NATIONAL  FEELING  LAFAYETTE. 

The  incidents  of  the  last  few  days  have  been  such  as  will  pro- 
bably never  again  be  witnessed  by  the  people  of  America, — such 
as  were  never  before  witnessed  by  any  nation  under  heaven. 
History  cannot  produce  the  record  of  an  event  to  parallel  that 
which  has  awakened  this  universal  burst  of  pleasure,  this  simul- 
taneous shout  of  approbation,  that  echoes  through  our  wide- 
extended  empire. 

The  multitudes  we  see  are  not  assembled  to  talk  over  their 
private  griefs,  to  indulge  in  querulous  complaints,  to  mingle  their 
murmurs  of  discontent,  to  pour  forth  tales  of  real  or  imaginary 
wrongs,  to  give  utterance  to  political  recriminations.  The  effer- 
vescence of  faction  seems  for  the  moment  to  be  settled,  the  colli- 
sion of  discordant  interests  to  subside,  and  hushed  is  the  clamor 
of  controversy.  There  is  nothing  portentous  of  danger  to  the 
commonwealth  in  this  general  awakening  of  the  high  and  the  low, 
the  rich  and  the  poor,  the  old  and  the  young, — this  "  impulsive: 
ardor"  which  pervades  the  palace  of  wealth  and  the  hovel  of 
poverty,  decrepit  age  and  lisping  infancy,  virgin  loveliness  and 
vigorous  manhood.  No  hereditary  monarch  graciously  exhibits 
his  august  person  to  the  gaze  of  vulgar  subjects.  No  conquering 
tyrant  comes  in  his  triumphal  car,  decorated  with  the  spoils  of 
vanquished  nations,  and  followed  by  captive  princes,  marching  to 
the  music  of  their  chains.  No  proud  and  hypocritical  hierarch, 
playing  "  fantastic  airs  before  high  Heaven/'  enacts  his  solemn 
mockeries  to  deceive  the  souls  of  men  and  secure  for  himself  the 
honor  of  an  apotheosis.  The  shouts  which  announce  the  approach 
of  a  chieftain  are  unmingled  with  any  note  of  sorrow.  No  love- 
lorn maiden's  sigh  touches  his  ear;  no  groan  from  a  childless 
father  speaks  reproach ;  no  widow's  curse  is  uttered,  in  bitterness 
of  soul,  upon  the  destroyer  of  her  hope;  no  orphan's  tear  falls 
upon  his  shield  to  tarnish  its  brightness.  The  spectacle  now  ex- 
hibited to  the  world  is  of  the  purest  and  noblest  character, — a 
spectacle  which  man  may  admire  and  God  approve, — an  assembled 
nation  offering  the  spontaneous  homage  of  a  nation's  gratitude  to 
a  nation's  benefactor. 

There  is  probably  no  man  living  whose  history  partakes  so 
largely  of  the  spirit  of  romance  and  chivalry  as  that  of  the  indi- 
vidual who  is  now  emphatically  the  guest  of  the  people.  At  the 
age  of  nineteen  years,  he  left  his  country  and  espoused  the  cause 
of  the  American  colonies.  His  motive  for  this  conduct  must  have 
been  one  of  the  noblest  that  ever  actuated  the  heart  of  man.  He 


JOSEPH  T.  BUCKINGHAM. 


227 


was  in  possession  of  large  estates,  allied  to  the  highest  orders  of 
French  nobility,  surrounded  by  friends  and  relatives,  with  pros- 
pects of  future  distinction  and  favor  as  fair  as  ever  opened  to  the 
ardent  view  of  aspiring  and  ambitious  youth.  He  was  just  mar- 
ried to  a  lady  of  great  worth  and  respectability,  and  it  would  seem 
that  nothing  was  wanting  to  a  life  of  affluence  and  ease.  Yet 
Lafayette  left  his  friends,  his  wealth,  his  country,  his  prospects 
of  distinction,  his  wife,  and  all  the  sources  of  domestic  bliss,  to 
assist  a  foreign  nation  in  its  struggle  for  freedom,  and  at  a  time, 
too,  when  the  prospects  of  that  country's  success  were  dark,  dis- 
heartening, and  almost  hopeless.  He  fought  for  that  country,  he 
fed  and  clothed  her  armies,  he  imparted  of  his  wealth  to  her  poor. 
He  saw  her  purposes  accomplished,  and  her  government  esta 
blished  on  principles  of  liberty.  He  refused  all  compensation  for 
his  services.  He  returned  to  his  native  land,  and  engaged  in 
contests  for  liberty  there.  He  was  imprisoned  by  a  foreign 
government,  suffered  every  indignity  and  every  cruelty  that  could 
be  inflicted,  and  lived,  after  his  release,  almost  an  exile  on  the 
spot  where  he  was  born.  More  than  forty  years  after  he  first 
embarked  in  the  cause  of  American  liberty,  he  returns  to  see 
once  more  his  few  surviving  companions  in  arms,  and  is  met  by 
the  grateful  salutations  of  the  whole  nation.  It  is  not  possible  to 
reflect  on  these  facts  without  feeling  our  admiration  excited  to  a 
degree  that  almost  borders  on  reverence.  Sober  history,  it  is 
hoped,  will  do  justice  to  the  name  of  Lafayette.  It  is  not  in  the 
power  of  fiction  to  embellish  his  character  or  his  life. 

New  England  Galaxy,  1826. 

THE  EVILS   OF  LOTTERIES. 

A  lottery  is  gaming.  This  is  against  the  policy  of  society,  and 
there  are  few  civilized  nations  that  have  not  adopted  means  to  re- 
strain or  entirely  prohibit  it ;  because  it  is  seeking  property  for 
which  no  equivalent  is  to  be  paid,  and  because  it  leads  directly  to 
losses  and  poverty,  and,  by  exciting  bad  passions,  is  the  fruitful 
original  of  vice  and  crime. 

It  is  the  worst  species  of  gaming,  because  it  brings  adroitness, 
cunning,  experience,  and  skill  to  contend  against  ignorance,  folly, 
distress,  and  desperation.  It  can  be  carried  on  to  an  indefinite 
and  indefinable  extent  without  exposure ;  and,  by  a  mode  of 
settling  the  chances  by  "combination  numbers," — an  invention 
of  the  modern  school  of  gambling, — the  fate  of  thousands  and 
hundreds  of  thousands  may  be  determined  by  a  single  turn  of  the 
wheel. 

Lotteries,  like  other  games  of  chance,  are  seductive  and  infa- 
tuating.   Every  new  loss  is  an  inducement  to  a  new  adventure; 


228 


WASHINGTON  ALLSTON. 


and,  filled  with  vain  hopes  of  recovering  what  is  lost,  the  unthink- 
ing victim  is  led  on,  from  step  to  step,  till  he  finds  it  impossible 
to  regain  his  ground,  and  he  gradually  sinks  into  a  miserable  out- 
cast; or,  by  a  bold  and  still  more  guilty  effort,  plunges  at  once 
into  that  gulf  where  he  hopes  protection  from  the  stings  of  con- 
science, a  refuge  from  the  reproaches  of  the  world,  and  oblivion 
from  existence. 

If  we  consider  the  dealing  in  lottery-tickets  as  a  calling  or 
employment,  so  far  as  the  venders  are  concerned,  it  deserves  to  be 
treated,  in  legislation,  as  those  acts  are  which  are  done  to  get 
money  by  making  others  suffer ;  to  live  upon  society  by  making 
a  portion  of  its  members  dishonest,  idle,  poor,  vicious,  and  crimi- 
nal. In  its  character  and  consequences,  the  dealing  in  lottery- 
tickets  is  the  worst,  species  of  gaming,  and  deserves  a  severer 
punishment  than  any  fine  would  amount  to.  If  it  involves  the 
moral  and  legal  offences  of  fraud  and  cheating,  does  it  not  deserve 
an  infamous  punishment,  if  any  fraudulent  acquisition  of  mere 
property  should  be  punished  with  infamy?  Considered  in  its 
complicated  wrongs  to  society,  it  certainly  deserves  the  severest 
punishment,  because  it  makes  infamous  criminals  out  of  innocent 
persons,  and  visits  severe  afflictions  on  parents,  employers,  family 
connections,  and  others,  who  in  this  respect  have  done  no  wrong 
themselves;  and  thus  the  innocent  are  made  to  suffer  for  the 
guilty, — an  anomaly  which  is  revolting  to  all  our  notions  of 
justice,  and  to  all  the  moral  and  natural  sympathies  of  mankind. 

Legislative  Report,  1833. 


WASHINGTON  ALLSTON,  1779—1843. 

"  The  clement  of  beauty  which  in  thee 

Was  a  prevailing  spirit,  pure  and  high, 
And  from  all  guile  had  made  thy  being  free, 

Now  seems  to  whisper  thou  canst  never  die! 
For  Nature's  priests  we  shed  no  idle  tear: 

Their  mantles  on  a  noble  lineage  fall: 
Though  thy  white  locks  at  length  have  press'd  the  bier 

Death  could  not  fold  thee  in  Oblivion's  pall : 
Majestic  forms  thy  hand  in  grace  array'd 

Eternal  watch  shall  keep  beside  thy  tomb, 
And  hues  aerial,  that  thy  pencil  stay'd, 

Its  shades  with  Heaven's  radiance  illume: 
Art's  meek  apostle,  holy  is  thy  sway, 
From  the  heart's  records  ne'er  to  pass  away !" 

H.  T.  TCCKERMAX. 

Washixgtox  Allston  was  born  at  Charleston,  S.  C,  on  the  5th  of  November, 
1779.  He  was  sent  to  New  England  to  receive  his  education,  and  graduated  at 
Harvard  College  in  1800.  Throughout  his  collegiate  course,  he  showed  his 
innate  love  of  nature,  music,  poetry,  and  painting ;  and  though,  from  his  strong 
aspirations  after  the  beautiful,  the  pure,  and  the  sublime,  he  led  what  might  be 


WASHINGTON  ALLSTON. 


220 


called  an  ideal  life,  yet  he  was  far  from  being  a  recluse,  but  was  a  popular,  high- 
spirited  youth,  and  passionately  fond  of  society.  As  a  scholar  in  classical  and 
English  literature  his  rank  was  high ;  and  on  taking  his  degree  he  delivered  a 
poem  which  was  much  applauded. 

On  leaving  college,  he  determined  to  devote  his  life  to  the  fine  arts,  and 
embarked  for  London  in  the  autumn  of  1801.  He  at  once  became  a  student  of 
the  Royal  Academy,  with  whose  President,  Benjamin  West,  he  formed  an  inti- 
mate and  lasting  friendship.  After  three  years  spent  in  England,  he  went  to 
Paris,  and  thence  to  Italy,  where  he  first  met  with  Coleridge.1  In  1809,  he  re- 
turned to  America,  and  remained  two  years  in  Boston,  his  adopted  home,  and 
there  married  the  sister  of  Dr.  W.  E.  Channing.  In  1811,  he  went  again  to  Eng- 
land, where  his  reputation  as  an  artist  had  been  completely  established.  In  1813, 
he  published  a  small  volume  entitled  The  Sylphs  of  the  Seasons,  and  other  Poems, 
which  was  republished  in  this  country,  and  gave  him  a  rank  among  our  best 
poets.  Soon  after  this  he  passed  through  a  long  and  serious  illness,  from  which 
he  had  scarcely  recovered  when  he  suffered  the  loss  of  his  wife.  These  trials, 
however  severe,  were  truly  sanctified  to  him :  he  became  an  earnest  and  sincere 
Christian,  and  to  the  close  of  life  preserved  a  beauty  and  consistency  of  Christian 
character  rarely  equalled. 

In  1S18,  he  again  returned  to  America,  and  again  made  Boston  his  home. 
"  There,  in  a  circle  of  warmly-attached  friends,  surrounded  by  a  sympathy  and 
admiration  which  his  elevation  and  purity,  the  entire  harmony  of  his  life  and 
pursuits,  could  not  fail  to  create,  he  devoted  himself  to  his  art,  the  labor  of  his 
love."  In  1830,  he  married  his  second  wife,  the  daughter  of  the  late  Judge 
Dana,  and  removed  to  Cambridge,  and  soon  after  began  the  preparation  of  a 
course  of  lectures  on  art.  But  four  of  these  he  completed.  His  death  occurred 
at  his  own  house,  Cambridge,  on  Sunday  morning,  July  9,  1843.  "He  had 
finished  a  day  and  week  of  labor  in  his  studio,  upon  his  great  picture  of  Bel- 
shazzar's  Feast,2  the  fresh  paint  denoting  that  the  last  touches  of  his  pencil  were 
given  to  that  glorious  but  melancholy  monument  of  the  best  years  of  his  later 
life."3 


1  In  one  of  his  letters  he  thus  writes : — "  To  no  other  man  do  I  owe  so  much, 
intellectually,  as  to  Mr.  Coleridge,*  with  whom  I  became  acquainted  in  Rome,  and 
who  has  honored  me  with  his  friendship  for  more  than  five-and-twenty  years.  He 
used  to  call  Rome  the  silent  city ;  but  I  never  could  think  of  it  as  such  while  with 
him ;  for,  meet  him  when  and  where  I  would,  the  fountain  of  his  mind  was  never 
dry,  but,  like  the  far-reaching  aqueducts  that  once  supplied  this  mistress  of  the 
world,  its  living  stream  seemed  specially  to  flow  for  every  classic  ruin  over  which 
we  wandered.  And  when  I  recall  some  of  our  walks  under  the  pines  of  the  Villa 
Borghese,  I  am  almost  tempted  to  dream  that  I  have  once  listened  to  Plato  in  the 
groves  of  the  Academy." 

2  This  embodiment  of  a  sublime  conception,  magnificent  even  in  its  unfinished 
state,  may  be  seen  in  the  Picture  Gallery  of  the  Boston  Athenaeum. 

3  Memoir  of  Allston  prefixed  to  an  edition  of  his  works,  by  Richard  Henry 
Dana,  Jr. 

"  Allston's  appearance  and  manners  accorded  perfectly  with  his  character.  His 
form  was  slight  and  his  movements  quietly  active.  The  lines  of  his  countenance, 
the  -breadth  of  the  brow,  the  large  and  speaking  eye,  and  the  long,  white  hair, 
made  him  an  immediate  object  of  interest.  If  not  engaged  in  conversation,  there 
was  a  serene  abstraction  in  his  air.  When  death  so  tranquilly  overtook  him,  for 
many  hours  it  was  difficult  to  believe  that  he  was  not  sleeping,  so  perfectlv  did 

20 


230 


WASHINGTON  ALLSTON. 


The  Sylphs  of  the  Seasons  is  Allston's  most  finished  poem.  The  argument  in 
hrief  is  this.    The  poet  falls  asleep,  and  in  his  dream  finds  himself  in 

"  A  bright  saloon, 
That  scern'd  illumined  by  the  moon," 

where  "  four  damsels  stood  of  faery  race," — the  sylphs  of  the  four  seasons, — each 
of  whom  addresses  him,  striving  by  her  eloquence  to  "win  his  heart  and  hand." 
The  following  is  the  best  portion  of 

THE  ADDRESS  OF  THE  SYLPH  OF  SPRING. 

Then  spake  the  Sylph  of  Spring  serene : — 
"  'Tis  /  thy  joyous  heart,  I  ween, 

With  sympathy  shall  move ; 
For  I,  with  living  melody 
Of  birds,  in  choral  symphony, 
First  waked  thy  soul  to  poesy, 

To  piety  and  love. 

"When  thou,  at  call  of  vernal  breeze, 
And  beckoning  bough  of  budding  trees, 

Hast  left  thy  sullen  fire, 
And  stretch'd  thee  in  some  mossy  dell, 
And  heard  the  browsing  wether's  bell, 
Blithe  echoes  rousing  from  their  cell 

To  swell  the  tinkling  choir  ; 

"Or  heard,  from  branch  of  flowering  thorn, 
The  song  of  friendly  cuckoo  warn 

The  tardy-moving  swain  ; 
Hast  bid  the  purple  swallow  hail, 
And  seen  him  now  through  ether  sail, 
Now  sweeping  downward  o'er  the  vale, 

And  skimming  now  the  plain  ; 

"Then,  catching  with  a  sudden  glance 
The  bright  and  silver-clear  expanse 

Of  some  broad  river's  stream, 
Beheld  the  boats  adown  it  glide, 
And  motion  wind  again  the  tide, 
Where,  chain'd  in  ice  by  Winter's  pride, 

Late  rojl'd  the  heavy  team  : 

"  'Twas  mine  the  warm,  awakening  hand, 
That  made  thy  grateful  heart  expand, 

And  feel  the  high  control 
Of  Him,  the  mighty  Power,  that  moves 
Amid  the  waters  and  the  groves, 
And  through  his  vast  creation  proves 

His  omnipresent  soul. 


the  usual  expression  remain.  His  torchlight  burial,  at  Mount  Auburn,  harmonized, 
in  its  beautiful  solemnity,  with  the  lofty  and  sweet  tenor  of  his  life." — Tuckerman's 
Artist  Life. 


WASHINGTON  ALLSTON. 


231 


"Or,  brooding  o'er  some  forest  rill, 
Fringed  with  the  early  daffodil, 

And  quivering  maiden-hair, 
When  thou  hast  mark'd  the  dusky  bed, 
With  leaves  and  water-rust  o'erspread, 
That  seem'd  an  amber  light  to  shed 

On  all  was  shadow'd  there  ; 

"And  thence,  as  by  its  murmur  call'd, 
The  current  traced  to  where  it  brawl'd 

Beneath  the  noontide  ray, 
And  there  beheld  the  checker'd  shade 
Of  waves,  in  many  a  sinuous  braid, 
That  o'er  the  sunny  channel  play*d, 

With  motion  ever  gay  : 

"  'Twas  I  to  these  the  magic  gave, 
That  made  thy  heart,  a  willing  slave, 

To  gentle  Nature  bend, 
And  taught  thee  how,  with  tree  and  flower, 
And  whispering  gale,  and  dropping  shower, 
In  converse  sweet  to  pass  the  hour, 

As  with  an  early  friend ; 

"  That  made  thy  heart,  like  His  above, 
To  flow  with  universal  love 

For  every  living  thing. 
And,  oh,  if  I,  with  ray  divine, 
Thus  tempering,  did  thy  soul  refine, 
Then  let  thy  gentle  heart  be  mine, 

And  bless  the  Sylph  of  Spring." 

Of  Mr.  Allston's  fugitive  poems,  that  which  has  been  most  praised  is  his  ode 
entitled 

AMERICA  TO  GREAT  BRITAIN.1 

All  hail !  thou  noble  land, 
Our  fathers'  native  soil ! 
Oh,  stretch  thy  mighty  hand, 
Gigantic  grown  by  toil, 
O'er  the  vast  Atlantic  wave  to  our  shore! 
For  thou  with  magic  might 
Canst  reach  to  where  the  light 
Of  Phoebus  travels  bright 
The  world  o'er. 

The  Genius  of  our  clime, 

From  his  pine-embattled  steep, 
Shall  hail  the  guest  sublime  ; 

While  the  Tritons  of  the  deep 


1  Written  in  America,  in  the  year  1810,  and  in  1817  inserted  by  Coleridge  in  the 
first  edition  of  his  "  Sibylline  Leaves,"  with  the  following  note  : — "  This  poem, 
written  by  an  American  gentleman,  a  valued  and  dear  friend,  I  communicate  to 
the  reader  for  its  moral  no  less  than  its  poetic  spirit.*' — Editor. 


"a 


232 


WASHINGTON  ALLSTON. 


With  their  conchs  the  kindred  league  shall  proclaim. 
Then  let  the  world  combine, — 
O'er  the  main  our  naval  line 
Like  the  milky-way  shall  shine 
Bright  in  fame ! 

Though  ages  long  have  pass'd 

Since  our  fathers  left  their  home, 
Their  pilot  in  the  blast, 

O'er  untravell'd  seas  to  roam, 
Yet  lives  the  blood  of  England  in  our  veins ! 
And  shall  we  not  proclaim 
That  blood  of  honest  fame 
Which  no  tyranny  can  tame 
By  its  chains  ? 

While  the  language  free  and  bold 
Which  the  Bard  of  Avon  sung, 
In  which  our  Milton  told 

How  the  vault  of  heaven  rung 
When  Satan,  blasted,  fell  with  his  host ; — 
While  this,  with  reverence  meet, 
Ten  thousand  echoes  greet, 
From  rock  to  rock  repeat 
Round  our  coast ; — 

While  the  manners,  while  the  arts, 

That  mould  a  nation's  soul, 
Still  cling  around  our  hearts, — 
Between  let  ocean  roll, 
Our  joint  communion  breaking  with  the  Sun: 
Yet  still  from  either  beach 
The  voice  of  blood  shall  reach, 
More  audible  than  speech, 
"We  are  One."1 

Allston's  Lectures  on  Art  are  very  beautiful  and  instructive ;  but  to  be  appre- 
ciated they  must  be  read  as  a  whole.  Of  his  prose,  therefore,  I  select  the  following 
few  aphorisms  from  many  that  were  written  on  the  walls  of  his  studio : — 

BENEVOLENCE. 

No  right  judgment  can  ever  be  formed  on  any  subject  having 
a  moral  or  intellectual  bearing  without  benevolence ;  for  so  strong 
is  man's  natural  self-bias,  that,  without  this  restraining  principle, 
he  insensibly  becomes  a  competitor  in  all  such  cases  presented  to 
his  mind ;  and,  when  the  comparison  is  thus  made  personal,  unless 
the  odds  be  immeasurably  against  him,  his  decision  will  rarely  be 


1  Note  by  the  Author. — This  alludes  merely  to  the  moral  union  of  the  two  coun- 
tries. The  author  would  not  have  it  supposed  that  the  tribute  of  respect  offered 
in  these  stanzas  to  the  land  of  his  ancestors  would  be  paid  by  him  if  at  the  expense 
of  the  independence  of  that  which  gave  him  birth. 


0 


BENJAMIN  SILLIMAN. 


288 


impartial.  In  other  words,  no  one  can  see  any  thing  as  it  really 
is  through  the  misty  spectacles  of  self-love.  We  must  wish  well 
to  another  in  order  to  do  him  justice.  Now,  the  virtue  in  this 
good  will  is  not'  to  blind  us  to  his  faults,  but  to  our  own  rival  and 
interposing  merits. 

TRUTH. 

If  the  whole  world  should  agree  to  speak  nothing  but  truth, 
what  an  abridgment  it  would  make  of  speech  !  And  what  an 
unravelling  there  would  be  of  the  invisible  webs  which  men,  like 
so  many  spiders,  now  weave  about  each  other !  But  the  contest 
between  Truth  and  Falsehood  is  now  pretty  well  balanced.  Were 
it  not  so,  and  had  the  latter  the  mastery,  even  language  would 
soon  become  extinct,  from  its  very  uselessness.  The  present 
superfluity  of  words  is  the  result  of  the  warfare. 

HUMILITY. 

The  only  true  independence  is  in  humility ;  for  the  humble  man 
exacts  nothing,  and  cannot  be  mortified, — expects  nothing,  and 
cannot  be  disappointed.  Humility  is  also  a  healing  virtue ;  it  will 
cicatrize  a  thousand  wounds,  which  pride  would  keep  forever  open. 
But  humility  is  not  the  virtue  of  a  fool ;  since  it  is  not  conse- 
quent upon  any  comparison  between  ourselves  and  others,  but 
between  what  we  are  and  what  we  ought  to  be, — which  no  man 
ever  was. 


BENJAMIN  SILLIMAN. 

Professor  Benjamin  Silliman,  the  son  of  G.  S.  Silliman,  Esq.,  a  lawyer  of 
distinction,  and  a  Revolutionary  patriot  and  soldier,  was  born  in  North  Stratford, 
now  Trumbull,  Connecticut,  on  the  8th  of  August,  1779.  In  1792,  he  entered 
Yale  College,  with  which  from  that  time  he  has  been  almost  uninterruptedly 
connected.  In  1799,  he  was  appointed  a  tutor  in  the  college,  and,  at  the  sug- 
gestion of  its  President,  Dr.  D wight,  he  resolved,  in  1801,  to  devote  himself  to 
chemistry,  and  the  associated  sciences,  mineralogy  and  geology.  After  studying 
for  some  time  at  New  Haven,  he  spent  two  seasons  in  Philadelphia;  and  in  1805 
he  visited  Europe,  both  to  purchase  books  and  apparatus,  and  to  attend  the  lec- 
tures of  the  distinguished  Professors  in  Edinburgh  and  London.  He  had  given  a 
partial  preliminary  course  before  he  went  abroad;  and,  after  his  return,  he  de- 
livered, in  1806  and  1807,  his  first  full  course  of  lectures  in  Yale  College.  In 
1810,  he  published  an  account  of  his  travels,  which  was  received  with  great  favor, 
and  passed  through  several  editions. 

In  1818,  Professor  Silliman  founded  the  "American  Journal  of  Science  and 
Arts," — a  work  which  has  done  more  than  any  other  to  raise  the  reputation  of 

20* 


234 


BENJAMIN  SILLIMAN. 


our  country  for  science,  and  to  make  her  known  and  honored  abroad;  while  it  has 
placed  the  learned  editor  in  the  very  front  rank  of  scientific  men,  and  will  ever 
remain  a  permanent  monument  to  his  zeal  and  perseverance  in  his  favorite 
studies.  Besides  communicating  with  the  public  on  scientific  subjects  through 
the  press,  he  has  frequently  given  courses  of  scientific  lectures  to  popular 
audiences  in  our  cities  and  towns,  and  always  with  great  acceptance.  His  easy 
and  dignified  manners  bespeak  the  gentleman  born  and  bred;  while  his  happy 
talent  at  illustration,  and  tact  in  communicating  knowledge,  always  render  his 
lectures  as  pleasing  as  they  are  instructive. 

In  1853,  Prof.  Silliman  resigned  his  office  as  a  Professor  in  Yale  College,  and 
was  complimented  with  the  title  of  "  Professor  Emeritus."  He  was  succeeded  in 
the  department  of  Geology  by  Prof.  James  D.  Dana,  and  in  that  of  Chemistry  by 
his  son,  Prof.  Benjamin  Silliman,  Jr.1  Notwithstanding  his  advanced  years  and 
laborious  life,  his  vigor  of  mind  and  body  remains  unimpaired,  (January,  1S59;) 
and,  since  his  retirement  from  active  duties  in  college,  he  has  continued  to  take  a 
deep  interest  in  the  progress  of  science  at  home  and  abroad.  He  has  also  become 
conspicuous  among  American  citizens  for  the  earnestness  with  which  he  united 
with  others  in  the  recent  movements  for  opposing  the  further  extension  of  slavery, 
and  showing  his  warm  sympathies  with  the  free  settlers  of  Kansas. 

Professor  Silliman  has  fitly  been  called  the  "Father  of  American  Periodical 
Science and,  although  others  of  his  countrymen  preceded  him  in  the  study  of 
nature,  no  man  probably  has  done  so  much  as  he  to  awaken  and  encourage 
students  of  science,  to  collect  and  diffuse  the  researches  of  American  natural- 
ists, and  to  arouse  in  all  classes  of  the  community  a  respect  for  learning  and  a 
desire  for  its  advancement.2 

NATURE  OF  GEOLOGICAL  EVIDENCE. 

Geological  Evidence  is  the  same  which  is  readily  admitted  as 
satisfactory  in  the  case  of  historical  antiquities. 

When,  in  1738,  the  workmen,  in  excavating  a  well,  struck 
upon  the  theatre  of  Herculaneum,  which  had  reposed  for  more 
than  sixteen  centuries  beneath  the  lava  of  Vesuvius;  when,  in 
1748,  Pompeii  was  disencumbered  of  its  volcanic  ashes  and  cin- 
ders, and  thus  two  buried  cities  were  brought  to  light, — had 
history  been  quite  silent  respecting  their  existence,  would  not 
observers  say, — and  have  they  not  all  actually  said, — here  are  the 


1  Prof.  Silliman,  Jr.  has  already  shown  his  ability  to  fill  the  Professorship  his 
father  so  long  honored,  by  the  two  works  recently  published, — First  Principles  of 
Chemistry,  and  First  Principles  of  Physics  or  Natural  Philosophy, — both  admirable 
text-books  for  our  schools  and  colleges. 

2  The  following  are  the  titles  of  most  of  Professor  Silliman's  publications : — ■ 
American  Journal  of  Science,  50  vols.,  1818-45 :  Second  Series,  by  Silliman  and 
Dana,  still  in  progress;  25  vols,  down  to  1858:  Journal  of  Travels  in  England, 
Holland,  and  Scotland,  in  1805-06,  2  vols.:  Travels  in  Canada,  in  1819:  Henry's 
Elements  of  Chemistry,  edited  with  notes,  3  editions:  Bakewell's  Geology,  3  editions, 
edited  with  notes  and  appendixes :  Elements  of  Chemistry,  in  the  order  of  Lectures 
given  in  Yale  College,  2  vols. :  Visit  to  Europe  in  1851,  2  vols.,  six  editions. 


BENJAMIN  SILLIMAN. 


235 


works  of  man, — his  temples,  his  forums,  his  amphitheatres,  his 
tombs,  his  shops  of  traffic  and  of  arts,  his  houses,  furniture,  pic- 
tures, and  personal  ornaments ;  here  are  his  streets,  with  their 
pavements  and  wheel-ruts  worn  in  the  solid  stone,  his  coins,  his 
grin  ding-mills,  his  wine,  food,  and  medicines ;  here  are  his  dun- 
geons and  stocks,  with  the  skeletons  of  the  prisoners  chained  in 
their  awful  solitudes;  and  here  and  there  are  the  bones  of  a  vic- 
tim who,  although  at  liberty,  was  overtaken  by  the  fiery  storm, 
while  others  were  quietly  buried  in  their  domestic  retreats.  The 
falling  cinders  and  ashes  copied,  as  they  fell,  even  the  delicate  out- 
line of  female  forms,  as  well  as  the  head  and  helmet  of  a  sentinel ; 
and,  having  concreted,  they  thus  remain  true  volcanic  casts,  to  be 
seen  by  remote  generations,  as  now  in  the  Museum  of  Naples. 

Because  the  soil  had  formed,  and  grass  and  trees  had  grown, 
and  successive  generations  of  men  had  unconsciously  walked, 
tilled  the  ground,  or  built  their  houses,  over  the  entombed  cities, 
and  because  they  were  covered  by  volcanic  cinders,  ashes,  and 
projected  stones,  does  any  one  hesitate  to  admit  that  they  were 
once  real  cities;  that  at  the  time  of  their  destruction  they  stood 
upon  what  was  then  the  upper  surface;  that  their  streets  once 
rang  with  the  noise  of  business,  their  halls  and  theatres  with  the 
voice  of  pleasure ;  that  in  an  evil  time  they  were  overwhelmed  by 
a  volcanic  tempest  from  Vesuvius,  and  their  name  and  place  for 
more  than  seventeen  centuries  blotted  out  from  the  earth  and  for- 
gotten ?  The  tragical  story  is  legibly  perused  by  every  observer, 
and  all  alike,  whether  learned  or  unlearned,  agree  in  the  conclu- 
sions to  be  drawn. 

To  establish  all  this,  it  is  of  no  decisive  importance  that 
scholars  have  gleaned  here  and  there  a  fragment  from  the  Roman 
classics  to  show  that  such  cities  once  existed,  and  that  they  were 
overthrown  by  an  eruption  in  the  year  a.d.  79,  which  gave  occa- 
sion for  the  letter  of  the  younger  Pliny,  describing  the  death  of 
his  uncle,  the  great  naturalist,  while  observing  the  volcanic 
phenomena. 

In  such  cases,  the  coincidences  of  historical  and  other  writings, 
and  the  gleanings  of  tradition,  are  indeed  valuable  and  gratifying : 
they  are  even  of  great  utility,  not  in  proving  the  events, — for  of 
them  there  is  a  physical  record  that  cannot  deceive, — but  in  fix- 
ing the  order  and  the  time  of  the  occurrences. 

The  nature  of  the  catastrophe  is,  however,  perfectly  intelligible 
from  the  appearances  themselves,  and  needs  no  historical  confirma- 
tion. No  man  ever  imagined  that  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii 
were  created  where  we  now  find  their  ruins ;  no  one  hazards  the 
absurd  conjecture  that  they  are  a  lusus  naturae;  but  all  units  in 
giving  an  explanation  consistent  alike  with  geology,  history,  and 
common  sense. 


236 


TIMOTHY  FLINT. 


APPLICATION  OF  THE  EVIDENCE  FOSSIL  FISHES  OF 

MOUNT  BOLCA.1 

The  one  hundred  and  sixteen  species  of  fishes  found  in  Mount 
Bolca,  embedded  in  marly  limestone  and  buried  under  lava,  in- 
form us  that  they  were  once  living  and  active  beings;  before  those 
hills  were  deposited,  and  when  the  waters  stood  over  the  place 
where,  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  the  fishes  were  entombed ;  the 
rock  that  contains  their  dry  skeletons,  often  entirely  perfect,  was 
formed  around  them,  doubtless  in  the  state  of  a  calcareous  and 
argillaceous  sediment ;  this  calcareous  stratum,  being  not  impro- 
bably thrown  up  by  a  volcanic  heave,  first  enclosed  the  fishes,  sud- 
denly and  without  violence.  In  subsequent  periods,  it  was  itself 
overwhelmed  by  a  submarine  eruption  of  molten  volcanic  rock, 
which  congealed  over  the  fish-rock,  and,  this  being  a  very  bad  con- 
ductor of  heat,  preserved  the  entombed  fossils  from  injury.  Then, 
again,  on  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  the  calcareous  sediment  wrapped 
around  in  its  soft  folds  another  school  of  fishes,  and  again  the 
molten  rock  flowed  over  the  calcareous  marl;  and  so  on  in  several 
successions. 

But  this  is  not  all.  This  remarkable  mountain  is  eighty  miles 
from  the  Adriatic,  the  nearest  sea,  and  it  rises  two  thousand  feet 
in  elevation  above  it.  It  is  plain,  then,  not  only  that  all  these 
deposits  were  formed  successively  beneath  a  great  sea, — for  the 
fishes  are  all  marine, — but  the  mountain,  with  the  country  to 
which  it  appertains,  has  been  elevated  by  forces  existing  in  the 
earth :  it  emerged  from  the  surrounding  waters,  and,  ages  since, 
became  dry  land. 


TIMOTHY  FLINT,  1780—1840. 

This  early  historian  and  scene-painter  of  our  Western  country  was  born  in 
Reading,  Massachusetts,  in  1780,  and  graduated  at  Harvard  College  in  1800. 
After  devoting  two  years  to  the  study  of  theology,  he  became  pastor  of  the  Con- 
gregational Church  in  Lunenburg,  Massachusetts,  where  he  continued  till  1814. 
His  health  having  become  impaired  by  too  sedentary  pursuits,  he  deemed  it  best 
to  seek  a  milder  climate,  and  in  1815  became  a  missionary  in  the  Valley  of  the 
Mississippi.  After  passing  a  winter  at  Cincinnati,  he  journeyed  through  portions 
of  Ohio,  Indiana,  and  Kentucky,  and  then  took  up  his  abode  at  St.  Charles,  Mis- 
souri, where  he  remained  nearly  three  years.  In  1S22,  he  removed  to  New 
Orleans,  and  the  next  year  went  to  Alexandria,  on  the  Red  River,  where  he  took 
-marge  of  a  literary  institution.    Here  he  began  to  write  his  Recollections  of  Tea 


1  Near  Verona,  in  Italy. 


TIMOTHY  FLINT. 


237 


Years  passed  in  the  Valley  of  the  Mississippi,  which  was  published  in  Boston  in 
1826,  and  considered  then  to  be  the  most  important  contribution  to  American 
geography  that  had  been  made.  In  the  following  year,  he  published  a  novel,  en- 
titled Francis  Berrian;  or,  The  Mexican  Patriot, — a  story  of  romantic  adventure 
with  the  Camanches,  connected  with  the  Mexican  struggle  for  independence. 
This  was  followed,  in  1828,  by  Arthur  denning, — a  very  hazardous  attempt  to 
write  another  Robinson  Crusoe.  George  Mason,  the  Young  Back-woodsman,  fol- 
lowed, but  without  increasing  the  author's  reputation.  The  last  of  his  novels 
was  The  Shoshonee  Valley,  published  in  Cincinnati  in  1830,  the  scene  of  which 
was  laid  among  the  Indians  of  Oregon. 

In  1832,  Mr.  Flint  published,  in  Boston,  Lectures  upon  Natural  History,  Geo- 
logy, Chemistry,  the  Application  of  Steam,  and  Interesting  Discoveries  in  the  Arts. 
In  1831,  he  removed  to  Cincinnati,  and  became  the  editor  of  the  "Western 
Monthly  Magazine,"  which  he  conducted  with  much  ability,  writing  more  or  less 
for  every  number,  for  three  years.  He  then  removed  to  Louisiana,  being  in 
quite  feeble  health,  and  hoping  to  be  benefited  by  the  Southern  climate.  But  he 
was  disappointed,  and  in  May,  1840,  he  resolved  to  try  again  the  air  of  his  own 
New  England.  But  all  was  of  no  avail,  and  he  expired  at  Reading,  Massa- 
chusetts, August  18,  1840. 

Mr.  Flint  will  always  be  known  as  one  of  the  earliest  geographers  of  our 
country,  whose  works,  from  their  clear  and  beautiful  descriptions  of  scenery,  and 
from  their  pictures  of  our  Western  wilds  and  prairies  before  they  were  trodden  by 
the  foot  of  civilized  man,  will  always  maintain  a  position  in  our  early  literature, 
and  be  read  with  interest. 

INDIAN  MOUNDS. 

At  first  the  eye  mistakes  these  mounds  for  hills ;  but  when  it 
catches  the  regularity  of  their  breastworks  and  ditches,  it  dis- 
covers at  once  that  they  are  the  labors  of  art  and  of  men.  When 
the  evidence  of  the  senses  convinces  us  that  human  bones  moulder 
in  these  masses;  when  you  dig  about  them,  and  bring  to  light 
domestic  utensils,  and  are  compelled  to  believe  that  the  busy  tide 
of  life  once  flowed  here  •  when  you  see  at  once  that  these  races 
were  of  a  very  different  character  from  the  present  generation, — 
you  begin  to  inquire  if  any  tradition,  if  any  the  faintest  records, 
can  throw  any  light  upon  these  habitations  of  men  of  another 
age.  Is  there  no  scope,  beside  these  mounds,  for  imagination  and 
for  contemplation  of  the  past?  The  meri,  their  joys,  their  sor- 
rows, their  bones,  are  all  buried  together.  But  the  grand  features 
of  nature  remain.  There  is  the  beautiful  prairie  over  which  they 
"strutted  through  life's  poor  play/'  The  forests,  the  hills,  the 
mounds,  lift  their  heads  in  unalterable  repose,  and  furnish  the 
same  sources  of  contemplation  to  us  that  they  did  to  those  gene- 
rations that  have  passed  away. 

These  mounds  must  date  back  to  remote  depths  in  the  olden 
time.    From  the  ages  of  the  trees  on  them,  we  can  trace  them 


238  TIMOTHY  FLINT. 

back  six  hundred  years,  leaving  it  entirely  to  the  imagination  to 
descend  further  into  the  depths  of  time  beyond.  And  yet,  after 
the  rains,  the  washing,  and  the  crumbling  of  so  many  ages,  many 
of  them  are  still  twenty-five  feet  high.  Some  of  them  are  spread 
over  an  extent  of  acres.  I  have  seen,  great  and  small,  I  should 
suppose,  a  hundred.  Though  diverse  in  position  and  form,  they 
all  have  a  uniform  character.  They  are,  for  the  most  part,  in 
rich  soils  and  in  conspicuous  situations.  Those  on  the  Ohio  are 
covered  with  very  large  trees.  But  in  the  prairie  regions,  where 
I  have  seen  the  greatest  numbers,  they  are  covered  with  tall  grass, 
and  are  generally  near  beaches, — which  indicate  the  former  courses 
of  the  rivers,  in  the  finest  situations  for  present  culture ;  and  the 
greatest  population  clearly  has  been  in  those  very  positions  where 
the  most  dense  future  population  will  be. 


FASHION  AND  RUIN  versus  INDUSTRY  AND  INDEPENDENCE. 

I  cannot  conceive  that  mere  idlers,  male  or  female,  can  have 
respect  enough  for  themselves  to  be  comfortable.  I  have  no  con- 
ception of  a  beautiful  woman,  or  a  fine  man,  in  whose  eye,  in 
whose  port,  in  whose  whole  expression,  this  sentiment  does  not 
stand  embodied  : — "I  am  called  by  my  Creator  to  duties;  I  have 
employment  on  the  earth ;  my  sterner  but  more  enduring  plea- 
sures are  in  discharging  my  duties. " 

Compare  the  sedate  expression  of  this  sentiment  in  the  counte- 
nance of  man  or  woman,  when  it  is  known  to  stand  as  the  index 
of  character  and  the  fact,  with  the  superficial  gaudiness  of  a 
simple,  good-for-nothing  belle,  who  disdains  usefulness  and  em- 
ployment, whose  empire  is  a  ball-room,  and  whose  subjects, 
dandies  as  silly  and  as  useless  as  herself.  Who,  of  the  two,  has 
most  attractions  for  a  man  of  sense  ?  The  one  a  helpmate,  a  for- 
tune in  herself,  who  can  aid  to  procure  one  if  the  husband  has  it 
not,  who  can  soothe  him  under  the  loss  of  it,  and,  what  is  more, 
aid  him  to  regain  it;  and  the  other  a  painted  butterfly,  for  orna- 
ment only  during  the  vernal  and  sunny  months  of  prosperity,  and 
then  not  becoming  a  chrysalis,  an  inert  moth  in  adversity,  but  a 
croaking,  repining,  ill-tempered  termagant,  who  can  only  recur  to 
the  days  of  her  short-lived  triumph,  to  embitter  the  misery,  and 
poverty,  and  hopelessness  of  a  husband,  who,  like  herself,  knows 
not  to  dig,  and  is  ashamed  to  beg. 

We  are  obliged  to  avail  ourselves  of  severe  language  in  appli- 
cation to  a  deep-rooted  malady.  We  want  words  of  power.  We 
need  energetic  and  stern  applications.  No  country  ever  verged 
more  rapidly  towards  extravagance  and  expense.  In  a  young 
republic,  like  ours,  it  is  ominous  of  any  thing  but  good.  Men  of 
thought,  and  virtue,  and  example,  are  called  upon  to  look  to  this 


TIMOTHY  FLINT. 


239 


evil.  Ye  patrician  families,  that  croak,  and  complain,  and  fore- 
bode the  downfall  of  the  republic,  here  is  the  origin  of  your  evils. 
Instead  of  training  your  son  to  waste  his  time,  as  an  idle  young 
gentleman  at  large ;  instead  of  inculcating  on  your  daughter  that 
the  incessant  tinkling  of  a  harpsichord,  or  a  scornful  and  lady- 
like toss  of  the  head,  or  dexterity  in  waltzing,  are  the  chief  requi- 
sites to  make  her  way  in  life ;  if  you  can  find  no  better  employ- 
ment for  them,  teach  him  the  use  of  the  grubbing-hoe,  and  her  to 
make  up  garments  for  your  servants.  Train  your  son  and  daugh- 
ter to  an  employment,  to  frugality,  to  hold  the  high  front  and  to 
walk  the  fearless  step  of  independence.  When  your  children 
have  these  possessions,  you  may  go  down  to  the  grave  in  peace  as 
regards  their  temporal  fortunes. 

Western  Review,  1835. 
THE  SHORES  OF  THE  OHIO. 

It  was  now  the  middle  of  November.  The  weather  up  to  this 
time  had  been,  with  the  exception  of  a  couple  of  days  of  fog  and 
rain,  delightful.  The  sky  has  a  milder  and  lighter  azure  than 
that  of  the  Northern  States.  The  wide,  clean  sand-bars  stretch- 
ing for  miles  together,  and  now  and  then  a  flock  of  wild  geese, 
swans,  or  sand-hill  cranes,  and  pelicans,  stalking  along  on  them; 
the  infinite  varieties  of  form  of  the  towering  bluffs  j  the  new  tribes 
of  shrubs  and  plants  on  the  shores ;  the  exuberant  fertility  of  the 
soil,  evidencing  itself  in  the  natural  as  well  as  cultivated  vegeta- 
tion j  in  the  height  and  size  of  the  corn,  of  itself  alone  a  matter 
of  astonishment  to  an  inhabitant  of  the  Northern  States ;  in  the 
thrifty  aspect  of  the  young  orchards,  literally  bending  under  their 
fruit ;  the  surprising  size  and  rankness  of  the  weeds,  and,  in  the 
enclosures  where  cultivation  had  been  for  a  while  suspended,  the 
matted  abundance  of  every  kind  of  vegetation  that  ensued, — all 
these  circumstances  united  to  give  a  novelty  and  freshness  to  the 
scenery.  The  bottom  forests  everywhere  display  the  huge  syca- 
more, the  king  of  the  Western  forest,  in  all  places  an  interesting 
tree,  but  particularly  so  here,  and  in  Autumn,  when  you  see  its 
white  and  long  branches  among  its  red  and  yellow  fading  leaves. 
You  may  add,  that  in  all  the  trees  that  have  been  stripped  of  their 
leaves,  you  see  them  crowned  with  verdant  tufts  of  the  viscus  or 
mistletoe,  with  its  beautiful  white  berries,  and  their  trunks  en- 
twined with  grape-vines,  some  of  them  in  size  not  much  short  of 
the  human  body.  To  add  to  this  union  of  pleasant  circumstances, 
there  is  a  delightful  temperature  of  the  air,  more  easily  felt  than 
described.  There  is  something,  too,  in  the  gentle  and  almost  im- 
perceptible motion,1  as  you  sit  on  the  deck  of  the  boat,  and  see 


1  This  was  written,  of  course,  before  the  age  of  steamboats. 


240 


TIMOTHY  FLINT. 


the  trees  apparently  moving  by  you,  and  new  groups  of  scenery 
still  opening  upon  your  eye,  together  with  the  view  of  these 
ancient  and  magnificent  forests  which  the  axe  has  not  yet  de- 
spoiled, the  broad  and  beautiful  river,  the  earth  and  the  sky, 
which  render  such  a  trip  at  this  season  the  very  element  of 
poetry. 

TIIE  INDIAN  BELLE  AND  BEAU. 

As  regards  the  vanity  of  the  Indian,  we  have  not  often  had  the 
fortune  to  contemplate  a  young  squaw  at  her  toilet ;  but,  from  the 
studied  arrangement  of  her  calico  jacket,  from  the  glaring  circles 
of  vermilion  on  her  plump  and  circular  face,  from  the  artificial 
manner  in  which  her  hair,  of  intense  black,  is  clubbed  in  a  coil 
of  the  thickness  of  a  man's  wrist,  from  the  long  time  it  takes  her 
to  complete  these  arrangements,  from  the  manner  in  which  she 
minces  and  ambles,  and  plays  off  her  prettiest  airs,  after  she  has 
put  on  all  her  charms,  we  should  clearly  infer  that  dress  and  per- 
sonal ornament  occupy  the  same  portion  of  her  thoughts  that 
they  do  of  the  fashionable  woman  of  civilized  society.  In  regions 
contiguous  to  the  whites,  the  squaws  have  generally,  a  calico  shirt 
of  the  finest  colors. 

A  young  Indian  warrior  is  notoriously  the  most  thorough- 
going beau  in  the  world.  Bond  Street  and  Broadway  furnish  no 
subjects  that  will  undergo  as  much  crimping  and  confinement,  to 
appear  in  full  dress.  We  are  confident  that  we  have  observed 
such  a  character,  constantly  occupied  with  his  paints  and  his 
pocket-glass,  three  full  hours,  laying  on  his  colors,  and  arranging 
his  tresses,  and  contemplating,  from  time  to  time,  with  visible 
satisfaction,  the  progress  of  his  growing  attractions.  When  he 
has  finished,  the  proud  triumph  of  irresistible  charms  is  in  his 
eye.  The  chiefs  and  warriors,  in  full  dress,  have  one,  two,  or 
three  broad  clasps  of  silver  about  their  arms;  generally  jewels  in 
their  ears,  and  often  in  their  noses;  and  nothing  is  more  common 
than  to  see  a  thin,  circular  piece  of  silver,  of  the  size  of  a  dollar, 
depending  from  the  nose,  a  little  below  the  upper  lip. 

Xothing  shows  more  clearly  the  influence  of  fashion  :  this  orna- 
ment, so  painfully  inconvenient  as  it  evidently  is  to  them,  and  so 
horridly  ugly  and  disfiguring,  seems  to  be  the  utmost  finish  of 
Indian  taste.  Painted  porcupine-quills  are  twisted  in  their  hair. 
Tails  of  animals  hang  from  their  hair  behind.  A  necklace  of 
bear's  or  alligator's  teeth,  or  of  claws  of  the  bald  eagle,  hangs 
loosely  down,  with  an  interior  and  smaller  circle  of  large  red 
beads;  or,  in  default  of  them,  a  rosary  of  red  hawthorns  sur- 
rounds the  neck.  From  the  knees  to  the  feet,  the  legs  are  orna- 
mented with  great  numbers  of  little,  perforated,  cylindrical  pieces 
of  silver  or  brass,  that  emit  a  simultaneous  tinkle  as  the  person 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING. 


241 


walks.  If  to  all  this  he  add  an  American  hat,  and  a  soldier's 
coat  of  blue,  faced  with  red,  over  the  customary  calico  shirt  of 
the  gaudiest  colors  that  can  be  found,  he  lifts  his  feet  high,  and 
steps  firmly  on  the  ground,  to  give  his  tinklers  an  uniform  and 
full  sound,  and  apparently  considers  his  appearance  with  as  much 
complacency  as  the  human  bosom  can  be  supposed  to  feel.  This 
is  a  very  curtailed  view  of  an  Indian  beau ;  but  every  reader 
competent  to  judge  will  admit  its  fidelity,  as  far  as  it  goes,  to  the 
description  of  a  young  Indian  warrior  when  prepared  to  take  part 
in  a  public  dance. 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHAXNIXG,  17S0— 1842. 

"Thou  livest  in  the  life  of  all  good  things; 

What  words  thou  spakest  lor  Freedom  shall  not  die; 
Thou  sleepest  not.  for  no*v  thy  love  hath  wings 
To  soar  where  hence  thy  hope  could  hardly  fly. 

'•Farewell,  good  man.  good  angel  now!  this  hand 
Soon,  like  thine  own.  shall  lose  its  cunning  too; 
Soon  shall  this  soul,  like  thine,  bewilderd  stand, 
Then  leap  to  thread  the  free  unfathonrd  blue. 

-When  that  day  conies,  oh,  may  this  hand  grow  cold, 
Busy,  like  thine,  for  freedom  and  the  right! 
Oh.  may  this  soul,  like  thine,  be  ever  bold 
To  face  dark  slavery's  encroaching  blight!" 

James  Rcssell  Lowell. 

William  Ellerv  Channesg  was  born  at  Newport,  Rhode  Island.  April  7,  1780. 
His  father  was  William  Channing,  Esq.,  an  eminent  lawyer,  and  his  mother  was 
the  daughter  of  William  Ellery,  one  of  the  signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence. He  graduated  at  Harvard  University  in  1798,  with  the  highest  honors 
of  the  institution,  and,  after  leaving  college,  pursued  the  study  of  theology. 
He  became  distinguished  as  a  preacher,  and  at  nearly  the  same  time  received  an 
invitation  from  two  religious  societies  in  Boston  to  settle  with  them  as  their 
pastor.  He  accepted  the  call  from  the  church  in  Federal  Street,  which  was  then 
the  smaller  and  weaker  of  the  two;  and  his  ordination  took  place  on  the  1st  of 
June,  1S03. 

The  society  rapidly  increased  under  his  charge,  his  reputation  and  influence  in 
the  community  became  marked  and  extensive,  and  his  assistance  was  soon  eagerly 
sought  in  a  broader  sphere  of  exertion  and  usefulness.  In  1S12,  he  was  appointed 
"Dexter  Lecturer  on  Biblical  Criticism"  in  Harvard  University;  but  the  state  of 
his  health  did  not  allow  him  to  enter  on  the  duties  of  the  office,  and  he  resigned 
it  the  following  year.  He  was  then  chosen  a  member  of  the  Corporation  of  the 
college,  and  held  a  seat  in  this  board  till  1S26.  In  1820,  the  honorary  degree 
of  D.D.  was  conferred  on  him.  In  1S22,  he  visited  Europe  for  his  health,  which 
was  somewhat  improved  by  the  voyage;  but  a  feeble  constitution  and  liability  to 
disease  proved  great  impediments  to  his  labors  through  his  life,  and  it  is  astonish- 
ing how  much,  with  such  drawbacks,  he  reallv  accomplished. 

21 


242 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING. 


In  1830,  when  the  anti-slavery  feeling  began  to  take  more  outward  form  in 
Boston,  Dr.  Channing's  sympathies  were  warmly  with  it,  though  he  did  not  then 
join  the  ranks  of  the  "  abolitionists,"  technically  so  called.  His  interest  in  the 
subject,  however,  increased  from  year  to  year,  and  in  1831  he  published  his 
work  on  slavery,  which  showed  that  his  whole  heart  was  in  the  great  cause  of 
humanity.1  In  October,  1834,  he  preached  a  sermon  to  his  people  upon  the  mob 
violence  exerted  in  Boston,  New  York,  Philadelphia,  Cincinnati,  and  other  cities 
in  the  country,  against  the  friends  of  liberty.  In  1837,  he  addressed  his  cele- 
brated Letters  to  Henri/  Clay  against  that  nefarious  plot  to  extend  the  area  of 
slavery, — the  annexation  of  Texas.  In  1840,  he  reviewed  Joseph  John  Gurney's 
Letters  on  West  India  Emancipation  ;  and  in  1842,  he  delivered  an  address  at  the 
anniversary  of  the  abolition  of  slavery  in  the  West  Indies,  held  August  1,  at 
Lenox,  Massachusetts.  This  was  his  last  public  address.  His  health  had  been 
very  feeble  for  a  long  time,  and,  being  taken  with  typhus  fever,  his  exhausted 
frame  sunk  under  it,  and  he  died  October  2,  1842.  His  end  was  calm  and  peace- 
ful. Sustained  by  the  consolations  of  religion,  he  met,  undismayed,  his  summons 
into  the  future  world,  assured  of  a  happy  immortality. 

Of  the  moral  purity  of  Dr.  Channing's  character,  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  speak 
too  highly.  In  every  relation  of  life,  he  deserved  unqualified  praise.  His  con- 
duct was  a  daily  exhibition  of  the  characteristic  evangelical  virtues, — purity  of 
heart,  ardent  love  to  God,  habitual  obedience  to  his  will,  benevolence  to  man,  and 
those  amiable  qualities  which  shed  a  constant  sunshine  through  the  breast  of  their 
possessor,  and  strongly  endeared  him  to  all  within  the  circle  of  his  friendship  and 
acquaintance.  In  the  latter  period  of  his  life,  he  took  a  deep  and  earnest  interest 
in  the  cause  of  Freedom,  at  a  time  when  such  a  position  was  uniformly  attended, 
to  a  greater  or  less  degree,  by  the  coldness  or  loss  of  friends,  by  obloquy,  re- 
proach, misrepresentation,  ostracism  from  accustomed  social  circles,  and,  in  some 
parts  of  the  country,  by  mobs  and  personal  violence.2 

Dr.  Channing's  numerous  contributions  to  the  "Christian  Examiner"  and  other 
reviews,  together  with  his  sermons,  addresses,  and  miscellaneous  works,  have  been 


1  "  There  is  one  word  that  covers  every  cause  to  which  Channing  devoted  his 
talents  and  his  heart,  and  that  word  is  Freedom.  Liberty  is  the  key  of  his  re- 
ligious, his  political,  his  philanthropic  principles.  Free  the  slave,  free  the  serf, 
free  the  ignorant,  free  the  sinful.  Let  there  be  no  chains  upon  the  conscience,  the 
intellect,  the  pursuits,  or  the  persons  of  men.  Free  agency  is  the  prime  distinc- 
tion and  privilege  of  humanity.  It  is  the  first  necessity  of  a  moral  being.  Extin- 
guish freedom,  and  you  extinguish  humanity.  Tyranny  is  spiritual  murder,  as 
sin  is  moral  suicide." — Discourse  of  Rev.  Henry  W.  Belloics,  D.D. 

2  Though  of  a  frame  so  attenuated  and  feeble  that  one  might  fear  that  the  very 
wind  would  blow  him  away,  he  had  a  high  and  dauntless  soul, — a  moral  courage 
that  shone  most  illustrious  when  such  qualities  were  most  needed ;  and  when,  in 
November,  1837,  the  news  of  the  murder  of  Owen  P.  Lovejoy,  in  Alton,  Illinois, 
for  defending  his  free  press,  reached  Boston,  he  headed  a  petition  to  the  civil 
authorities  for  the  use  of  Faneuil  Hall  for  a  meeting  of  citizens,  to  express  their 
disapprobation  of  such  deeds  of  lawless  violence.  It  is  commentary  enough  upon 
the  character  of  soul  required  at  that  time  to  head  such  a  petition,  to  say  that,  even 
with  the  name  of  Channing  in  the  most  conspicuous  position,  it  was  refused.  Men 
who  thus  stand  out  boldly  for  the  right,  regardless  of  consequences,  deserve  to  bo 
held  up  as  an  example  for  imitation  to  all  coming  generations. 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING. 


243 


collected  and  published  in  six  volumes,  by  bis  nephew,  William  E.  Channing,  which 
have  passed  through  numerous  editions.  Among  the  most  admired  of  his  general 
writings  are  his  Remarks  on  the  Character  and  Writings  of  John  3Iilton ;  on  Bona- 
partej  on  Fenelon  ;  and  on  Self-Culture.  Of  the  last  it  has  been  justly  said,  tbat 
"its  direct  appeal  to  whatever  of  character  or  manliness  there  may  be  in  th« 
young,  is  almost  irresistible." 

THE  PURIFYING  INFLUENCE  OF  POETRY. 

We  believe  that  poetry,  far  from  injuring  society,  is  one  of  the 
great  instruments  of  its  refinement  and  exaltation.  It  lifts  the 
mind  above  ordinary  life,  gives  it  a  respite  from  depressing  cares, 
and  awakens  the  consciousness  of  its  affinity  with  what  is  pure  and 
noble.  In  its  legitimate  and  highest  efforts,  it  has  the  same  ten- 
dency and  aim  with  Christianity, — that  is,  to  spiritualize  our 
nature.  True,  poetry  has  been  made  the  instrument  of  vice,  the 
pander  of  bad  passions ;  but  when  genius  thus  stoops,  it  dims  its 
fires,  and  parts  with  much  of  its  power  •  and  even  when  poetry  is 
enslaved  to  licentiousness  and  misanthropy,  she  cannot  wholly  for- 
get her  true  vocation.  Strains  of  pure  feeling,  touches  of  tender- 
ness, images  of  innocent  happiness,  sympathies  with  what  is  good 
in  our  nature,  bursts  of  scorn  or  indignation  at  the  hollowness  of 
the  world,  passages  true  to  our  moral  nature,  often  escape  in  an 
immoral  work,  and  show  us  how  hard  it  is  for  a  gifted  spirit  to 
divorce  itself  wholly  from  what  is  good.  Poetry  has  a  natural 
alliance  with  our  best, affections.  It  delights  in  the  beauty  and 
sublimity  of  outward  nature  and  of  the  soul.  It  indeed  portrays 
with  terrible  energy  the  excesses  of  the  passions  j  but  they  are 
passions  which  show  a  mighty  nature,  which  are  full  of  power, 
which  command  awe,  and  excite  a  deep  though  shuddering  sym- 
pathy. Its  great  tendency  and  purpose  is  to  carry  the  mind  be- 
yond and  above  the  beaten ,  dusty,  weary  walks  of  ordinary  life; 
to  lift  it  into  a  purer  element,  and  to  breathe  into  it  more  pro- 
found and  generous  emotion.  It  reveals  to  us  the  loveliness  of 
nature,  brings  back  the  freshness  of  youthful  feeling,  revives  the 
relish  of  simple  pleasures,  keeps  unquenched  the  enthusiasm 
which  warmed  the  spring-time  of  our  being,  refines  youthful  love, 
strengthens  our  interest  in  human  nature  by  vivid  delineations  of 
its  tenderest  and  loftiest  feelings,  spreads  our  sympathies  over  all 
classes  of  society,  knits  us  by  new  ties  with  universal  being,  and, 
through  the  brightness  of  its  prophetic  visions,  helps  faith  to  lay 
hold  on  the  future  life. 

We  are  aware  that  it  is  objected  to  poetry  that  it  gives  wrong 
views  and  excites  false  expectations  of  life,  peoples  the  mind  with 
shadows  and  illusions,  and  builds  up  imagination  on  the  ruins  of 
wisdom.    That  there  is  a  wisdom  against  which  poetry  wars — the 


244 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING. 


wisdom  of  the  senses,  which  makes  physical  comfort  and  gratifica- 
tion the  supreme  good,  and  wealth  the  chief  interest  of  life — we 
do  not  deny ;  nor  do  we  deem  it  the  least  service  which  poetry 
renders  to  mankind,  that  it  redeems  them  from  the  thraldom  of 
this  earth-born  prudence.  But,  passing  over  this  topic,  we  would 
observe  that  the  complaint  against  poetry,  as  abounding  in  illusion 
and  deception,  is,  in  the  main,  groundless.  In  many  poems  there 
is  more  of  truth  than  in  many  histories  and  philosophic  theories. 
The  fictions  of  genius  are  often  the  vehicles  of  the  sublimest  veri- 
ties, and  its  flashes  often  open  new  regions  of  thought,  and  throw 
new  light  on  the  mysteries  of  our  being.  In  poetry,  the  letter  is 
falsehood,  but  the  spirit  is  often  profoundest  wisdom.  And  if 
truth  thus  dwells  in  the  boldest  fictions  of  the  poet,  much  more 
may  it  be  expected  in  his  delineations  of  life;  for  the  present  life, 
which  is  the  first  stace  of  the  immortal  mind,  abounds  in  the 
materials  of  poetry,  and  it  is  the  highest  office  of  the  bard  to  de- 
tect this  divine  element  among  the  grosser  pleasures  and  labors  of 
our  earthly  being.  The  present  life  is  not  wholly  prosaic,  precise, 
tame,  and  finite.  To  the  gifted  eye  it  abounds  in  the  poetic.  The 
affections  which  spread  beyond  ourselves,  and  stretch  far  into 
futurity  ;  the  workings  of  mighty  passions,  which  seem  to  arm  the 
soul  with  an  almost  superhuman  energy;  the  innocent  and  irre- 
pressible joy  of  infancy;  the  bloom,  and  buoyancy,  and  dazzling 
hopes  of  youth  ;  the  throbbings  of  the  heart  when  it  first  wakes  to 
love,  and  dreams  of  a  happiness  too  vast  for  earth ;  woman,  with 
her  beauty,  and  grace,  and  gentleness,  and  fulness  of  feeling,  and 
depth  of  affection,  and  her  blushes  of  purity,  and  the  tones  and 
looks  which  only  a  mother's  heart  can  inspire, — these  are  all 
poetical.  It  is  not  true  that  the  poet  paints  a  life  which  does 
not  exist.  He  only  extracts  and  concentrates,  as  it  were,  life's 
ethereal  essence,  arrests  and  condenses  its  volatile  fragrance, 
brings  together  its  scattered  beauties,  and  prolongs  its  more  re- 
fined but  evanescent  joys  j  and  in  this  he  does  well ;  for  it  is  good 
to  feel  that  life  is  not  wholly  usurped  by  cares  for  subsistence  and 
physical  gratifications,  but  admits,  in  measures  which  may  be  in- 
definitely enlarged,  sentiments  and  delights  worthy  of  a  higher 
being.  This  power  of  poetry  to  refine  our  views  of  life  and  happi- 
ness is  more  and  more  needed  as  society  advances.  It  is  needed 
to  withstand  the  encroachments  of  heartless  and  artificial  manners, 
which  make  civilization  so  tame  and  uninteresting.  It  is  needed 
to  counteract  the  tendency  of  physical  science,  which — being  now 
sought,  not,  as  formerly,  for  intellectual  gratification,  but  for 
multiplying  bodily  comforts — requires  a  new  development  of 
imagination,  taste,  and  poetry,  to  preserve  men  from  sinking  into 
an  earthly,  material,  epicurean  life. 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CIIANN1NG. 


245 


BOOKS. 

In  the  best  books,  great  men  talk  to  us,  give  us  their  most  pre- 
cious thoughts,  and  pour  their  souls  into  ours.  God  be  thanked 
for  books !  They  are  the  voices  of  the  distant  and  the  dead,  and 
make  us  heirs  of  the  spiritual  life  of  past  ages.  Books  are  the 
true  levellers.  They  give  to  all  who  will  faithfully  use  them  the 
society,  the  spiritual  presence,  of  the  best  and  greatest  of  our  race. 
No  matter  how  poor  I  am, — no  matter  though  the  prosperous  of 
my  own  time  will  not  enter  my  obscure  dwelling, — if  the  sacred 
writers  will  enter  and  take  up  their  abode  under  my  roof,  if  Mil- 
ton will  cross  my  threshold  to  sing  to  me  of  Paradise,  and  Shak- 
speare  to  open  to  me  the  worlds  of  imagination  and  the  workings 
of  the  human  heart,  and  Franklin  to  enrich  me  with  his  practical 
wisdom, — I  shall  not  pine  for  want  of  intellectual  companionship, 
and  I  may  become  a  cultivated  man,  though  excluded  from  what 
is  called  the  best  society  in  the  place  where  I  live. 

THE  MORAL  DIGNITY  OF  THE  EDUCATIONAL  PROFESSION. 

One  of  the  surest  signs  of  the  regeneration  of  society  will  be  the 
elevation  of  the  art  of  teaching  to  the  highest  rank  in  the  com- 
munity. When  a  people  shall  learn  that  its  greatest  benefactors 
and  most  important  members  are  men  devoted  to  the  liberal  in- 
struction of  all  its  classes,  to  the  work  of  raising  to  life  its  buried 
intellect,  it  will  have  opened  to  itself  the  path  of  true  glory. 

There  is  no  office  higher  than  that  of  a  teacher  of  youth ;  for 
there  is  nothing  on  earth  so  precious  as  the  mind,  soul,  and  cha- 
racter of  the  child.  No  office  should  be  regarded  with  greater 
respect.1  The  first  minds  in  the  community  should  be  encou- 
raged to  assume  it.  Parents  should  do  all  but  impoverish  them- 
selves, to  induce  such  to  become  the  guardians  and  guides  of 
their  children.  To  this  good  all  their  show  and  luxury  should 
be  sacrificed. 

Here  they  should  be  lavish,  whilst  they  straiten  themselves  in 
every  thing  else.  They  should  wear  the  cheapest  clothes,  live  on 
the  plainest  food,  if  they  can  in  no  other  way  secure  to  their  fami- 
lies the  best  instruction.  They  should  have  no  anxiety  to  accumu- 
late property  for  their  children,  provided  they  can  place  them 
under  influences  which  will  awaken  their  faculties,  inspire  them 
with  pure  and  high  principles,  and  fit  them  to  bear  a  manly,  use- 
ful, and  honorable  part  in  the  world.    No  language  can  express 


1  "The  expression  of  gratitude  is  a  virtue  and  a  pleasure:  a  liberal  mind  will 
delight  to  celebrate  the  memory  of  its  parents;  and  the  teachers  of  science  are 
the  parents  of  the  mind." — Gibbox. 

21* 


246 


"WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING. 


the  cruelty  or  folly  of  that  economy  which,  to  leave  a  fortune  to  a 
child,  starves  his  intellect,  impoverishes  his  heart. 

MILTON  AND  JOHNSON. 

We  have  enlarged  on  Milton's  character,  not  only  from  the 
pleasure  of  paying  that  sacred  debt  which  the  mind  owes  to  him 
who  has  quickened  and  delighted  it,  but  from  an  apprehension 
that  Milton  has  not  yet  reaped  his  due  harvest  of  esteem  and 
veneration.  The  mists  which  the  prejudices  and  bigotry  of  John- 
son spread  over  his  bright  name,  are  not  yet  wholly  scattered, 
though  fast  passing  away.  "We  wish  not  to  disparage  Johnson. 
We  could  find  no  pleasure  in  sacrificing  one  great  man  to  the 
manes  of  another.  But  we  owe  it  to  Milton  and  to  other  illus- 
trious names  to  say  that  Johnson  has  failed  of  the  highest  end  of 
biography,  which  is  to  give  immortality  to  virtue,  and  to  call  forth 
fervent  admiration  towards  those  who  have  shed  splendor  on  past 
ages.  We  acquit  Johnson,  however,  of  intentional  misrepresenta- 
tion. He  did  not,  and  could  not,  appreciate  Milton.  We  doubt 
whether  two  other  minds,  having  so  little  in  common  as  those  of 
which  we  are  now  speaking,  can  be  found  in  the  higher  walks  of 
literature.  Johnson  was  great  in  his  own  sphere,  but  that  sphere 
was  comparatively  "  of  the  earth,"  whilst  Milton's  was  only  infe- 
rior to  that  of  angels.  It  was  customary,  in  the  day  of  John- 
sou's  glory,  to  call  him  a  giant,  to  class  him  with  a  mighty  but 
still  an  earth-born  race.  Milton  we  should  rank  among  seraphs. 
Johnson's  mind  acted  chiefly  on  man's  actual  condition,  on  the 
realities  of  life,  on  the  springs  of  human  action,  on  the  passions 
which  now  agitate  society,  and  he  seems  hardly  to  have  dreamed 
of  a  higher  state  of  the  human  mind  than  was  then  exhibited. 
Milton,  on  the  other  hand,  burned  with  a  deep  yet  calm  love  of 
moral  grandeur  and  celestial  purity.  He  thought,  not  so  much 
of  what  man  is,  as  of  what  he  might  become.  His  own  mind  was 
a  revelation  to  him  of  a  higher  condition  of  humanity,  and  to 
promote  this  he  thirsted  and  toiled  for  freedom,  as  the  element 
for  the  growth  and  improvement  of  his  nature.  In  religion, 
Johnson  was  gloomy  and  inclined  to  superstition,  and  on  the  sub- 
ject of  government  leaned  towards  absolute  power;  and  the  idea 
of  reforming  either  never  entered  his  mind  but  to  disturb  and 
provoke  it.  The  church  and  the  civil  polity  under  which  he 
lived  seemed  to  him  perfect,  unless  he  may  have  thought  that  the 
former  would  be  improved  by  a  larger  infusion  of  Romish  rites 
and  doctrines,  and  the  latter  by  an  enlargement  of  the  royal  pre- 
rogative. Hence  a  tame  acquiescence  in  the  present  forms  of 
religion  and  government  marks  his  works.  Hence  we  find  so 
little  in  his  writings  which  is  electric  and  soul-kindling,  and 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNINO.  247 

which  gives  the  reader  a  consciousness  of  being  made  for  a  state 
of  loftier  thought  and  feeling  than  the  present.  Milton's  whole 
soul,  on  the  contrary,  revolted  against  the  maxims  of  legitimacy, 
hereditary  faith,  and  servile  reverence  for  established  power.  He 
could  not  brook  the  bondage  to  which  men  had  bowed  for  ages. 
"  Reformation''  was  the  first  word  of  public  warning  which  broke 
from  his  youthful  lips,  and  the  hope  of  it  was  the  solace  of  his 
declining  years.  The  difference  between  Milton  and  Johnson 
may  be  traced,  not  only  in  these  great  features  of  mind,  but  in 
their  whole  characters.  Milton  was  refined  and  spiritual  in  his 
habits,  temperate  almost  to  abstemiousness,  and  refreshed  himself 
after  intellectual  effort  by  music.  Johnson  inclined  to  more 
sensual  delights.  Milton  was  exquisitely  alive  to  the  outward 
creation,  to  sounds,  motions,  and  forms,  to  natural  beauty  and 
grandeur.  Johnson,  through  defect  of  physical  organization,  if 
not  through  deeper  deficiency,  had  little  susceptibility  of  these 
pure  and  delicate  pleasures,  and  would  not  have  exchanged  the 
ctrand  for  the  vale  of  Tempe  or  the  gardens  of  the  Hesperides. 
How  could  Johnson  be  just  to  Milton  ? 

CHRISTIANITY  THE  GREAT  EMANCIPATOR. 

I  pass  to  another  topic  suggested  by  Mr.  Griirney's  book.  What 
is  it,  let  me  ask,  which  has  freed  the  West  India  slave,  and  is  now 
raising  him  to  the  dignity  of  a  man  ?  The  answer  is  most  cheer- 
ing. The  great  emancipator  has  been  Christianity.  Policy,  in- 
terest, state-craft,  church-craft,  the  low  motives  which  have 
originated  other  revolutions,  have  not  worked  here.  From  the 
times  of  Clarkson  and  Wilberforce  down  to  the  present  day,  the 
friends  of  the  slave,  who  have  pleaded  his  cause  and  broken  his 
chains,  have  been  Christians ;  and  it  is  from  Christ,  the  divine 
philanthropist,  from  the  inspiration  of  his  cross,  that  they  have 
gathered  faith,  hope,  and  love  for  the  conflict.  This  illustration 
of  the  spirit  and  power  of  Christianity  is  a  bright  addition  to  the 
evidences  of  its  truth.  We  have  here  the  miracle  of  a  great 
nation,  rising  in  its  strength,  not  for  conquest,  not  to  assert  its 
own  rights,  but  to  free  and  elevate  the  most  despised  and  injured 
race  on  earth ;  and  as  this  stands  alone  in  human  history,  so  it 
recalls  to  us  those  wonderful  works  of  mercy  and  power  by  which 
the  divinity  of  our  religion  was  at  first  confirmed. 

It  is  with  deep  sorrow  that  I  am  compelled  to  turn  to  the 
contrast  between  religion  in  England  and  religion  in  America. 
There  it  vindicates  the  cause  of  the  oppressed;  here  it  rivets  the 
chain  and  hardens  the  heart  of  the  oppressor.  At  the  South, 
what  is  the  Christian  ministry  doing  for  the  slave?  Teaching 
the  rightfulness  of  his  yoke,  joining-  in  the  cry  against  the  men 


248 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING. 


who  plead  for  his  freedom,  giving  the  sanction  of  God's  name  to 
the  greatest  offence  against  his  children.  This  is  the  saddest 
view  presented  by  the  conflict  with  slavery.  The  very  men 
whose  office  it  is  to  plead  against  all  wrong,  to  enforce  the  obliga- 
tion of  impartial,  inflexible  justice,  to  breathe  the  spirit  of  uni- 
versal brotherly  love,  to  resist  at  all  hazards  the  spirit  and  evil 
customs  of  the  world,  to  live  and  to  die  under  the  banner  of 
Christian  truth,  have  enlisted  under  the  standard  of  slavery. 

Review  of  Gurneifs  Letters,  1840. 

CHARACTER  OP  THE  NEGRO  RACE. 

I  pass  to  another  topic  suggested  by  Mr.  Gurney's  book. 
According  to  this,  and  all  the  books  written  on  the  subject,  eman- 
cipation has  borne  a  singular  testimony  to  the  noble  elements  of 
the  negro  character.  It  may  be  doubted  whether  any  other  race 
would  have  borne  this  trial  as  well  as  they.  Before  the  day  of 
freedom  came,  the  West  Indies  and  this  country  foreboded  fearful 
consequences  from  the  sudden  transition  of  such  a  multitude  from 
bondage  to  liberty.  Revenge,  massacre,  unbridled  lust,  were  to 
usher  in  the  grand  festival  of  emancipation,  which  was  to  end  in 
the  breaking  out  of  a  new  Pandemonium  on  earth.  Instead  of 
this,  the  holy  day  of  liberty  was  welcomed  by  shouts  and  tears  of 
gratitude.  The  liberated  negroes  did  not  hasten,  as  Saxon  serfs 
in  like  circumstances  might  have  done,  to  haunts  of  intoxication, 
but  to  the  house  of  God.  Their  rude  churches  were  thronged. 
Their  joy  found  utterance  in  prayers  and  hymns.  History  con- 
tains no  record  more  touching  than  the  account  of  the  religious, 
tender  thankfulness  which  this  vast  boon  awakened  in  the  negro 
breast.  And  what  followed  ?  Was  this  beautiful  emotion  an 
evanescent  transport,  soon  to  give  way  to  ferocity  and  vengeance  ? 
It  was  natural  for  masters,  who  had  inflicted  causeless  stripes,  and 
filled  the  cup  of  the  slaves  with  bitterness,  to  fear  their  rage  after 
liberation.  But  the  overwhelming  joy  of  freedom  having  sub- 
sided, they  returned  to  labor.  Not  even  a  blow  was  struck  in  the 
excitement  of  that  vast  change.  No  violation  of  the  peace  re- 
quired the  interposition  of  the  magistrate.  The  new  relation  was 
assumed  easily,  quietly,  without  an  act  of  violence  ;  and,  since  that 
time,  in  the  short  space  of  two  years,  how  much  have  they  accom- 
plished !  Beautiful  villages  have  grown  up,  little  freeholds  have 
been  purchased,  the  marriage  tie  has  become  sacred,  the  child  is 
educated,  crime  has  diminished,  there  are  islands  where  a  greater 
proportion  of  the  young  are  trained  in  schools  than  among  the 
whites  of  the  slave  States.  I  ask  whether  any  other  people  on 
the  face  of  the  earth  would  have  received  and  used  the  infinite 
blessing  of  liberty  so  well.  M>M* 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CIIANNING. 


249 


EVERY  MAN  GREAT. 

Every  man,  in  every  condition,  is  great.  It  is  only  our  own 
diseased  sight  which  makes  him  little.  A  man  is  great  as  a  man, 
he  he  where  or  what  he  may.  The  grandeur  of  his  nature  turns 
to  insignificance  all  outward  distinctions.  His  powers  of  intellect, 
of  conscience,  of  love,  of  knowing  God,  of  perceiving  the  beauti- 
ful, of  acting  on  his  own  mind,  on  outward  nature,  and  on  his 
fellow-creatures, — these  are  glorious  prerogatives.  Through  the 
vulgar  error  of  undervaluing  what  is  common,  we  are  apt,  indeed, 
to  pass  these  by  as  of  little  worth.  But,  as  in  the  outward  crea- 
tion, so  in  the  soul,  the  common  is  the  most  precious.  Science 
and  art  may  invent  splendid  modes  of  illuminating  the  apartments 
of  the  opulent;  but  these  are  all  poor  and  worthless,  compared 
with  the  common  light  which  the  sun  sends  into  all  our  windows, 
which  he  pours  freely,  impartially,  over  hill  and  valley,  which 
kindles  daily  the  eastern  and  western  sky  :  and  so  the  common 
lights  of  reason,  and  conscience,  and  love,  are  of  more  worth  and 
dignity  than  the  rare  endowments  which  give  celebrity  to  a  few. 
Let  us  not  disparage  that  nature  which  is  common  to  all  men ;  for 
no  thought  can  measure  its  grandeur.  It  is  the  image  of  God,  the 
image  even  of  his  infinity,  for  no  limits  can  be  set  to  its  unfolding. 
He  who  possesses  the  divine  powers  of  the  soul  is  a  great  being, 
be  his  place  what  it  may.  You  may  clothe  him  with  rags,  may 
immure  him  in  a  dungeon,  may  chain  him  to  slavish  tasks.  But 
he  is  still  great.  You  may  shut  him  out  of  your  houses;  but  God 
opens  to  him  heavenly  mansions.  He  makes  no  show,  indeed,  in 
the  streets  of  a  splendid  city ;  but  a  clear  thought,  a  pure  affec- 
tion, a  resolute  act  of  a  virtuous  will,  have  a  dignity  of  quite 
another  kind,  and  far  higher  than  accumulations  of  brick,  and 
granite,  and  plaster,  and  stucco,  however  cunningly  put  together. 

The  truly  great  are  to  be  found  everywhere ;  nor  is  it  easy  to 
say  in  what  condition  they  spring  up  most  plentifully.  Heal  great- 
ness has  nothing  to  do  with  a  man's  sphere.  It  does  not  lie  in 
the  magnitude  of  his  outward  agency,  in  the  extent  of  the  effects 
which  he  produces.  The  greatest  men  may  do  comparatively  little 
abroad.  Perhaps  the  greatest  in  our  city  at  this  moment  are 
buried  in  obscurity.  Grandeur  of  character  lies  wholly  in  force 
of  soul, — that  is,  in  the  force  of  thought,  moral  principle,  and  love; 
and  this  may  be  found  in  the  humblest  condition  of  life.  A  man 
brought  up  to  an  obscure  trade,  and  hemmed  in  by  the  wants  of  a 
growing  family,  may,  in  his  narrow  sphere,  perceive  more  clearly, 
discriminate  more  keenly,  weigh  evidence  more  wisely,  seize  on 
the  right  means  more  decisively,  and  have  more  presence  of  mind 
in  difficulty,  than  another  who  has  accumulated  vast  stores  of 
knowledge  by  laborious  study;  and  he  has  more  of  intellectual 


250 


GULIAN  C.  VERPLANCK. 


greatness.  Many  a  man,  who  has  gone  but  a  few  miles  from  home, 
understands  human  nature  better,  detects  motives  and  weighs  cha- 
racter more  sagaciously,  than  another  who  has  travelled  over  the 
known  world,  and  made  a  name  by  his  reports  of  different  coun- 
tries. It  is  force  of  thought  which  measures  intellectual,  and  so  it 
is  force  of  principle  which  measures  moral,  greatness, — that  highest 
of  human  endowments,  that  brightest  manifestation  of  the  Divinity. 
The  greatest  man  is  he  who  chooses  the  Right  with  invincible  re- 
solution, who  resists  the  sorest  temptations  from  within  and  with- 
out, who  bears  the  heaviest  burdens  cheerfully,  who  is  calmest  in 
storms  and  most  fearless  under  menace  and  frowns,  whose  reliance 
on  truth,  on  virtue,  on  God,  is  most  unfaltering.  I  believe  this 
greatness  to  be  most  common  among  the  multitude,  whose  names 
are  never  heard.  Among  common  people  will  be  found  more  of 
hardship  borne  manfully,  more  of  unvarnished  truth,  more  of  re- 
ligious trust,  more  of  that  generosity  which  gives  what  the  giver 
needs  himself,  and  more  of  a  wise  estimate  of  life  and  death,  than 
among  the  more  prosperous.  In  these  remarks  you  will  see  why 
I  feel  and  express  a  deep  interest  in  the  obscure, — in  the  mass  of 
men.  The  distinctions  of  society  vanish  before  the  light  of  these 
truths.  I  attach  myself  to  the  multitude,  not  because  they  are 
voters  and  have  political  power,  but  because  they  are  men,  and 
have  within  their  reach  the  most  glorious  prizes  of  humanity. 

Address  on  Self- Culture. 


GULIAN  C.  VERPLANCK. 

Gulian  Crom.melin  Veiiplanck  is,  as  his  name  indicates,  of  German  descent; 
yet  he  remarks,  in  one  of  his  addresses,  "  I  cannot  hut  remember  that  I  have  New 
England  blood  in  my  veins  :  that  many  of  my  happiest  youthful  days  were  passed 
in  her  villages."  He  was  born  in  the  city  of  New  York  about  the  year  1781 ; 
graduated  at  Columbia  College  in  1801,  studied  law,  and  then  went  abroad,  and 
passed  several  years  in  Great  Britain  and  on  the  continent.  On  his  return,  he 
became  interested  in  politics,  and  was  elected  to  the  State  Legislature.  He  had 
very  early  a  reputation  for  scholarship  and  taste,  but  published  nothing  under  his 
own  name  till  1818,  when  he  delivered  an  address  before  the  New  York  Historical 
Society,  which  soon  passed  through  several  editions.  In  1822,  he  accepted  the 
Professorship  of  the  Evidences  of  Christianity  in  the  Theological  Seminary  of  the 
Protestant  Episcopal  Church,  in  New  York;  and  two  years  after  published  Essays 
on  the  Nature  and  Uses  of  the  Various  Evidences  of  Revealed  Religion,  which  have 
been  much  admired,  not  only  for  the  clearness  of  their  argument,  but  for  the 
beauty  of  their  style. 

For  eight  years  from  1825  Mr.  Verplanck  was  a  member  of  Congress  for  the 
city  of  New  York,  and  as  such  secured  the  respect  and  admiration  of  his  asso- 
ciates, by  his  fine  manners,  dignified  bearing,  and  extensive  acquirements.  In 


GULIAN  C.  VERPLANCK. 


251 


1827,  he  united  with  Bryant  and  Sands  in  the  production  of  an  annual  called  t lie 
"  Talisman,"  which  was  illustrated  with  engravings,  and  continued  three  years. 
In  1833,  he  published,  in  one  volume,  his  Discourses  and  Addresses  on  Subjects  of 
American  History,  Arts,  and  Literature,  and  a  Discourse  on  the  Right  Moral  Influence 
and  Use  of  Liberal  Studies,  and,  in  1S34,  Influence  of  Moral  Causes  vpon  Opinion, 
Science,  and  Literature.  The  last  of  his  literary  labors  is  a  splendid  edition  of 
Shakspeare,  in  three  large  volumes,  octavo,  begun  in  1844  and  completed  in 
December,  1846.  Besides  its  judicious  selection  of  notes  of  the  best  commentators 
upon  difficult  passages,  forming  a  sort  of  comprehensive  commentary,  its  value  is 
not  a  little  enhanced  by  the  elaborate  introductions  and  critical  notes  of  the  editor 
himself. 

Mr.  Verplanck  now  resides,  in  a  green  and  vigorous  old  age,  at  Fishkill  Land- 
ing, on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson.' 


JOHN  JAY. 

The  name  of  John  Jay  is  gloriously  associated  with  that  of 
Alexander  Hamilton  in  the  history  of  our  liberties  and  our  laws. 
John  Jay  had  completed  his  academic  education  in  this  college 
several  years  before  the  commencement  of  the  Revolution.  The 
beginning  of  the  contest  between  Great  Britain  and  the  colonies 
found  him  already  established  in  legal  reputation,  and,  young  as 
he  still  was,  singularly  well  fitted  for  his  country's  most  arduous 
services,  by  a  rare  union  of  the  dignity  and  gravity  of  mature 
age  with  youthful  energy  and  zeal.  At  the  age  of  thirty,  he 
drafted,  and  in  effect  himself  formed,  the  first  constitution  of  the 
State  of  New  York,  under  which  we  lived  for  forty-five  years, 
which  still  forms  the  basis  of  our  present  State  government,  and 
from  which  other  States  have  since  borrowed  many  of  its  most 
remarkable  and  original  provisions.  At  that  age,  as  soon  as  New 
York  threw  off  her  colonial  character,  he  was  appointed  the  first 
Chief  Justice  of  the  State.  Then  followed  a  long,  rapid,  and 
splendid  succession  of  high  trusts  and  weighty  duties,  the  results 
of  which  are  recorded  in  the  most  interesting  pages  of  our  national 
annals.  It  was  the  moral  courage  of  Jay,  at  the  head  of  the 
Supreme  Court  of  his  own  State,  that  gave  confidence  and  union 
to  the  people  of  New  York.  It  was  from  his  richly-stored  mind 
that  proceeded,  while  representing  this  State  in  the  Congress  of 
the  United  States,  (over  whose  deliberations  he  for  a  time  pre- 
sided,) many  of  those  celebrated  state  papers  whose  grave  elo- 
quence commanded  the  admiration  of  Europe,  and  drew  forth  the 
eulogy  of  the  master  orators  and  statesmen  of  the  times, — of  Chat- 
ham and  Burke ;  whilst,  by  the  evidence  which  they  gave  to  the 
wisdom  and  talent  that  guided  the  councils  of  America,  they  con- 
tributed to  her  reputation  and  ultimate  triumph  as  much  as  the 
most  signal  victories  of  her  arms.    As  our  minister  at  Madrid  and 


252  GULIAN  C.  VERPLANCK. 

Paris,  his  sagacity  penetrated,  and  his  calm  firmness  defeated,  the 
intricate  wiles  of  the  diplomatists  and  cabinets  of  Europe,  until,  in 
illustrious  association  with  Franklin  and  John  Adams,  he  settled 
and  signed  the  definitive  treaty  of  peace,  recognising  and  confirm- 
ing our  national  independence.  On  his  return  home,  a  not  less 
illustrious  association  awaited  him,  in  a  not  less  illustrious  cause, 
— the  establishment  and  defence  of  the  present  national  constitu- 
tion, with  Hamilton  and  Madison.  The  last  Secretary  of  Foreign 
Affairs  under  the  old  confederation,  he  was  selected  by  Washing- 
ton as  the  first  Chief  Justice  of  the  United  States  under  the  new 
constitution. 

His  able  negotiation  and  commercial  treaty  with  Great  Britain, 
and  his  six  years'  administration  as  Governor  of  this  State,  com- 
pleted his  public  life. 

After  a  long  and  uninterrupted  series  of  the  highest  civil  em- 
ployments, in  the  most  difficult  times,  he  suddenly  retired  from 
their  toils  and  dignities,  in  the  full  vigor  of  mind  and  body,  at  a 
time  when  the  highest  honors  of  the  nation  still  courted  his  accept- 
ance, and  at  an  age  when,  in  most  statesmen,  the  objects  of  ambi- 
tion show  as  gorgeously,  and  its  aspirations  are  as  stirring,  as  ever. 
He  looked  upon  himself  as  having  fully  discharged  his  debt  of 
service  to  his  country ;  and,  satisfied  with  the  ample  share  of  pub- 
lic honor  which  he  had  received,  he  retired  with  cheerful  content, 
without  ever  once  casting  a  reluctant  eye  towards  the  power  or 
dignities  he  had  left.  For  the  last  thirty  years  of  his  remaining 
life,  he  was  known  to  us  only  by  the  occasional  appearance  of  his 
name,  or  the  employment  of  his  pen,  in  the  service  of  piety  or 
philanthropy.  A  halo  of  veneration  seemed  to  encircle  him,  as 
one  belonging  to  another  world,  though  yet  lingering  amongst  us. 
When,  during  the  last  year,  the  tidings  of  his  death  came  to  us, 
they  were  received  through  the  nation,  not  with  sorrow  or  mourn- 
ing, but  with  solemn  awe,  like  that  with  which  we  read  the  myste- 
rious passage  of  ancient  Scripture, — "  And  Enoch  walked  with 
God;  and  he  was  not,  for  God  took  him/' 

Address  Delivered  at  Columbia  College,  1830. 

THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 

Next  in  rank  and  in  efficacy  to  that  pure  and  holy  source  of 
moral  influence — the  Mother — is  that  of  the  Schoolmaster.  It 
is  powerful  already.  What  would  it  be  if  in  every  one  of  those 
school  districts,  which  we  now  count  by  annually  increasing  thou- 
sands, there  were  to  be  found  one  teacher  well  informed  without 
pedantry,  religious  without  bigotry  or  fanaticism,  proud  and  fond 
of  his  profession,  and  honored  in  the  discharge  of  its  duties?  How 
wide  would  be  the  intellectual,  the  moral  influence  of  such  a  body 


GULIAN  C.  VERPLANCK. 


253 


of  men  !  Many  such  we  have  already  amongst  us,  men  humbly 
wise  and  obscurely  useful,  whom  poverty  cannot  depress,  nor 
neglect  degrade.  But  to  raise  up  a  body  of  such  men,  as  nume- 
rous as  the  wants  and  the  dignity  of  the  country  demand,  their 
labors  must  be  fitly  remunerated,  and  themselves  and  their  calling 
cherished  and  honored. 

The  schoolmaster's  occupation  is  laborious  and  ungrateful ;  its 
rewards  are  scanty  and  precarious.  He  may  indeed  be,  and  he 
ought  to  be,  animated  by  the  consciousness  of  doing  good, — that 
best  of  all  consolations,  that  noblest  of  all  motives.  But  that,  too, 
must  be  often  clouded  by  doubt  and  uncertainty.  Obscure  and 
inglorious  as  his  daily  occupation  may  appear  to  learned  pride  or 
worldly  ambition,  yet,  to  be  truly  successful  and  happy,  he  must 
be  animated  by  the  spirit  of  the  same  great  principles  which  in- 
spired the  most  illustrious  benefactors  of  mankind.  If  he  bring 
to  his  task  high  talent  and  rich  acquirement,  he  must  be  content 
to  look  into  distant  years  for  the  proof  that  his  labors  have  not 
been  wasted,  that  the  good  seed  which  he  daily  scatters  abroad 
does  not  fall  on  stony  ground  and  wither  away,  or  among  thorns, 
to  be  choked  by  the  cares,  the  delusions,  or  the  vices  of  the  world. 
He  must  solace  his  toils  with  the  same  prophetic  faith  that  enabled 
the  greatest  of  modern  philosophers,1  amidst  the  neglect  or  con- 
tempt of  his  own  times,  to  regard  himself  as  sowing  the  seeds  of 
truth  for  posterity  and  the  care  of  Heaven.  He  must  arm  him- 
self against  disappointment  and  mortification,  with  a  portion  of 
that  same  noble  confidence  which  soothed  the  greatest  of  modern 
poets  when,  weighed  down  by  care  and  danger,  by  poverty,  old 
age,  and  blindness,  still 

"  In  prophetic  dream  lie  saw 
The  youth  unborn,  with  pious  awe, 
Imbibe  each  virtue  from  his  sacred  page." 

He  must  know,  and  he  must  love  to  teach  his  pupils,  not  the 
meagre  elements  of  knowledge,  but  the  secret  and  the  use  of  their 
own  intellectual  strength,  exciting  and  enabling  them  hereafter  to 
raise  for  themselves  the  veil  which  covers  the  majestic  form  of 
Truth.  He  must  feel  deeply  the  reverence  due  to  the  youthful 
mind,  fraught  with  mighty  though  undeveloped  energies  and 
affections,  and  mysterious  and  eternal  destinies.  Thence  he  must 
have  learned  to  reverence  himself  and  his  profession,  and  to  look 
upon  its  otherwise  ill-requited  toils  as  their  own  exceeding  great 
reward. 

If  such  are  the  difficulties  and  the  discouragements,  such  the 
duties,  the  motives,  and  the  consolations,  of  teachers  who  are 


1  Bacon,  "  Severe  posteris  ac  Deo  immortali." 
22 


254 


JOHN  JAMES  AUDUBON. 


worthy  of  that  name  and  trust,  how  imperious,  then,  the  obliga- 
tion upon  every  enlightened  citizen  who  knows  and  feels  the  value 
of  such  men,  to  aid  them,  to  cheer  them,  and  to  honor  them  !  Thus 
shall  we  best  testify  our  gratitude  to  the  teachers  and  guides  of 
our  owrn  youth,  thus  best  serve  our  country,  and  thus  most  effec- 
tually diffuse  over  our  land  light,  and  truth,  and  virtue.1 


JOHN  JAMES  AUDUBON,  1782—1851. 

John  James  Audubon,  author  of  the  splendid  work  on  the  birds  of  America, 
was  born  in  New  Orleans  on  the  4th  of  May,  1780,  of  French  parents,  and  re- 
ceived his  education  at  Paris.  Returning  in  his  eighteenth  year,  he  settled  on  a 
farm,  purchased  for  him  by  his  father,  a  few  miles  north  of  Philadelphia,  where 
the  Perkioming  falls  into  the  Schuylkill,  and  here  commenced  that  series  of 
drawings  of  the  numerous  birds  with  which  the  woods  around  him  were  filled, — 
drawings  which  finally  resulted  in  his  magnificent  collection  of  The  Birds  of 
America.  Here,  too,  he  was  married,  and  here  was  born  his  eldest  son.  He  soon 
engaged  in  commercial  business;  but,  being  unsuccessful,  he  resolved  to  seek  his 
fortunes  in  the  "West.  As  early  as  1810,  be  sailed  down  the  Ohio  in  an  open  boat, 
with  his  wife  and  child,  in  search  of  a  congenial  spot  in  those  then  almost  wilder- 
ness regions  in  which  to  fix  his  home  and  pursue  the  researches  to  which  he  gave 
all  his  energies. 


1  From  A  Tribute  to  the  Memory  of  Daniel  IT.  Barnes,  delivered  at  the  annual 
meeting  of  the  High  School  Society,  November.  1829.  Mr.  Barnes  originated, 
and  conducted  for  some  years  with  great  reputation,  the  High  School  of  New 
York ;  was  a  classical  scholar  of  high  attainments,  a  member  of  the  New  York 
Lyceum  of  Natural  History,  and  said  to  be  at  that  time  the  first  conchologist  in 
the  United  States.  He  was  elected  President  of  Columbia  College  in  Washington, 
D.  C,  but  declined  the  appointment,  preferring  to  remain  in  the  institution  (the 
High  School)  to  which  he  had  been  devoted  from  its  foundation. 

In  "Harper's  Magazine''  for  January.  1859,  is  a  long  and  admirably- written 
article  upon  the  teacher's  office,  from  which  I  must  make  a  short  extract: — "The 
ideal  view  of  the  teacher's  office  is  one  of  the  noblest  and  grandest  that  can  enter 
the  human  mind.  Call  it  the  highest  of  earthly  offices, — call  it  the  chieftainship 
among  those  intellectual  and  moral  forces  that  have  the  stability,  welfare,  glory 
of  society  committed  to  their  guidance  and  support, — and  the  language,  so  far 
from  approaching  the  borders  of  extravagance  and  bombast,  is  justified  by  the 
decisions  of  the  most  sober  reason.  .  .  .  Men  arc  opening  their  eyes  to  the  fact 
that;  education  does  a  much  grander  work  for  man  as  man  than  for  man  as  arti- 
san, physician,  lawyer,  statesman  ;  and  the  truth  is  slowly  vindicating  itself  that 
it  is  a  mightier  instrumentality  for  the  family  than  for  the  state.  We  hail  this 
as  a  significant  indication  of  a  brighter  era.  Of  all  causes  that  have  tended  to 
enfeeble  the  power  of  the  teacher  and  to  restrict  the  scope  of  education,  the  gene- 
ral sentiment  that  the  whole  system  was  simply  designed  to  make  respectable 
citizens  has  been  most  pernicious.  Happily  for  the  age,  a  broader  and  sounder 
view  is  taking  hold  on  the  public  mind.  It  is  one  step  toward  freedom  from  the 
bondage  of  a  material  civilization  ;  and,  if  faithfully  pursued,  we  shall  soon  see 
teaching  regarded  as  the  apostleship  of  God's  providence." 


JOHN  JAMES  AUDUBON. 


255 


From  that  time,  his  career  was  one  of  adventure,  romantic  incident,  and  varied 
fortune.  Hardly  a  region  in  the  United  States  was  left  unvisited  by  him,  and  the 
most  inaccessible  haunts  of  nature  were  continually  disturbed  by  this  adventurous 
and  indefatigable  ornithologist,  to  whom  a  new  discovery  cr  a  fresh  experience 
was  only  the  incentive  to  greater  ardor  and  renewed  efforts  in  his  favorite  depart- 
ment of  science. 

In  1S21,  he  visited  Philadelphia  with  his  drawings  ;  but,  not  receiving  much 
encouragement,  he  went  to  New  York,  where  he  "met  with  a  kindness  well 
suited  to  elevate  his  depressed  spirits."  In  1S26,  he  sailed  for  Europe,  where  his 
work — The  Birds  of  America1 — procured  him  a  generous  reception  from  the  most 
distinguished  men  of  science  and  letters.  In  1829,  he  returned  home;  and,  after 
other  explorations  of  the  woods  in  various  parts  of  the  country  for  four  years,  he 
published  the  second  volume  of  his  great  work  in  1S34,2  the  third  in  1835,  and 
the  fourth  and  last  in  1838. 3  In  1839,  he  purchased  a  beautiful  place  on  the 
Hudson,  a  little  above  New  York,  and  commenced  a  smaller  edition  of  his  Birds, 
which  was  completed  in  1811,  in  seven  imperial  octavo  volumes.  In  this  delight- 
ful suburban  residence  he  spent  the  latter  years  of  his  life,  and  died  on  the  27th 
of  January,  1851,  leaving  behind  him  a  name  which  is  a  rich  legacy  to  science 
and  art.4 

THE  HUMMING-BIRD. 

AYhere  is  the  person  who,  on  observing  this  glittering  fragment 
of  the  rainbow,  would  not  pause,  admire,  and  instantly  turn  his 
mind  with  reverence  toward  the  almighty  Creator,  the  wonders 
of  whose  hand  we  at  every  step  discover,  and  of  whose  sublime 
conceptions  we  everywhere  observe  the  manifestations  in  his  ad- 
mirable system  of  creation  ?  There  breathes  not  such  a  person ; 
so  kindly  have  we  all  been  blessed  with  that  intuitive  and  noble 
feeling,  admiration  ! 

Xo  sooner  has  the  returning  sun  again  introduced  the  vernal 
season,  and  caused  millions  of  plants  to  expand  their  leaves  and 


1  It  was  published  in  numbers,  each  containing  five  colored  plates  of  large  folio 
size.    The  first  of  these  appeared  in  1S25,  and  the  first  volume  in  1829. 

2  In  this  year  (1834)  he  completed  his  Ornithological  Biography,  in  two  volumes. 

3  The  whole  work  has  four  hundred  and  thirty-five  plates,  and  contains  one 
thousand  and  sixty-five  distinct  specimens,  from  the  humming-bird  to  the  eagle. 
The  subscription-price  for  the  four  volumes  was  one  thousand  dollars.  The 
number  of  subscribers  was  about  one  hundred  and  seventy. 

4  UI  cannot  but  think  that  his  countrymen  made  too  little  account  of  his  death. 
It  was  perhaps,  however,  not  to  be  expected  that  the  multitude,  who  knew  nothing 
of  his  services,  should  pay  him  their  tributes  of  gratitude  and  respect;  but  it  was 
to  be  supposed  that  our  scientific  societies  and  our  artist  associations  would  at 
least  propose  a  monument  to  one  who  was  so  rare  an  ornament  to  both.  Yet,  if 
they  were  neglectful,  there  are  those  who  will  not  be,  and  who  will  long  cherish 
his  name;  and,  in  the  failure  of  all  human  memorials,  as  it  has  been  elsewhere 
said,  the  little  wren  will  whisper  it  about  our  homes,  the  robin  and  the  reed-bird 
pipe  it  from  the  meadows,  the  ring-dove  will  coo  it  from  the  dewy  depths  of  the 
woods,  and  the  mountain-eagle  scream  it  to  the  stars." — Homes  of  American 
Authors. 


256 


JOHN  JAMES  AUDUBON. 


blossoms  to  his  genial  beams,  than  the  little  humming-bird  is  seen 
advancing  on  fairy  wings,  carefully  visiting  every  opening  flower-cup, 
and,  like  a  curious  florist,  removing  from  each  the  injurious  insects 
that  otherwise  would  ere  long  cause  their  beauteous  petals  to 
droop  and  decay.  Poised  in  the  air,  it  is  observed  peeping  cau- 
tiously, and  with  sparkling  eye,  into  their  innermost  recesses, 
whilst  the  ethereal  motions  of  its  pinions,  so  rapid  and  so  light, 
appear  to  fan  and  cool  the  flower,  without  injuring  its  fragile 
texture,  and  produce  a  delightful  murmuring  sound,  well  adapted 
for  lulling  the  insects  to  repose.  *  *  * 

The  prairies,  the  fields,  the  orchards  and  gardens,  nay,  the 
deepest  shades  of  the  forests,  are  all  visited  in  their  turn,  and 
everywhere  the  little  bird  meets  with  pleasure  and  with  food.  Its 
gorgeous  throat  in  beauty  and  brilliancy  baffles  all  competition. 
Now  it  glows  with  a  fiery  hue,  and  again  it  is  changed  to  the 
deepest  velvety  black.  The  upper  parts  of  its  delicate  body  are  of 
resplendent  changing  green ;  and  it  throws  itself  through  the  air 
with  a  swiftness  and  vivacity  hardly  conceivable.  It  moves  from 
one  flower  to  another  like  a  gleam  of  light,  upwards,  downwards, 
to  the  right,  and  to  the  left.  In  this  manner  it  searches  the  ex- 
treme northern  portions  of  our  country,  following  with  great  pre- 
caution the  advances  of  the  season,  and  retreats  with  equal  care  a.t 
the  approach  of  autumn. 

THE  MOCKING-BIRD. 

It  is  where  the  great  magnolia  shoots  up  its  majestic  trunk, 
crowned  with  evergreen  leaves,  and  decorated  with  a  thousand 
beautiful  flowers  that  perfume  the  air  around ;  where  the  forests 
and  fields  are  adorned  with  blossoms  of  every  hue ;  where  a  genial 
warmth  seldom  forsakes  the  atmosphere ;  where  berries  and  fruits 
of  all  descriptions  are  met  with  at  every  step ;  in  a  word,  it  is 
where  nature  seems  to  have  paused,  as  she  passed  over  the  earth, 
and,  opening  her  stores,  to  have  strewed  with  unsparing  hand  the 
diversified  seeds  from  which  have  sprung  all  the  beautiful  and 
splendid  forms  which  I  should  in  vain  attempt  to  describe,  that 
the  mocking-bird  should  have  fixed  its  abode,  there  only  that  its 
wondrous  song  should  be  heard.  But  where  is  that  favored 
land  ?  It  is,  reader,  in  Louisiana.  It  is  there  that  you  should 
listen  to  the  love-song  of  the  mocking-bird,  as  I  at  this  moment 
do.  See  how  he  flies  round  his  mate,  with  motions  as  light  as 
those  of  the  butterfly  !  His  tail  is  widely  expanded,  he  mounts 
in  the  air  to  a  small  distance,  describes  a  circle,  and,  again  alight- 
ing, approaches  his  beloved  one,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  delight; 
for  she  has  already  promised  to  be  his  and  his  only.  His  beautiful 
wings  are  gently  raised,  he  bows  to  his  love,  and,  again  bouncing 


JOHN  JAMES  AUDUBON. 


257 


upwards,  opens  his  bill  and  pours  forth  his  melody,  full  of  exulta- 
tion at  the  conquest  which  he  has  made. 

They  are  not  the  soft  sounds  of  the  flute  or  the  hautboy  that  I 
hear,  but  the  sweeter  notes  of  nature's  own  music.  The  mellow- 
ness of  the  song,  the  varied  modulations  and  gradations,  the  extent 
of  its  compass,  the  great  brilliancy  of  execution,  are  unrivalled. 
There  is  probably  no  bird  in  the  world  that  possesses  all  the 
musical  qualifications  of  this  king  of  song,  who  has  derived  all 
from  nature's  self.    Yes,  reader,  all ! 

No  sooner  has  he  again  alighted,  and  the  conjugal  contract  has 
been  sealed,  than,  as  if  his  breast  was  about  to  be  rent  with  de- 
light, he  again  pours  forth  his  notes  with  more  softness  and  rich- 
ness than  before.  He  now  soars  higher,  glancing  around  with  a 
vigilant  eye,  to  assure  himself  that  none  has  witnessed  his  bliss. 
When  these  love-scenes  are  over,  he  dances  through  the  air,  full 
of  animation  and  delight,  and,  as  if  to  convince  his  lovely  mate 
that,  to  enrich  her  hopes,  he  has  much  more  love  in  store,  he  that 
moment  begins  anew,  and  imitates  all  the  notes  which  nature  has 
imparted  to  the  other  songsters  of  the  grove. 

THE  WOOD-THRUSH. 

This  bird  is  my  greatest  favorite  of  the  feathered  tribes  of  our 
woods.  To  it  I  owe  much.  How  often  has  it  revived  my  droop- 
ing spirits,  when  I  have  listened  to  its  wild  notes  in  the  forest, 
after  passing  a  restless  night  in  my  slender  shed,  so  feebly  secured 
against  the  violence  of  the  storm  as  to  show  me  the  futility  of  my 
best  efforts  to  rekindle  my  little  fire,  whose  uncertain  and  vacil- 
lating light  had  gradually  died  away  under  the  destructive  weight 
of  the  dense  torrents  of  rain  that  seemed  to  involve  the  heavens 
and  the  earth  in  one  mass  of  fearful  murkiness  : — how  often,  after 
such  a  night,  when,  far  from  my  dear  home,  and  deprived  of  the 
presence  of  those  nearest  to  my  heart,  wearied,  hungry,  drenched, 
I  have  been  obliged  to  wait  with  the  patience  of  a  martyr  for  the 
return  of  day,  silently  counting  over  the  years  of  my  youth,  doubt- 
ing, perhaps,  if  ever  again  I  should  return  to  my  home  and  embrace 
my  family  : — how  often,  as  the  first  glimpses  of  morning  gleamed 
doubtfully  amongst  the  dusky  masses  of  the  forest-trees,  has  there 
come  upon  my  ear,  thrilling  along  the  sensitive  cords  which  connect 
that  organ,  with  the  heart,  the  delightful  music  of  this  harbinger 
of  day  ! — and  how  fervently,  on  sue  h  occasions,  have  I  blessed  the 
Being  who  formed  the  wood-thrush,  and  placed  it  in  those  solitary 
forests,  as  if  to  console  me  amidst  my  privations,  to  cheer  my  de- 
pressed mind,  and  to  make  me  feel,  as  I  did,  that  man  never 
should  despair,  whatever  may  be  his  situation,  as  he  can  never  be 
certain  that  aid  and  deliverance  are  not  at  hand. 

22* 


258 


DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


The  wood-thrush  seldom  commits  a  mistake  after  such  a  storm; 
for  no  sooner  are  its  sweet  notes  heard  than  the  heavens  gradually 
clear,  the  bright  refracted  light  rises  in  gladdening  rays  from 
beneath  the  distant  horizon,  the  effulgent  beams  increase  in  their 
intensity,  and  the  great  orb  of  day  at  length  bursts  cn  the  sight. 
The  gray  vapor  that  floats  along  the  ground  is  quickly  dissipated, 
the  world  smiles  at  the  happy  change,  and  the  woods  are  soon 
heard  to  echo  the  joyous  thanks  of  their  many  songsters.  At  that 
moment  all  fears  vanish,  giving  place  to  an  inspiriting  hope.  The 
hunter  prepares  to  leave  his  camp.  He  listens  to  the  wood- 
thrush,  while  he  thinks  of  the  course  which  he  ought  to  pursue ; 
and,  as  the  bird  approaches  to  peep  at  him,  and  learn  somewhat 
his  intentions,  he  raises  his  mind  toward  the  Supreme  Disposer  of 
events.  Seldom,  indeed,  have  I  heard  the  song  of  this  thrush, 
without  feeling  all  that  tranquillity  of  mind  to  which  the  secluded 
situation  in  which  it  delights  is  so  favorable.  The  thickest  and 
darkest  woods  always  appear  to  please  it  best.  The  borders  of 
murmuring  streamlets,  overshadowed  by  the  dense  foliage  of  the 
lofty  trees  growing  on  the  gentle  declivities,  amidst  which  the 
sunbeams  seldom  penetrate,  are  its  favorite  resorts.  There  it  is 
that  the  musical  powers  of  this  hermit  of  the  woods  must  be  heard 
to  be  fully  appreciated  and  enjoyed. 


DANIEL  WEBSTER,  1782—1852. 

This  most  distinguished  of  all  American  statesmen  and  orators,  the  son  of 
Ebenezer  and  Abigail  Webster,  was  born  in  Salisbury,  New  Hampshire,  on  the 
18th  of  January,  1782.  It  was  early  remarked  tbat  he  had  uncommon  endow- 
ments, and  in  his  fourteenth  year  he  was  placed  in  Phillips  Exeter  Academy, 
at  that  time  under  the  care  of  Dr.  Benjamin  Abbot,  to  prepare  for  college. 
He  entered  Dartmouth  College  in  1797;  and  when  he  graduated  in  1801,  a  high 
future  was  predicted  for  him  by  the  more  sagacious  of  his  classmates.  He  im- 
mediately entered  upon  his  legal  studies,  and,  in  1805,  began  the  practice  of  his 
profession  in  the  village  of  Boscawen,  whence  he  removed  to  Portsmouth,  New 
Hampshire,  in  September,  1807.  Here  he  resided  nine  years,  enjoying  the  friend- 
ship and  profiting  by  the  rivalry  of  such  men  as  Samuel  Dexter,  Joseph  Story, 
Jeremiah  Smith,  and  Jeremiah  Mason. 

It  was  in  the  extra  session  of  the  thirteenth  Congress,  which  met  in  May,  1813, 
that  Mr.  Webster  commenced  his  political  career,  as  a  representative  from  New 
Hampshire.  He  was  placed  on  the  Committee  of  Foreign  Affairs, — an  evidence 
of  the  high  estimation  in  which  he  was  held,  our  country  being  then  at  war  with 
Great  Britain.  He  delivered  his  maiden  speech  on  the  10th  of  June,  1813, 
and  at  once  assumed  a  front  rank  amongst  debaters.    His  speeches — chiefly  on 


DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


259 


topics  connected  with  the  war — were  characterized  by  masterly  vigor,  and  by  an 
uncommon  acquaintance  with  constitutional  learning  and  with  the  history  of 
the  Government. 

In  August,  1816,  Mr.  Webster  removed  to  Boston,  and  took  the  place  which 
belonged  to  his  commanding  talent  and  legal  eminence.  In  1818,  be  made  his 
brilliant  and  powerful  speech  in  the  celebrated  Dartmouth  College  case,  which 
ranked  him  among  the  very  first  jurists  of  the  country.  In  1820,  he  was  elected 
a  member  of  the  convention  for  revising  the  Constitution  of  Massachusetts.  In 
December  of  the  same  year,  he  delivered  his  eloquent  Discourse  in  Commemora- 
tion of  the  Landing  of  the  Pilgrims.  Two  years  afterwards,  he  was  re-elected 
to  Congress  from  Boston ;  and  on  the  19th  of  January,  1823,  (little  more  than  a 
month  after  he  took  his  seat,)  he  made  his  celebrated  speech  on  the  Greek  Revo- 
lution, which  gave  him  high  reputation  as  a  statesman  and  an  orator.  In  this, 
as  in  his  Plymouth  oration,  he  showed  his  warm  sympathies  on  the  side  of  free- 
dom. In  1825,  he  delivered  an  oration  on  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  of 
Bunker  Hill  Monument,  and,  the  next  year,  a  eulogy  upon  Adams  and  Jeffer- 
son,— both  of  which  are  among  his  happiest  efforts. 

In  1828,  Mr.  Webster  took  his  seat  in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States,  in  which 
he  remained  twelve  years.  During  this  time,  the  most  important  questions  were 
considered,  and  measures  of  the  highest  moment  were  brought  forward,  in  the  dis- 
cussion of  which  he  always  took  a  leading  part.  In  1830,  he  made  what  is  justly 
considered  the  greatest  of  his  Congressional  efforts, — his  reply  to  Colonel  Hayne, 
of  South  Carolina.  This  gentleman,  in  a  speech  on  a  resolution  moved  by  Mr. 
Foote,  of  Connecticut,  relative  to  the  survey  of  the  public  lands,  had  indulged  in 
some  personalities  against  Mr.  Webster,  had  commented  with  severity  on  the 
political  course  of  the  New  England  States,  and  had  laid  down,  in  an  authorita- 
tive manner,  his  views  of  the  doctrine  of  "  nullification."  Mr.  Webster  felt  it 
his  duty  to  defend  himself,  to  vindicate  New  England,  and  to  point  out  the  fal- 
lacies of  "  nullification."  This  he  did  in  a  speech  which,  for  beauty,  perspicuity, 
and  strength  of  style,  for  sound  logic,  keen  sarcasm,  true  patriotism,  and  lofty 
eloquence  combined,  has  hardly  its  equal  in  the  English  language. 

In  1839,  Mr.  Webster  visited  Europe.  His  fame  had,  of  course,  preceded  him, 
and  he  was  everywhere  received  with  the  attention  due  to  his  character,  talents, 
and  eloquence.  On  the  accession  of  General  Harrison  to  the  Presidency,  in  1841, 
he  was  appointed  Secretary  of  State.  While  in  this  office,  he  was  the  means  of 
settling  the  Northeastern  boundary  question  with  Great  Britain,  and  the  result 
of  his  labors,  on  the  whole,  met  the  approbation  of  the  public.1  About  this  time, 
his  fame  as  a  public  man  received  its  first  stain  in  his  "  Creole  Letter"  of  instruc- 
tions to  Mr.  Everett,  then  our  minister  to  England,  demanding  of  the  British 
Government  some  slaves  which  had  escaped  to  one  of  their  islands.2    It  need 

1  It  has  been  thought  by  many,  fully  competent  to  judge  in  the  case,  that  he 
here  made  a  great  mistake,  and  gave  to  England  what,  according  to  the  terms 
of  an  early  treaty  with  her,  she  had  no  right  to, — a  large  slice  of  the  State  of 
Maine,  (about  five  thousand  square  miles,)  which  never,  probably,  would  have 
been  given  had  the  disputed  territory  lain  on  our  Southern  confines. 

2  The  brig  "  Creole"  sailed  from  Richmond  in  October,  1841,  with  one  hundred 
and  thirty-five  slaves,  bound  for  New  Orleans.  When  a  few  days  from  port,  the 
slaves  rose,  murdered  a  passenger  who  claimed  the  ownership  of  most  of  them, 
took  possession  of  the  vessel,  and  steered  her  for  the  port  of  Nassau,  in  the  Bri- 


260 


DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


hardly  be  said  that  the  demand  was  never  complied  with.  Mr.  Harrison's  cabinet 
was  broken  up  in  1842:  but  Mr.  Webster  remained  in  office  till  the  spring  of 
1843,  during  which  time  steps  were  taken  which  led  to  the  recognition  of  the  in- 
dependence of  the  Sandwich  Islands  by  the  principal  maritime  powers.  With 
the  commencement  of  Mr.  Polk's  administration,  in  1845,  Mr.  Webster  returned 
to  the  Senate  of  the  United  States,  in  which  he  continued  through  1850.  In 
1846,  he  opposed  our  infamous  Mexican  war,  but,  with  an  inconsistency  un- 
worthy of  his  great  powers,  voted  for  supplies  to  carry  it  on. 

On  the  7th  of  March,  1850,  he  made  his  celebrated  speech  on  the  "  Compromise 
Measures,"  including  the  infamous  Fugitive  Slave  Bill.  When  the  news  first 
came  that  Mr.  Webster  had  given  his  support  to  that  bill,  the  people  of  the 
North  could  hardly  believe  it.  But  when  the  news  was  confirmed,  the  scorn, 
the  mortification,  the  indignation  that  were  felt,  can  only  be  realized  by  those 
who  were  conversant  at  the  time  with  public  affairs.1  The  speech  itself,  in  point 
of  style  and  argument,  is  altogether  the  weakest  of  all  his  efforts.  How  could 
it  be  otherwise?  How  could  Daniel  Webster,  with  his  great  heart,  true  hu- 
manity, and  giant  intellect,  be  eloquent  in  supporting  such  a  measure?  But 
this  was  not  the  worst,  even :  he  went  about  from  place  to  place, — to  Buffalo, 
Syracuse,  Albany,  &c, — endeavoring  to  show  the  people  the  rightfulness  and 
the  constitutionality  of  the  Fugitive  Slave  Bill.  Alas,  that  such  a  mind  should 
have  labored  in  such  a  work  !2 

In  June,  1852,  the  Whig  Convention  met  at  Baltimore,  to  nominate  a  candidate 
for  the  Presidency.  That  he  was  immeasurably  superior  to  any  of  the  names 
before  the  Convention,  in  every  great  quality  requisite  for  a  President,  no  one  ever 

tish  island  of  New  Providence.  It  is  deeply  to  be  regretted  for  Mr.  Webster's 
fame  that  he  should  have  penned  such  a  letter  to  our  minister  as  he  did,  demand- 
ing of  England  a  surrender  of  these  slaves, — a  letter  so  weak  in  argument  and  so 
unfeeling  in  sentiment.  Let  us  suppose  that  a  number  of  Englishmen,  taken  by 
the  Algerines  and  reduced  to  slavery,  had  found  such  means  to  escape  as  did  the 
slaves  of  the  Creole,"  and  had  taken  shelter  in  our  country:  what  would  our 
Government  say  to  a  demand  from  Algiers  to  give  them  up  ? 

1  It  was  soon  after  he  had  delivered  this  speech,  that  Whittier  wrote  his  poem 
entitled  "  Ichabod,"  justly  admired  for  its  deep  feeling,  regretful  tenderness,  and 
sublime  pathos. 

2  The  following  remarks  show  the  light  in  which  this  portion  of  Mr.  Webster's 
history  is  viewed  from  the  stand-point  of  liberty  by  that  eminent  Christian 
jurist,  Judge  Jay,  who  loved  truth  above  all  other  things  :  whose  writings,  it  has 
been  justly  remarked,  "  are  uniformly  characterized  by  the  candor  of  a  philo- 
sopher, the  accuracy  of  a  statesman,  the  courtesy  of  a  gentleman,  and  the  charity 
of  a  Christian;"  and  who  well  understood  the  meaning  of  the  words  of  the  Apostle 
that  ''charity  rejoiceth  in  the  truth  :" — 

"  Of  all  the  traitors  to  the  cause  of  humanity,  Mr.  Webster  is  to  me  one  of  the 
most  revolting.  After  the  most  solemn  pledges  never  to  consent  to  the  introduc- 
tion of  slavery  into  the  Territories,  he  refused  to  apply  the  Wilmot  Proviso  to 
New  Mexico  and  California,  under  the  impudent  pretext  that  to  apply  it  would 
be  'to  re-enact  the  laws  of  God,'  it  being  •physically  impossible  that  slavery  could 
exist  in  those  Territories.  Afterwards,  becoming  desperate  in  the  Presidential 
canvass,  he  went  about  making  speeches  in  favor  of  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law,  and  in- 
sulting every  lawyer  who  denied  that  it  was  constitutional.  But  his  most  heinous 
sin  was  his  arming  this  law  with  the  terrors  of  constructive  treason.  The  Chris- 
tiana treason  trials  were  instituted  in  obedience  to  orders  from  the  State  Depart- 
ment, and  Castner  Hanway  was  tried  for  his  life  for  levying  war  against  the 
United  States,  because  he  refused  to  aid  in  catching  a  fugitive  slave ! !" 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  261 

doubted.  But  of  the  two  hundred  and  ninety-three  votes  he  got  but  thirty-three, 
and  that  only  once.  Fifty-three  times  did  the  Convention  ballot;  but  the  South, 
for  whom  he  had  made  such  sacrifices,  never  gave  him  a  single  vote,  and  General 
Scott  proved  the  "available"  man.1  On  Mr.  Webster's  return  to  Boston  from 
Washington,  July  9,  the  citizens  gave  him  a  grand  public  reception.  It  was  kind 
iu  them  thus  to  administer  a  balm  to  his  wounded  spirit,  and  to  ease  his  fall.  He 
then  returned  to  his  farm  at  Marshfield,  where  he  died  Sunday,  October  21, 1852. 
The  news  of  his  death  excited  profound  sorrow  throughout  the  country,  and 
demonstrations  of  mourning  appeared  in  all  quarters,  evincing  how  complete 
a  hold  he  had  upon  the  affections  of  his  countrymen,  who  were  willing,  for  a  time 
at  least,  to  forget  his  errors  and  lapses,  in  the  recollection  of  his  transcendent 
abilities  exerted  so  many  years  for  good.2 

Of  the  character  of  Mr.  Webster  as  a  jurist,  a  statesman,  an  orator,  there  can 
be  but  one  opinion  with  all  candid  minds : — that  he  was  head  and  shoulders  above 
all  his  contemporaries, — "  Facile  primus  inter  pares."  As  a  jurist,  if  exceeded  by 
some  in  depth  of  professional  reading,  he  was  still  master  of  all  the  learning  re- 
quired for  the  discussion  of  every  question,  however  abstruse ;  while  for  a  memory 
that  grasped  every  detail,  for  a  skill  that  nothing  could  elude,  for  a  compactness 
and  clearness  of  statement  that  made  his  statements  arguments,  for  rare  condensa- 
tion and  surpassing  logic,  he  must  always  rank  as  the  first  of  his  age. 

As  a  statesman,  few  have  equalled  him.  He  could  study  and  judge  subjects  in 
all  their  relations  and  details,  with  a  large  and  liberal  comprehensiveness,  with  a 
wide  range  of  political  knowledge,  and  sound  views  of  constitutional  interpreta- 
tion ;  and  had  he  always  followed  the  instincts  of  his  own  heart,  and  the  prompt- 
ings of  his  own  enlightened  conscience,  and  not  looked  at  what  he  thought  would 
be  most  conducive  to  his  interests  in  his  Presidential  aspirings,  he  would  have  left 
a  fame  surpassed  by  that  of  no  man,  living  or  dead. 

As  an  orator,  Mr.  Webster  had  none  of  the  graces  of  the  finished  rhetorician ; 

1  No  one  now  doubts  that,  had  Mr.  Webster,  with  his  giant  mind  and  power- 
ful eloquence,  exerted  all  his  abilities  to  defeat,  as  he  did  to  carry  through, 
the  "Compromise  Bill,"  he  would  have  succeeded;  would  have  reversed  the 
whole  current  of  public  affairs;  would  have  carried  with  him  the  sound  judgment 
and  enthusiastic  feeling  of  the  whole  North;  and  thus  would  have  been  borne 
onward,  on  the  mighty  wave  of  popular  enthusiasm,  into  the  Presidential  chair. 
What  an  opportunity  for  good  forever  lost !  Let  his  fate  be  a  warning  to  all 
aspirants  for  political  distinction,  and  impress  upon  them  the  truth  that  it  is  infi- 
nitely better  to  be  right,  than  to  possess  the  highest  office  in  the  gift  of  the  people. 

"  High  worth  is  elevated  place :  'tis  more ; 
It  makes  the  post  stand  candidate  for  thee; 
Makes  more  than  monarchs, — makes  an  holiest  man.'' 

2  I  have  looked  on  many  mighty  men, — King  George,  the  "  first  gentleman  in 
England ;"  Sir  Astley  Cooper,  the  Apollo  of  his  generation ;  Peel,  O'Connell, 
Palmerston,  Lyndhurst, — all  nature's  noblemen;  I  have  seen  Cuvier,  Guizot, 
Arago,  Lamartine,  marked  in  their  persons  by  the  genius  which  has  carried  their 
names  over  the  world;  I  have  seen  Clay,  and  Calhoun,  and  Pinckney,  and  King, 
and  D wight,  and  Daggett,  who  stand  as  high  examples  of  personal  endowment  in 
our  annals ;  and  yet  not  one  of  these  approached  Mr.  Webster  in  the  commanding- 
power  of  their  personal  presence.  There  was  a  grandeur  in  his  form,  an  intelli- 
gence in  his  deep,  dark  eye,  a  loftiness  in  his  expansive  brow,  a  significance  in  his 
arched  lip,  altogether  bey«  nd  those  of  any  other  human  being  I  ever  saw." — 
Goodrich's  Recollections. 


262 


DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


but  be  bad  what  is  infinitely  better, — a  vigor,  precision,  and  perspicuity  of  style, 
and  a  ricb  imagination,  united  to  a  manliness  of  person  and  grandeur  of  mien, 
tbat  riveted  tbe  attention  of  his  audience,  and  produced  an  overwhelming  effect 
on  a  deliberative  assembly.  Witness  his  discourse  at  Plymouth,  his  address  at 
Banker  Hill,  his  remarkable  speech  at  Salem  on  the  trial  of  Knapp  for  murder, 
his  eulogy  on  Adams  and  Jefferson,  and  his  reply  to  Hayne. 

Mr.  Webster's  works,  with  a  life  by  Edward  Everett,  have  been  published  in  six 
volumes,  octavo, — volumes  full  of  thought,  pregnant  with  instruction,  abounding 
in  knowledge,  beautified,  adorned,  and  commended  by  a  style  that  unites,  in  a 
remarkable  degree,  the  four  highest  qualities, — perspicuity,  beauty,  precision, 
and  strength. 

OUR  COUNTRY  IN  1920. 

The  hours  of  this  day  are  rapidly  flying,  and  this  occasion  will 
soon  be  past.  Neither  we  nor  our  children  can  expect  to  behold 
its  return.  They  are  in  the  distant  regions  of  futurity;  they  exist 
only  in  the  all-creating  power  of  God  who  shall  stand  here,  a  hun- 
dred years  hence,  to  trace,  through  us,  their  descent  from  the  Pil- 
grims, and  to  survey,  as  we  have  now  surveyed,  the  progress  of 
their  country  during  the  lapse  of  a  century.  We  would  anticipate 
their  concurrence  with  us  in  our  sentiments  of  deep  regard  for  our 
common  ancestors.  We  would  anticipate  and  partake  the  plea- 
sure with  which  they  will  then  recount  the  steps  of  New  Eng- 
land's advancement.  On  the  morning  of  that  day,  although  it 
will  not  disturb  us  in  our  repose,  the  voice  of  acclamation  and 
gratitude,  commencing  on  the  Rock  of  Plymouth,  shall  be  trans- 
mitted through  millions  of  the  sons  of  the  Pilgrims,  till  it  lose 
itself  in  the  murmurs  of  the  Pacific  seas. 

We  would  leave,  for  the  consideration  of  those  who  shall  then 
occupy  our  places,  some  proof  that  we  hold  the  blessings  trans- 
mitted from  our  fathers  in  just  estimation;  some  proof  of  our 
attachment  to  the  cause  of  good  government,  and  of  civil  and  re- 
ligious liberty  j  some  proof  of  a  sincere  and  ardent  desire  to  pro- 
mote every  thing  which  may  enlarge  the  understandings  and  im- 
prove the  hearts  of  men.  And  when,  from  the  long  distance  of 
one  hundred  years,  they  shall  look  back  upon  us,  they  shall  know, 
at  least,  that  we  possessed  affections  which,  running  backward, 
and  warming  with  gratitude  for  what  our  ancestors  have  done  for 
our  happiness,  run  forward  also  to  our  posterity,  and  meet  them 
with  cordial  salutation,  ere  yet  they  have  arrived  on  the  shore  of 
being. 

Advance,  then,  ye  future  generations  !  We  would  hail  you,  as 
you  rise  in  your  long  succession,  to  fill  the  places  which  we  now 
fill,  and  to  taste  the  blessings  of  existence  where  we  are  passing, 
and  soon  shall  have  passed,  our  own  human  duration.  We  bid  you 


DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


2G3 


welcome  to  this  pleasant  land  of  the  fathers.  We  bid  you  welcome 
to  the  healthful  skies  and  the  verdant  fields  of  New  England.  We 
greet  your  accession  to  the  great  inheritance  which  we  have  en- 
joyed. We  welcome  you  to  the  blessings  of  good  government  and 
religious  liberty.  We  welcome  you  to  the  treasures  of  science  and 
the  delights  of  learning.  We  welcome  you  to  the  transcendent 
sweets  of  domestic  life,  to  the  happiness  of  kindred,  and  parents, 
and  children.  We  welcome  you  to  the  immeasurable  blessings  of 
rational  existence,  the  immortal  hope  of  Christianity,  and  the 
light  of  everlasting  truth  ! 

Oration  at  Plymouth.  1820. 
ADDRESS  TO  THE  SURVIVING  SOLDIERS  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

Venerable  men  !  you  have  come  down  to  us  from  a  former 
generation.  Heaven  has  bounteously  lengthened  out  your  lives, 
that  you  might  behold  this  joyous  day.  You  are  now  where  you 
stood  fifty  years  ago,  this  very  hour,  with  your  brothers  and  your 
neighbors,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  in  the  strife  for  your  country. 
Behold,  how  altered !  The  same  heavens  are  indeed  over  your 
heads;  the  same  ocean  rolls  at  your  feet;  but  all  else,  how 
changed  !  You  hear  now  no  roar  of  hostile  cannon ;  you  see  no 
mixed  volumes  of  smoke  and  flame  rising  from  burning  Charles- 
town.  The  ground  strewed  with  the  dead  and  the  dying;  the  im- 
petuous charge ;  the  steady  and  successful  repulse ;  the  loud  call 
to  repeated  assault ;  the  summoning  of  all  that  is  manly  to  re- 
peated resistance ;  a  thousand  bosoms  freely  and  fearlessly  bared 
in  an  instant  to  whatever  of  terror  there  may  be  in  war  and  death, 
— all  these  you  have  witnessed ;  but  you  witness  them  no  more. 
All  is  peace.  The  heights  of  yonder  metropolis,  its  towers  and 
roofs,  which  you  then  saw  filled  with  wives  and  children  and 
countrymen  in  distress  and  terror,  and  looking  with  unutterable 
emotions  for  the  issue  of  the  combat,  have  presented  you  to-day 
with  the  sight  of  its  whole  happy  population,  come  out  to  welcome 
and  greet  you  with  an  universal  jubilee.  Yonder  proud  ships,  by 
a  felicity  of  position  appropriately  lying  at  the  foot  of  this  mount, 
and  seeming  fondly  to  cling  around  it,  are  not  means  of  annoyance 
to  you,  but  your  country's  own  means  of  distinction  and  defence. 
All  is  peace;  and  God  has  granted  you  this  sight  of  your  country's 
happiness,  ere  you  slumber  in  the  grave  forever.  He  has  allowed 
you  to  behold  and  to  partake  the  reward  of  your  patriotic  toils  ;  and 
He  has  allowed  us,  your  sons  and  countrvmen,  to  meet  you  here, 
and,  in  the  name  of  the  present  generation,  in  the  name  of  your 
country,  in  the  name  of  liberty,  to  thank  you ! 


264 


DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


ENGLAND. 

She  has  clotted  the  surface  of  the  whole  globe  with  her  posses- 
sions and  military  posts,  whose  morning  drum-beat,  following  the 
sun  and  keeping  company  with  the  hours,  circle  the  earth  daily 
with  one  continuous  and  unbroken  strain  of  the  martial  airs  of 
England. 

THE  MORNING. 

The  air  is  tranquil,  and  its  temperature  mild.  It  is  morning,  and 
a  morning  sweet,  and  fresh,  and  delightful.  Everybody  knows 
the  morning  in  its  metaphorical  sense,  applied  to  so  many  objects, 
and  on  so  many  occasions.  The  health,  strength,  and  beauty  of 
early  years  lead  us  to  call  that  period  the  "  morning  of  life."  But 
the  morning  itself  few  people,  inhabitants  of  cities,  know  any  thing 
about.  Among  all  our  good  people,  not  one  in  a  thousand  sees 
the  sun  rise  once  a  year.  They  know  nothing  of  the  morning. 
With  them,  morning  is  not  a  new  issuing  of  light,  a  new  bursting 
forth  of  the  sun,  a  new  waking  up  of  all  that  has  life,  from  a  sort 
of  temporary  death,  to  behold  again  the  works  of  God,  the  heavens 
and  the  earth  •  it  is  only  part  of  the  domestic  day,  belonging  to 
breakfast,  to  reading  the  newspapers,  answering  notes,  sending 
the  children  to  school,  and  giving  orders  for  dinner.  The  first 
streak  of  light,  the  earliest  purpling  of  the  east,  which  the  lark 
springs  up  to  greet,  and  the  deeper  coloring  into  orange  and  red, 
till  at  length  the  "  glorious  sun  is  seen,  regent  of  day/' — this  they 
never  enjoy,  for  they  never  see  it. 

I  know  the  morning, — I  am  acquainted  with  it,  and  I  love  it. 
I  love  it,  fresh  and  sweet  as  it  is,  a  daily  new  creation,  breaking 
forth  and  calling  all  that  have  life,  and  breath,  and  being,  to  new 
adoration,  new  enjoyments,  and  new  gratitude. 

THE  LOVE  OF  HOME. 

It  is  only  shallow-minded  pretenders  who  either  make  dis- 
tinguished origin  a  matter  of  personal  merit,  or  obscure  origin  a 
matter  of  personal  reproach.  Taunt  and  scoffing  at  the  humble 
condition  of  early  life  affect  nobody  in  America  but  those  who  are 
foolish  enough  to  indulge  in  them;  and  they  are  generally  suffi- 
ciently punished  by  public  rebuke.  A  man  who  is  not  ashamed 
of  himself  need  not  be  ashamed  of  his  early  condition.  It  did  not 
happen  to  me  to  be  born  in  a  log  cabin ;  but  my  elder  brothers 
and  sisters  were  born  in  a  log  cabin,  raised  among  the  snow-drifts 
of  New  Hampshire,  at  a  period  so  early,  that  when  the  smoke  first 
rose  from  its  rude  chimney  and  curled  over  the  frozen  hills,  there 


DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


265 


was  no  similar  evidence  of  a  white  man's  habitation  between  it 
and  the  settlements  on  the  rivers  of  Canada. 

Its  remains  still  exist.  I  make  to  it  an  annual  visit.  I  carry 
my  children  to  it,  to  teach  them  the  hardships  endured  by  the 
generations  which  have  gone  before  them.  I  love  to  dwell  on  the 
tender  recollections,  the  kindred  ties,  the  early  affections,  and  the 
touching  narratives  and  incidents  which  mingle  with  all  I  know 
of  this  primitive  family  abode.  I  weep  to  think  that  none  of 
those  who  inhabited  it  are  now  among  the  living;  and  if  ever  I 
am  ashamed  of  it,  or  if  ever  I  fail  in  affectionate  veneration  for 
him  who  reared  it,  and  defended  it  against  savage  violence  and 
destruction,  cherished  all  the  domestic  virtues  beneath  its  roof, 
and,  through  the  fire  and  blood  of  a  seven  years'  revolutionary 
war,  shrunk  from  no  danger,  no  toil,  no  sacrifice,  to  serve  his 
country,  and  to  raise  his  children  to  a  condition  better  than  his 
own,  may  my  name,  and  the  name  of  my  posterity,  be  blotted  for- 
ever from  the  memory  of  mankind  ! 


THE  NATURE  OF  TRUE  ELOQUENCE. 

True  eloquence  does  not  consist  in  speech.  It  cannot  be 
brought  from  far.  Labor  and  learning  may  toil  for  it,  but  they 
will  toil  in  vain.  Words  and  phrases  may  be  marshalled  in  every 
way,  but  they  cannot  compass  it.  It  must  exist  in  the  man,  in 
the  subject,  and  in  the  occasion.  Affected  passion,  intense  ex- 
pression, the  pomp  of  declamation,  all  may  aspire  after  it, — they 
cannot  reach  it.  It  comes,  if  it  come  at  all,  like  the  outbreaking 
of  a  fountain  from  the  earth,  or  the  bursting  forth  of  volcanic 
fires,  with  spontaneous,  original,  native  force.  The  graces  taught 
in  the  schools,  the  costly  ornaments  and  studied  contrivances  of 
speech,  shock  and  disgust  men,  when  their  own  lives,  and  the 
fate  of  their  wives,  their  children,  and  their  country  hang  on  the 
decision  of  the  hour.  Then  words  have  lost  their  power,  rhetoric 
is  vain,  and  all  elaborate  oratory  contemptible.  Even  genius 
itself  then  feels  rebuked  and  subdued,  as  in  the  presence  of 
higher  qualities.  Then  patriotism  is  eloquent ;  then  self-devotion 
is  eloquent.  The  clear  conception,  outrunning  the  deductions  of 
logic,  the  high  purpose,  the  firm  resolve,  the  dauntless  spirit, 
speaking  on  the  tongue,  beaming  from  the  eye,  informing  every 
feature,  and  urging  the  whole  man  onward,  right  onward,  to  his 
object, — this,  this  is  eloquence;  or,  rather,  it  is  something  greater 
and  higher  than  all  eloquence  :  it  is  action,  noble;  sublime,  God- 
like action. 


23 


266  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


JUSTICE. 

Justice  is  the  great  interest  of  man  on  earth.  It  is  the  liga- 
ment which  holds  civilized  beings  and  civilized  nations  together. 
Where  her  temple  stands,  and  so  long  as  it  is  duly  honored,  there 
is  a  foundation  for  social  security,  general  happiness,  and  the  im- 
provement and  progress  of  our  race. 


DEATH  THE  GREAT  LEVELLER. 

One  may  live  as  a  conqueror,  a  king,  or  a  magistrate,  but  he 
must  die  as  a  man.  The  bed  of  death  brings  every  human  being 
to  his  pure  individuality,  to  the  intense  contemplation  of  that 
deepest  and  most  solemn  of  all  relations, — the  relation  between 
the  Creator  and  the  created. 

PURPOSE  OF  BUNKER  HILL  MONUMENT. 

Let  it  not  be  supposed  that  our  object  in  erecting  this  edifice 
is  to  perpetuate  national  hostility,  or  even  to  cherish  a  mere  mili- 
tary spirit.  It  is  higher,  purer,  nobler.  We  consecrate  our  work 
to  the  spirit  of  national  independence,  and  we  wish  that  the  light 
of  peace  may  rest  upon  it  forever.  We  rear  a  memorial  of  our 
conviction  of  that  unmeasured  benefit  which  has  been  conferred 
on  our  own  land,  and  of  the  happy  influences  which  have  been 
produced,  by  the  same  events,  on  the  general  interests  of  man- 
kind. We  come,  as  Americans,  to  mark  a  spot  which  must  for- 
ever be  dear  to  us  and  our  posterity.  We  wish  that  whosoever, 
in  all  coming  time,  shall  turn  his  eye  hither,  may  behold  that  the 
place  is  not  undistinguished  where  the  first  great  battle  of  the 
devolution  was  fought.  We  wish  that  this  structure  may  pro- 
claim the  magnitude  and  importance  of  that  event  to  every  class 
and  every  age.  We  wish  that  infancy  may  learn  the  purpose  of 
its  erection  from  maternal  lips,  and  that  weary  and  withered  age 
may  behold  it,  and  be  solaced  by  the  recollections  which  it  sug- 
gests. We  wish  that  labor  may  look  up  here,  and  be  proud,  in 
the  midst  of  its  toil.  We  wish  that,  in  those  days  of  disaster 
which,  as  they  come  on  all  nations,  must  be  expected  to  come  on 
us  also,  desponding  patriotism  may  turn  its  eyes  hitherward,  and 
be  assured  that  the  foundations  of  our  national  power  still  stand 
strong.  We  wish  that  this  column,  rising  towards  heaven  among 
the  pointed  spires  of  so  many  temples  dedicated  to  God,  may  con- 
tribute also  to  produce  in  all  minds  a  pious  feeling  of  dependence 
and  gratitude.  We  wish,  finally,  that  the  last  object  on  the  sight 
of  him  who  leaves  his  native  shore,  and  the  first  to  gladden  his 


DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


207 


who  revisits  it,  may  be  something  which  shall  remind  him  of  the 
liberty  and  the  glory  of  his  country.  Let  it  rise,  till  it  meet  the 
sun  in  his  coining )  let  the  earliest  light  of  the  morning  gild  it, 
and  parting  day  linger  and  play  on  its  summit. 

CRIME  REVEALED  BY  CONSCIENCE. 

The  deed1  was  executed  with  a  degree  of  self-possession  and 
steadiness  equal  to  the  wickedness  with  which  it  was  planned. 
The  circumstances,  now  clearly  in  evidence,  spread  out  the  whole 
scene  before  us.  Deep  sleep  had  fallen  on  the  destined  victim, 
and  on  all  beneath  his  roof.  A  healthful  old  man,  to  whom  sleep 
was  sweet,  the  first  sound  slumbers  of  the  night  held  him  in  their 
soft  but  strong  embrace.  The  assassin  enters,  through  the  win- 
dow already  prepared,  into  an  unoccupied  apartment.  With 
noiseless  foot  he  paces  the  lonely  hall,  half  lighted  by  the  moon ; 
he  winds  up  the  ascent  of  the  stairs,  and  reaches  the  door  of  the 
chamber.  Of  this,  he  moves  the  lock,  by  soft  and  continued 
pressure,  till  it  turns  on  its  hinges  without  noise ;  and  he  enters, 
and  beholds  his  victim  before  him.  The  room  was  uncommonly 
open  to  the  admission  of  light.  The  face  of  the  innocent  sleeper 
was  turned  from  the  murderer,  and  the  beams  of  the  moon,  rest- 
ing on  the  gray  locks  of  his  aged  temple,  showed  him  where  to 
strike.  The  fatal  blow  is  given  !  and  the  victim  passes,  without 
a  struggle  or  a  motion,  from  the  repose  of  sleep  to  the  repose  of 
death  !  It  is  the  assassin's  purpose  to  make  sure  work  •  and  he 
yet  plies  the  dagger,  though  it  was  obvious  that  life  had  been  de- 
stroyed by  the  blow  of  the  bludgeon.  He  even  raises  the  aged 
arm,  that  he  may  not  fail  in  his  aim  at  the  heart,  and  replaces  it 
again  over  the  wounds  of  the  poniard  !  To  finish  the  picture,  he 
explores  the  wrist  for  the  pulse !  He  feels  for  it,  and  ascertains 
that  it  beats  no  longer  !  It  is  accomplished.  The  deed  is  done. 
He  retreats,  retraces  his  steps  to  the  window,  passes  out  through 
it  as  he  came  in,  and  escapes.  He  has  done  the  murder, — no  eye 
has  seen  him,  no  ear  has  heard  him.  The  secret  is  his  own,  and 
it  is  safe ! 

Ah,  gentlemen  !  that  was  a  dreadful  mistake  !  Such  a  secret 
can  be  safe  nowhere.  The  whole  creation  of  God  has  neither 
nook  nor  corner  where  the  guilty  can  bestow  it,  and  say  it  is  safe. 
Not  to  speak  of  that  eye  which  glances  through  all  disguises,  and 
beholds  every  thing  as  in  the  splendor  of  noon,  such  secrets  of 
guilt  are  never  safe  from  detection,  even  by  men.  True  it  is, 
generally  speaking,  that  "  murder  will  out."  True  it  is  that 
Providence  hath  so  ordained,  and  doth  so  govern  things,  that 


1  The  murder  of  Joseph  AVhite,  Esq.,  of  Salem,  Mass.,  April  G,  1830. 


268 


DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


those  who  break  the  great  law  of  heaven,  by  shedding  man's 
blood,  seldom  succeed  in  avoiding  discovery.  Especially  in  a 
case  exciting  so  much  attention  as  this,  discovery  must  come,  and 
will  come,  sooner  or  later.  A  thousand  eyes  turn  at  once  to  ex- 
plore every  man,  every  thing,  every  circumstance,  connected  with 
the  time  and  place;  a  thousand  ears  catch  every  whisper ;  a  thou- 
sand excited  minds  intensely  dwell  on  the  scene,  shedding  all 
their  light,  and  ready  to  kindle  the  slightest  circumstance  into  a 
blaze  of  discovery.  Meantime,  the  guilty  soul  cannot  keep  its 
own  secret.  It  is  false  to  itself;  or,  rather,  it  feels  an  irresistible 
impulse  of  conscience  to  be  true  to.  itself.  It  labors  under  its 
guilty  possession,  and  knows  not  what  to  do  with  it.  The  human 
heart  was  not  made  for  the  residence  of  such  an  inhabitant.  It 
finds  itself  preyed  on  by  a  torment,  which  it  dares  not  acknow- 
ledge to  God  nor  man.  A  vulture  is  devouring  it,  and  it  can  ask 
no  sympathy  or  assistance  either  from  heaven  or  earth.  The 
secret  which  the  murderer  possesses  soon  comes  to  possess  him ; 
and,  like  the  evil  spirits  of  which  we  read,  it  overcomes  him,  and 
leads  him  whithersoever  it  will.  He  feels  it  beating  at  his  heart, 
rising  to  his  throat,  and  demanding  disclosure.  He  thinks  the 
whole  world  sees  it  in  his  face,  reads  it  in  his  eyes,  and  almost 
hears  its  workings  in  the  very  silence  of  his  thoughts.  It  has 
become  his  master.  It  betrays  his  discretion,  it  breaks  down  his 
courage,  it  conquers  his  prudence.  When  suspicions  from  with- 
out begin  to  embarrass  him,  and  the  net  of  circumstance  to  entangle 
him,  the  fatal  secret  struggles  with  still  greater  violence  to  burst 
forth.  It  must  be  confessed,  it  tcill  be  confessed;  there  is  no 
refuge  from  confession  but  suicide, — and  suicide  is  confession. 


MASSACHUSETTS. 

Mr.  President, — I  shall  enter  on  no  encomium  upon  Massa- 
chusetts,— she  needs  none.  There  she  is, — behold  her,  and  judge 
for  yourselves.  There  is  her  history :  the  world  knows  it  by 
heart.  The  past,  at  least,  is  secure.  There  is  Boston,  and  Con- 
cord, and  Lexington,  and  Bunker  Hill, — and  there  they  will  re- 
main forever.  The  bones  of  her  sons,  falling  in  the  great  struggle 
for  independence,  now  lie  mingled  with  the  soil  of  every  State, 
from  New  England  to  Georgia;  and  there  they  will  lie  forever. 
And,  sir,  where  American  liberty  raised  its  first  voice,  and  where 
its  youth  was  nurtured  and  sustained,  there  it  still  lives,  in  the 
strength  of  its  manhood  and  full  of  its  original  spirit.  If  discord 
and  disunion  shall  wound  it,  if  party  strife  and  blind  ambition 
shall  hawk  at  and  tear  it,  if  folly  and  madness,  if  uneasiness  under 
salutary  and  necessary  restraint,  shall  succeed  to  separate  it  from 
that  union,  by  which  alone  its  existence  is  made  sure,  it  will 


DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


269 


stand,  in  the  end,  by  the  side  of  that  cradle  in  which  its  infancy 
was  rocked  j  it  will  stretch  forth  its  arm,  with  whatever  of  vigor 
it  may  still  retain,  over  the  friends  who  gather  round  it;  and  it 
will  fall  at  last,  if  fall  it  must,  amidst  the  proudest  monuments  of 
its  own  glory,  and  on  the  very  spot  of  its  origin. 

Speech  in  reply  to  Ilayne. 

LIBERTY  AND  UNION. 

Mr.  President, — I  have  thus  stated  the  reasons  of  my  dissent 
to  the  doctrines  which  have  been  advanced  and  maintained.  I 
am  conscious  of  having  detained  you  and  the  Senate  much  too 
long.  I  was  drawn  into  the  debate  with  no  previous  delibera- 
tion such  as  is  suited  to  the  discussion  of  so  grave  and  important 
a  subject.  But  it  is  a  subject  of  which  my  heart  is  full,  and  I 
have  not  been  willing  to  suppress  the  utterance  of  its  spontaneous 
sentiments.  I  cannot,  even  now,  persuade  myself  to  relinquish 
it,  without  expressing  once  more  my  deep  conviction  that,  since 
it  respects  nothing  less  than  the  union  of  the  States,  it  is  of  most 
vital  and  essential  importance  to  the  public  happiness.  I  profess, 
sir,  in  my  career  hitherto,  to  have  kept  steadily  in  view  the  pros- 
perity and  honor  of  the  whole  country,  and  the  preservation  of 
our  federal  union.  It  is  to  that  union  that  we  owe  our  safety  at 
home,  and  our  consideration  and  dignity  abroad.  It  is  to  that 
union  that  we  are  chiefly  indebted  for  whatever  makes  us  most 
proud  of  our  country.  That  union  we  reached  only  by  the  dis- 
cipline of  our  virtues-  in  the  severe  school  of  adversity.  It  had  its 
origin  in  the  necessities  of  disordered  finance,  prostrate  com- 
merce, and  ruined  credit.  Under  its  benign  influences,  these 
great  interests  immediately  awoke,  as  from  the  dead,  and  sprang 
forth  with  newness  of  life.  Every  year  of  its  duration  has  teemed 
with  fresh  proofs  of  its  utility  and  its  blessings ;  and,  although 
our  territory  has  stretched  out  wider  and  wider,  and  our  popula- 
tion spread  farther  and  farther,  they  have  not  outrun  its  protec- 
tion or  its  benefits.  It  has  been  to  us  all  a  copious  fountain  of 
national,  social,  and  personal  happiness.  I  have  not  allowed  my- 
self, sir,  to  look  beyond  the  union,  to  see  what  might  lie  hidden 
in  the  dark  recess  behind.  I  have  not  coolly  weighed  the  chances 
of  preserving  liberty  when  the  bonds  that  unite  us  together  shall 
be  broken  asunder.  I  have  not  accustomed  myself  to  hang  over 
the  precipice  of  disunion,  to  see  whether,  with  my  short  sight,  I 
can  fathom  the  depth  of  the  abyss  below ;  nor  could  I  regard  him 
as  a  safe  counsellor  in  the  affairs  of  this  government  whose 
thoughts  should  be  mainly  bent  on  considering,  not  how  the  Union 
should  be  best  preserved,  but  how  tolerable  might  be  the  condition 
of  the  people  when  it  shall  be  broken  up  and  destroyed.  While 

23* 


270  JOSEPH  STORY. 

the  Union  lasts,  we  have  high,  exciting,  gratifying  prospects 
spread  out  before  us,  for  us  and  our  children.  Beyond  that  I  seek 
not  to  penetrate  the  veil.  God  grant  that,  in  my  day  at  least,  that 
curtain  may  not  rise.  God  grant  that  on  my  vision  never  may  be 
opened  what  lies  behind.  When  my  eyes  shall  be  turned  to  be- 
hold, for  the  last  time,  the  sun  in  heaven,  may  I  not  see  him 
shining  on  the  broken  and  dishonored  fragments  of  a  once  glo- 
rious Union;  on  States  dissevered,  discordant,  belligerent;  on  a 
land  rent  with  civil  feuds,  or  drenched,  it  may  be,  in  fraternal 
blood !  Let  their  last  feeble  and  lingering  glance  rather  behold 
the  gorgeous  ensign  of  the  republic,  now  known  and  honored 
throughout  the  earth,  still  full  high  advanced,  its  arms  and  tro- 
phies streaming  in  their  original  lustre,  not  a  stripe  erased  or  pol- 
luted, nor  a  single  star  obscured,  bearing  for  its  motto  no  such 
miserable  interrogatory  as  What  is  all  this  worth?  nor  those 
other  words  of  delusion  and  folly,  Liberty  first,  and  Union  after- 
wards ;  but  everywhere,  spread  all  over  in  characters  of  living 
light,  blazing  on  all  its  ample  folds,  as  they  float  over  the  sea  and 
over  the  land,  and  in  every  wind  under  the  whole  heavens,  that 
other  sentiment,  dear  to  every  true  American  heart, — Liberty  and 
Union,  now  and  forever,  one  and  inseparable. 


JOSEPH  STORY,  1782—1845. 

This  eminent  jurist  and  scholar  was  born  in  Marblehead,  Mass.,  September  18, 
1782,  and  graduated  at  Harvard  College,  in  1798.  He  studied  law  under  Judge 
Putnam,  and  established  himself  in  the  practice  of  it  at  Salem.  He  soon  entered 
into  political  life,  and  was  chosen  a  member  of  the  Massachusetts  Legislature  in 
1805.  In  1809,  he  was  chosen  by  the  Democratic  party  a  representative  to  Con- 
gress from  Essex,  South  District.  In  1811,  he  was  nominated  by  President  Madi- 
son to  the  bench  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States,  and  he  then  severed 
himself  entirely  from  all  political  connections.  In  1830,  he  was  appointed  Dane 
Professor  in  the  Law  School  of  Harvard  University,  on  the  munificent  foundation 
of  his  friend,  Hon.  Nathan  Dane,  of  Beverly ;  and  he  continued  to  discharge  the 
duties  of  this  office  with  great  ability  and  success  till  the  day  of  his  death,  which 
took  place  on  the  10th  of  September,  1845. 

For  profound  legal  learning,  acuteness  of  intellect,  soundness  of  judgment,  and 
general  knowledge,  Judge  Story  has  had  few  superiors  in  our  country.  As  a 
teacher  of  jurisprudence,  he  brought  to  the  important  duties  of  the  Professor's 
chair,  besides  his  exuberant  learning,  great  patience,  a  strong  delight  in  the  sub- 
jects which  he  expounded,  a  copious  and  persuasive  eloquence,  and  a  contagious 
enthusiasm,  which  filled  his  pupils  with  love  for  the  law,  and  for  the  master  who 
taught  it  so  well. 

As  an  author,  Judge  Story  began  his  career  early  in  life,  by  publishing  an  ex- 


JOSEPH  STORY. 


271 


cellent  edition  of  Abbott  on  the  Law  of  Shipping.  Soon  after  his  appointment  to 
the  Dane  Professorship,  he  published  his  Commentaries  on  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States,  in  three  volumes,  octavo.  These  were  followed  by  a  succession  of 
treatises  on  different  branches  of  the  law,  the  extent  and  excellence  of  which,  with 
the  vast  amount  of  legal  learning  displayed  in  them,  leave  it  a  matter  of  astonish- 
ment that  they  could  be  prepared,  within  the  short  space  of  twelve  years,  by  a 
man  who  was  all  the  while  discharging,  with  great  assiduity,  the  onerous  duties 
of  a  Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States,  and  a  Professor  in  the  Law 
School  of  the  University.  But  in  his  devotion  to  the  science  of  the  law,  he  did 
not  forget  the  claims  of  literature  and  general  scholarship;  and  his  addresses  on 
public  occasions,  his  contributions  to  the  "  North  American  Review,"  and  other 
miscellaneous  writings,  show  a  mind  imbued  with  sound  and  varied  learning. 

As  a  man,  and  a  member  of  society,  he  was  remarkable  for  his  domestic  vir- 
tues, his  warm  affections  and  generous  temper,  and  the  purity,  elevation,  and  sim- 
plicity of  his  life.  The  members  of  the  Suffolk  Bar,  in  their  resolutions  upon  the 
occasion  of  his  death,  declare  "that  the  death  of  one  so  great  as  a  judge,  as  an 
author,  as  a  teacher,  and  so  good  as  a  man,  is  a  loss  which  is  irreparable  to  the 
bar,  to  the  country,  and  to  mankind." 

THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  CLASSICAL  LEARNING. 

The  importance  of  classical  learning  to  professional  education  is 
so  obvious,  that  the  surprise  is  that  it  could  ever  have  become 
matter  of  disputation.  I  speak  not  of  its  power  in  refining  the 
taste,  in  disciplining  the  judgment,  in  invigorating  the  under- 
standing, or  in  warming  the  heart  with  elevated  sentiments,  but 
of  its  power  of  direct,  positive,  necessary  instruction.  Until  the 
eighteenth  century,  the  mass  of  science,  in  its  principal  branches, 
was  deposited  in  the  dead  languages,  and  much  of  it  still  reposes 
there.  To  be  ignorant  of  these  languages  is  to  shut  out  the  lights 
of  former  times,  or  to  examine  them  only  through  the  glimmerings 
of  inadequate  translations.  What  should  we  say  of  the  jurist  who 
never  aspired  to  learn  the  maxims  of  law  and  equity  which  adorn 
the  Roman  codes  ?  What  of  the  physician  who  could  deliberately 
surrender  all  the  knowledge  heaped  up  for  so  many  centuries  in 
the  Latinity  of  continental  Europe  ?  What  of  the  minister  of  re- 
ligion who  should  choose  not  to  study  the  Scriptures  in  the  origi- 
nal tongue,  and  should  be  content  to  trust  his  faith  and  his  hopes, 
for  time  and  for  eternity,  to  the  dimness  of  translations  which  may 
reflect  the  literal  import,  but  rarely  can  reflect,  with  unbroken 
force,  the  beautiful  spirit  of  the  text  ? 

I  pass  over  all  consideration  of  the  written  treasures  of  anti- 
quity which  have  survived  the  wreck  of  empires  and  dynasties,  of 
monumental  trophies  and  triumphal  arches,  of  palaces  of  princes 
and  temples  of  the  gods.  I  pass  over  all  consideration  of  those 
admired  compositions  in  which  wisdom  speaks  as  with  a  voice  from 
heaven;  of  those  sublime  efforts  of  poetical  genius  which  still 


272 


JOSEPH  STORY. 


freshen,  as  they  pass  from  age  to  age,  in  undying  vigor  j  of  those 
finished  histories  which  still  enlighten  and  instruct  governments 
in  their  duty  and  their  destiny;  of  those  matchless  orations  which 
roused  nations  to  arms  and  chained  senates  to  the  chariot-wheels 
of  all-conquering  eloquence.  These  all  may  now  be  read  in  our 
vernacular  tongue.  Ay  !  as  one  remembers  the  face  of  a  dead 
friend,  by  gathering  up  the  broken  fragments  of  his  image  •  as 
one  listens  to  the  tale  of  a  dream  twice  told ;  as  one  catches  the 
roar  of  the  ocean  in  the  ripple  of  a  rivulet ;  as  one  sees  the  blaze 
of  noon  in  the  first  glimmer  of  twilight. 

FREE  SCHOOLS. 

I  know  not  what  more  munificent  donation  any  government  can 
bestow  than  by  providing  instruction  at  the  public  expense,  not 
as  a  scheme  of  charity,  but  of  municipal  policy.  If  a  private  per- 
son deserves  the  applause  of  all  good  men,  who  founds  a  single 
hospital  or  college,  how  much  more  are  they  entitled  to  the  appel- 
lation of  public  benefactors  who,  by  the  side  of  every  church  in 
every  village,  plant  a  school  of  letters  !  Other  monuments  of  the 
art  and  genius  of  man  may  perish,  but  these,  from  their  very 
nature,  seem,  as  far  as  human  foresight  can  go,  absolutely  im- 
mortal. The  triumphal  arches  of  other  days  have  fallen  ;  the 
sculptured  columns  have  crumbled  into  dust  j  the  temples  of  taste 
and  religion  have  sunk  into  decay  j  the  pyramids  themselves  seem 
but  mighty  sepulchres  hastening  to  the  same  oblivion  to  which  the 
dead  they  cover  have  long  since  passed.  But  here,  every  suc- 
cessive generation  becomes  a  living  memorial  of  our  public  schools, 
and  a  living  example  of  their  excellence.  Never,  never  may  this 
glorious  institution  be  abandoned  or  betrayed  by  the  weakness  of 
its  friends  or  the  power  of  its  adversaries  !  It  can  scarcely  be  aban- 
doned or  betrayed  while  New  England  remains  free,  and  her  re- 
presentatives are  true  to  their  trust.  It  must  forever  count  in  its 
defence  a  majority  of  all  those  who  ought  to  influence  public 
affairs  by  their  virtues  or  their  talents ;  for  it  must  be  that  here 
they  first  felt  the  divinity  of  knowledge  stir  within  them.  What 
consolation  can  be  higher,  what  reflection  prouder,  than  the 
thought  that  in  weal  and  in  woe  our  children  are  under  the  public 
guardianship,  and  may  here  gather  the  fruits  of  that  learning 
which  ripens  for  eternity  ! 

THE  DANGERS  THAT  THREATEN   OUR  REPUBLIC. 

The  fate  of  other  republics — their  rise,  their  progress,  their  de 
cline,  and  their  fall — are  written  but  too  legibly  on  the  pages  of 
history,  if,  indeed,  they  were  not  continually  before  us  in  the 


JOSEPH  STORY. 


273 


startling  fragments  of  their  ruins.  Those  republics  have  perished, 
and  have  perished  by  their  own  hands.  Prosperity  has  enervated 
them,  corruption  has  debased  them,  and  a  venal  populace  has 
consummated  their  destruction.  The  people,  alternately  the  prey 
of  military  chieftains  at  home  and  of  ambitious  invaders  from 
abroad,  have  been  sometimes  cheated  out  of  their  liberties  by 
servile  demagogues,  sometimes  betrayed  into  a  surrender  of  them 
by  false  patriots,  and  sometimes  they  have  willingly  sold  them  for 
a  price  to  the  despot  who  has  bidden  highest  for  his  victims. 
They  have  disregarded  the  warning  voice  of  their  best  statesmen, 
and  have  persecuted  and  driven  from  office  their  truest  friends. 
They  have  listened  to  the  counsels  of  fawning  sycophants  or  base 
calumniators  of  the  wise  and  the  good.  They  have  reverenced 
power  more  in  its  high  abuses  and  summary  movements  than  in 
its  calm  and  constitutional  energy,  when  it  dispensed  blessings 
with  an  unseen  but  a  liberal  hand.  They  have  surrendered  to 
faction  what  belonged  to  the  common  interests  and  common 
rights  of  the  country.  Patronage  and  party,  the  triumph  of  an 
artful  popular  leader,  and  the  discontents  of  a  day,  have  out- 
weighed, in  their  view,  all  solid  principles  and  institutions  of 
government.  Such  are  the  melancholy  lessons  of  the  past  history 
of  republics  down  to  our  own.  *  *  * 

If  our  Union  should  once  be  broken  up,  it  is  impossible  that  a 
new  constitution  should  ever  be  formed,  embracing  the  whole  ter- 
ritory. We  shall  be  divided  into  several  nations  or  confederacies, 
rivals  in  power,  pursuits,  and  interests ;  too  proud  to  brook  in- 
jury, and  too  near  to  make  retaliation  distant  or  ineffectual.  Our 
very  animosities  will,  like  those  of  all  other  kindred  nations,  be- 
come more  deadly,  because  our  lineage,  our  laws,  and  our  language 
are  the  same.  Let  the  history  of  the  Grecian  and  Italian  re- 
publics warn  us  of  our  dangers.  The  National  Constitution  is 
our  last  and  our  only  security.  United,  we  stand ;  divided, 
we  fall. 

Let,  then,  the  rising  generation  be  inspired  with  an  ardent  love 
of  their  country,  an  unquenchable  thirst  for  liberty,  and  a  pro- 
found reverence  for  the  Constitution  and  the  Union.  Let  the 
American  youth  never  forget  that  they  possess  a  noble  inherit- 
ance, bought  by  the  toils,  and  sufferings,  and  blood  of  their  ances- 
tors; and  capable,  if  wisely  improved  and  faithfully  guarded,  of 
transmitting  to  their  latest  posterity  all  the  substantial  blessings 
of  life,  the  peaceful  enjoyment  of  liberty,  of  property,  of  religion, 
and  of  independence.  The  structure  has  been  erected  by  archi- 
tects of  consummate  skill  and  fidelity,  its  foundations  are  solid, 
its  compartments  are  beautiful  as  well  as  useful,  its  arrangements 
are  full  of  wisdom  and  order,  and  its  defences  are  impregnable 
from  without.    It  has  bee  n  reared  for  immortality,  if  the  work  of 


274 


WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


man  may  justly  aspire  to  such  a  title.  It  may,  nevertheless, 
perish  in  an  hour,  by  the  folly,  or  corruption,  or  negligence  of  its 
only  keepers,  the  people.  Republics  are  created  by  the  virtue, 
public  spirit,  and  intelligence  of  the  citizens.  The}^  fall  when 
the  wise  are  banished  from  the  public  councils  because  they  dare 
to  be  honest,  and  the  profligate  are  rewarded  because  they  flatter 
the  people  in  order  to  betray  them. 

Conclusion  of  his  Exposition  of  the  Constitution. 


WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

£!  What !  Irving !  thrice  welcome,  warm  heart  and  fine  brain ! 
You  bring  back  the  happiest  spirit  from  Spain, 
And  the  gravest  sweet  humor  that  ever  was  there 
Since  Cervantes  met  death  in  his  gentle  despair. 
Nay,  don't  be  embarrass'd,  nor  look  so  beseeching, 
I  sha'n't  run  directly  against  my  own  preaching, 
And.  having  just  laugh'd  at  their  Raphaels  and  Dantes, 
Go  to  setting  you  up  beside  matchless  Cervantes; 
But  allow  me  to  speak  what  I  honestly  feel ; — 
To  a  true  poet-heart  add  the  fun  ol  Dick  Steele, 
Throw  in  all  of  Addison  minus  the  chill, 
With  the  whole  of  that  partnership's  stock  and  good  will, 
Mix  well,  and,  while  stirring,  hum  o'er,  as  a  spell. 
The  '  fine  old  English  gentleman;' — simmer  it  well : 
Sweeten  just  to  your  own  private  liking,  then  strain, 
That  only  the  finest  and  clearest  remain  : 
Let  it  stand  out  of  doors  till  a  soul  it  receives 
From  the  warm  lazy  sun  loitering  down  through  green  leaves; 
And  you'll  find  a  choice  nature,  not  wholly  deserving 
A  name  either  English  or  Yankee — just  Irving." 

James  Russell  Lowell's  Fable  for  the  Critics. 

This  most  justly  celebrated  and  widely-known  of  all  American  prose-writers 
was  born  in  the  city  of  New  York,  on  the  3d  of  April,  1783.  After  receiving  an 
ordinary  school-education,  he  commenced,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  the  study  of  the 
law.  In  1804,  in  consequence  of  ill  health,  he  sailed  for  Bordeaux,  and  thence 
roamed  over  the  most  beautiful  portions  of  Southern  Europe,  visited  Switzerland, 
sojourned  in  Paris,  passed  through  Holland  to  England,  and  returned  home  in 
1806  and  again  resumed  the  study  of  the  law.  He  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in 
November  of  that  year,  but  never  practised.  Shortly  after,  he  joined  Mr.  Pauld- 
ing in  writing  Salmagundi,  the  first  number  of  which  appeared  in  1807.  It  was 
a  miscellany  full  of  humor  and  fun,  which  captivated  the  town,  and  decided  the 
fortunes  of  the  authors.  In  December  of  the  following  year,  he  published  The 
History  of  New  York,  by  Diedrich  Knickerbocker, — a  most  original  and  humorous 
work;  and,  a  few  years  after,  he  edited  the  "Analectic  Magazine."  In  the 
autumn  of  1814,  he  joined  the  military  staff  of  the  Governor  of  New  York,  as  aid- 
de-camp,  and  secretary,  with  the  title  of  colonel.  At  the  close  of  the  war,  he 
embarked  for  Liverpool,  with  a  view  of  making  a  second  tour  of  Europe ;  but, 
financial  troubles  intervening,  and  the  remarkable  success  which  attended  his 
literary  enterprises  being  an  encouragement  to  pursue  a  vocation  which  necessity, 
no  less  than  taste,  now  urged  him  to  follow,  he  embarked  in  the  career  of  author- 


WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


275 


ship.  In  181S  appeared  the  papers  called  the  Sketch- Book,  transmitted  from 
London,  where  he  wrote  them,  to  New  York,  which  at  once  attracted  universal 
admiration,  not  here  ouly,  but  in  England,  where  they  were  republished  in  1820. 
After  residing  a  few  years  in  England,  Mr.  Irving  again  visited  Paris,  and  re- 
turned to  England  to  bring  out  Braeebridge  Hall,  in  London,  May,  1S22.  Tho 
next  winter  he  passed  in  Dresden,  and  in  the  following  spring  put  Tales  of  a  Tra- 
veller to  press.  He  soon  after  went  to  Madrid,  and  wrote  The  Life  of  Columbus, 
which  appeared  in  1828.  In  the  spring  of  that  year,  he  visited  the  south  of 
Spain,  and  the  result  was  the  Chronicles  of  the  Conquest  of  Grenada,  which  was 
published  in  1829.  The  same  year,  he  revisited  that  region,  and  collected  the 
materials  for  his  Alhambra.  In  July,  he  went  to  England,  being  appointed 
Secretary  of  Legation  to  the  American  Embassy  in  London,  which  office  he  held 
until  the  return  of  Mr.  McLane,  in  1831. 

While  in  England,  Mr.  Irving  received  one  of  the  twenty-guinea  gold  medals 
provided  by  George  IV.  for  eminence  in  historical  composition,  and  the  degree  of 
LL.D.  from  the  University  of  Oxford.  His  return  to  New  York,  in  1832,  was 
greeted  by  a  festival,  at  which  were  gathered  his  surviving  friends,  and  all  the 
illustrious  men  of  his  native  metropolis.  The  following  summer,  he  accompanied 
one  of  the  commissioners  for  removing  the  Indian  tribes  west  of  the  Mississippi. 
The  fruit  of  this  excursion  was  his  graphic  Tour  of  the  Prairies.  Soon  after  ap- 
peared Abbotsford  and  Newstead  Abbey,  and  Legends  of  the  Conquest  of  Spain. 
In  1830,  he  published  Astoria,  and  in  1837,  The  Adventures  of  Captain  Bonneville. 
In  1839,  he  entered  into  an  engagement,  which  lasted  two  years,  with  the  pro- 
prietors of  the  Knickerbocker  Magazine,  to  furnish,  monthly,  articles  for  that 
periodical.  Early  in  1842,  he  was  appointed  minister  to  Spain ;  and  on  his  re- 
turn to  this  country,  in  1846,  he  began  the  publication  of  a  revised  edition  of  his 
works,  to  the  list  of  which  he  afterwards  added  a  Life  of  Goldsmith.  He  has  re- 
cently published  a  Life  of  Washington,  in  five  volumes,  which  promises  to  be  the 
most  popular  life  of  that  illustrious  statesman  whose  name  he  wears. 

After  the  genial  lines  of  James  Russell  Lowell,  above  quoted,  so  happily  de- 
scriptive of  Mr.  Irving's  style,  wo  will  add  nothing  but  a  short  quotation  from  a 
beautifully-written  and  appreciative  sketch  of  his  life,  in  the  "  Homes  of  American 
Authors :" — "  The  eminent  success  which  has  attended  the  late  republication  of 
Irving's  works  teaches  a  lesson  that  we  hope  will  not  be  lost  on  the  cultivators 
of  literature.  It  proves  a  truth  which  all  men  of  enlightened  taste  intuitively 
feel,  but  which  is  constantly  forgotten  by  aspirants  for  literary  fame,  and  that  is, 
— the  permanent  value  of  a  direct,  simple,  and  natural  style.  It  is  not  only  the 
genial  philosophy,  the  humane  spirit,  the  humor  and  pathos,  of  Irving,  which  en- 
dear his  writings  and  secure  for  them  an  habitual  interest,  but  it  is  in  the  refresh- 
ment afforded  by  a  constant  recurrence  to  the  unalloyed,  unaffected,  clear,  flow- 
ing style  in  which  he  invariably  expresses  himself."1 


1  Read  "  Homes  of  American  Authors "  North  American  Review,"  ix.  322, 
xxviii.  103,  xxix.  293,  xxxv.  265,  xli.  1,  xliv.  200;  "  Edinburgh  Review,"  xxxiv. 
160,  xxxvii.  337.  But  for  a  full  account  of  Irving's  writings,  with  well-selected 
criticisms  upon  his  works,  both  from  English  and  American  Reviews,  consult 
that  admirable  book, — Allibone's  Critical  Dictionary  of  English  Literature  and 
British  and  American  Authors.    See  p.  771  of  this  book. 


276 


WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


COLUMBUS  FIRST  DISCOVERS  LAND  IN  THE  NEW  WORLD. 

The  breeze  had  been  fresh  all  day,  with  more  sea  than  usual, 
and  they  had  made  great  progress.  At  sunset  they  had  stood 
again  to  the  west,  and  were  ploughing  the  waves  at  a  rapid  rate, 
the  Pinta  keeping  the  head,  from  her  superior  sailing.  The 
greatest  animation  prevailed  throughout  the  ships  :  not  an  eye 
was  closed  that  night.  As  the  evening  darkened,  Columbus  took 
his  station  on  the  top  of  the  castle  or  cabin  on  the  high  poop  of 
his  vessel,  ranging  his  eye  along  the  dusky  horizon,  and  maintain- 
ing an  intense  and  unremitting  watch.  About  ten  o'clock,  he 
thought  he  beheld  a  light  glimmering  at  a  great  distance.  Fear- 
ing his  eager  hopes  might  deceive  him,  he  called  to  Pedro 
Gutierrez,  gentleman  of  the  king's  bedchamber,  and  inquired 
whether  he  saw  such  a  light ;  the  latter  replied  in  the  affirmative. 
Doubtful  whether  it  might  not  yet  be  some  delusion  of  the  fancy, 
Columbus  called  Rodrigo  Sanchez,  of  Segovia,  and  made  the  same 
inquiry.  By  the  time  the  latter  had  ascended  the  round-house, 
the  light  had  disappeared.  They  saw  it  once  or  twice  afterwards 
in  sudden  and  passing  gleams,  as  if  it  were  a  torch  in  the  bark 
of  a  fisherman,  rising  and  sinking  with  the  waves,  or  in  the  hand 
of  some  person  on  shore,  borne  up  and  down  as  he  walked  from 
house  to  house.  So  transient  and  uncertain  were  these  gleams, 
that  few  attached  any  importance  to  them ;  Columbus,  however, 
considered  them  as  certain  signs  of  land,  and,  moreover,  that  the 
land  was  inhabited. 

They  continued  their  course  until  two  in  the  morning,  when  a 
gun  from  the  Pinta  gave  the  joyful  signal  of  land.  It  was  first 
descried  by  a  mariner  named  Rodrigo  de  Triana ;  but  the  reward 
was  afterwards  adjudged  to  the  admiral  for  having  previously 
perceived  the  light.  The  land  was  now  clearly  seen  about  two 
leagues  distant ;  whereupon  they  took  in  sail,  and  lay  to,  waiting 
impatiently  for  the  dawn. 

The  thoughts  and  feelings  of  Columbus  in  this  little  space  of 
time  must  have  been  tumultuous  and  intense.  At  length,  in 
spite  of  every  difficulty  and  danger,  he  had  accomplished  his  ob- 
ject. The  great  mystery  of  the  ocean  was  revealed;  his  theory, 
which  had  been  the  scoft'  of  sages,  was  triumphantly  established ; 
he  had  secured  to  himself  a  glory  durable  as  the  world  itself. 

It  is  difficult  to  conceive  the  feelings  of  such  a  man  at  such  a 
moment,  or  the  conjectures  which  must  have  thronged  upon  his 
mind  as  to  the  land  before  him,  covered  with  darkness.  That  it 
was  fruitful  was  evident  from  the  vegetables  which  floated  from 
its  shores.  He  thought,  too,  that  he  perceived  the  fragrance  of 
aromatic  groves.  The  moving  light  he  had  beheld  proved  it  the 
residence  of  man.    But  what  were  its  inhabitants  ?    Were  they 


WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


277 


like  those  of  the  other  parts  of  the  globe;  or  were  they  some 
strange  and  monstrous  race,  such  as  the  imagination  was  prone  in 
those  times  to  give  to  all  remote  and  unknown  regions  ?  Had  he 
come  upon  some  wild  island  far  in  the  Indian  sea;  or  was  this 
the  famed  Oipango  itself,  the  object  of  his  golden  fancies?  A 
thousand  speculations  of  the  kind  must  have  swarmed  upon  him, 
as,  with  his  anxious  crews,  he  waited  for  the  night  to  pass  away, 
wondering  whether  the  morning  light  would  reveal  a  savage  wil- 
derness, or  dawn  upon  spicy  groves,  and  glittering  fanes,  and 
gilded  cities,  and  all  the  splendor  of  Oriental  civilization. 

Life  of  Columbus. 

FILIAL  AFFECTION. 

I  sought  the  village  church.  It  is  an  old  low  edifice  of  gray 
stone,  on  the  brow  of  a  small  hill,  looking  over  fertile  fields, 
towards  where  the  proud  towers  of  Warwick  Castle  lift  them- 
selves against  the  distant  horizon. 

A  part  of  the  churchyard  is  shaded  by  large  trees.  Under  one 
of  them  my  mother  lay  buried.  You  have  no  doubt  thought  me 
a  light,  heartless  being.  I  thought  myself  so ;  but  there  are  mo- 
ments of  adversity  which  let  us  into  some  feelings  of  our  nature 
to  which  we  might  otherwise  remain  perpetual  strangers. 

I  sought  my  mother's  grave  :  the  weeds  were  already  matted 
over  it,  and  the  tombstone  was  half  hid  among  nettles.  I  cleared 
them  away,  and  they  stung  my  hands;  but  I  was  heedless  of  the 
pain,  for  my  heart  ached  too  severely.  I  sat  down  on  the  grave, 
and  read  over  and  over  again  the  epitaph  on  the  stone. 

It  was  simple,  but  it  was  true.  I  had  written  it  myself.  I 
had  tried  to  write  a  poetical  epitaph,  but  in  vain :  my  feelings  re- 
fused to  utter  themselves  in  rhyme.  My  heart  had  gradually 
been  filling  during  my  lonely  wanderings ;  it  was  now  charged  to 
the  brim,  and  overflowed.  I  sank  upon  the  grave,  and  buried  my 
face  in  the  tall  grass,  and  wept  like  a  child.  Yes,  I  wept  in  man- 
hood upon  the  grave,  as  I  had  in  infancy  upon  the  bosom,  of  my 
mother.  Alas  !  how  little  do  we  appreciate  a  mother's  tenderness 
while  living !  how  heedless  are  we  in  youth  of  all  her  anxieties 
and  kindness  !  But  when  she  is  dead  and  gone,  when  the  cares 
and  coldness  of  the  world  come  withering  to  our  hearts,  when  we 
find  how  hard  it  is  to  meet  with  true  sympathy,  how  few  love  us 
for  ourselves,  how  few  will  befriend  us  in  our  misfortunes,  then 
it  is  that  we  think  of  the  mother  we  have  lost.  It  is  true  I  had 
always  loved  my  mother,  even  in  my  most  heedless  days;  but  I 
felt  how  inconsiderate  and  ineffectual  had  been  my  love.  My 
heart  melted  as  I  retraced  the  days  of  infancy,  when  I  was  led 
by  a  mother's  hand  and  rocked  to  sleep  in  a  mother's  arms, 
and  was  without  care  or  sorrow.    "  0  my  mother  V  exclaimed  I, 

24 


278 


"WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


burying  my  face  again  in  the  grass  of  the  grave,  "  oh  that  I  were 
once  more  by  your  side,  sleeping,  never  to  wake  again  on  the  cares 
and  troubles  of  this  world  !" 

I  am  not  naturally  of  a  morbid  temperament,  and  the  violence 
of  n  y  emotion  gradually  exhausted  itself.  It  was  a  hearty, 
honest,  natural  discharge  of  grief  which  had  been  slowly  accumu- 
lating, and  gave  me  wonderful  relief.  I  rose  from  the  grave  as 
if  I  had  been  offering  up  a  sacrifice,  and  I  felt  as  if  that  sacrifice 
had  been  accepted. 

I  sat  down  again  on  the  grass,  and  plucked,  one  by  one,  the 
weeds  from  her  grave ;  the  tears  trickled  more  slowly  down  my 
cheeks,  and  ceased  to  be  bitter.  It  was  a  comfort  to  think  that 
she  had  died  before  sorrow  and  poverty  came  upon  her  child,  and 
that  all  his  great  expectations  were  blasted. 

I  leaned  my  cheek  upon  my  hand,  and  looked  upon  the  land- 
scape. Its  quiet  beauty  soothed  me.  The  whistle  of  a  peasant 
from  an  adjoining  field  came  cheerily  to  my  ear.  I  seemed  to 
respire  hope  and  comfort  with  the  free  air  that  whispered  through 
the  leaves,  and  played  lightly  with  my  hair,  and  dried  the  tears 
upon  my  cheek.  A  lark,  rising  from  the  field  before  me,  and 
leaving  as  it  were  a  stream  of  song  behind  him  as  he  rose,  lifted 
my  fancy  with  him.  He  hovered  in  the  air  just  above  the  place 
where  the  towers  of  Warwick  Castle  marked  the  horizon,  and 
seemed  as  if  fluttering  with  delight  at  his  own  melody.  "  Surely," 
thought  I,  "  if  there  was  such  a  thing  as  transmigration  of  souls, 
this  might  be  taken  for  some  poet  let  loose  from  earth,  but  still 
revelling  in  song,  and  carolling  about  fair  fields  and  lordly 
towers." 

At  this  moment  the  long-forgotten  feeling  of  poetry  rose  within 
me.  A  thought  sprang  at  once  into  my  mind.  "  I  will  become 
an  author !"  said  I.  "  I  have  hitherto  indulged  in  poetry  as  a 
pleasure,  and  it  has  brought  me  nothing  but  pain  :  let  me  try 
what  it  will  do  when  I  cultivate  it  with  devotion  as  a  pursuit." 

The  resolution  thus  suddenly  aroused  within  me  heaved  a  load 
from  off  my  heart.  I  felt  a  confidence  in  it  from  the  very  place 
where  it  was  formed.  It  seemed  as  though  my  mother's  spirit 
whispered  it  to  me  from  the  grave.  "  I  will  henceforth,"  said  I, 
"  endeavor  to  be  all  that  she  fondly  imagined  me.  I  will  endeavor 
to  act  as  if  she  were  witness  of  my  actions  j  I  will  endeavor  to 
acquit  myself  in  such  a  manner  that,  when  I  revisit  her  grave, 
there  may  at  least  be  no  compunctious  bitterness  with  my  tears." 

I  bowed  down  and  kissed  the  turf  in  solemn  attestation  of  my 
vow.  I  plucked  some  primroses  that  wrere  growing  there,  and 
laid  them  next  my  heart.  I  left  the  churchyard  with  my  spirit 
once  more  lifted  up,  and  set  out  a  third  time  for  London  in  the 
character  of  an  author.  Bmcebridge  Hall. 


WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


279 


THE  ALHAMBRA  BY  MOONLIGHT. 

The  moon,  which  then  was  invisible,  has  gradually  gained  upon 
the  nights,  and  now  rolls  in  full  splendor  above  the  towers,  pour- 
ing a  flood  of  tempered  light  into  every  court  and  hall.  The  gar- 
den beneath  my  window  is  gently  lighted  tip,  the  orange  and  citron 
trees  are  tipped  with  silver,  the  fountain  sparkles  in  the  moon- 
beams, and  even  the  blush  of  the  rose  is  faintly  visible. 

I  have  sat  for  hours  at  my  window  inhaling  the  sweetness  of 
the  garden,  and  musing  on  the  checkered  features  of  those  whose 
history  is  dimly  shadowed  out  in  the  elegant  memorials  around. 
Sometimes  I  have  issued  forth  at  midnight  when  every  thing  was 
quiet,  and  have  wandered  over  the  whole  building.  Who  can  do 
justice  to  a  moonlight  night  in  such  a  climate  and  in  such  a 
place  ?  The  temperature  of  an  Andalusian  midnight,  in  summer, 
is  perfectly  ethereal.  We  seem  lifted  up  into  a  purer  atmosphere ; 
there  is  a  serenity  of  soul,  a  buoyancy  of  spirits,  an  elasticity  of 
frame,  that  render  mere  existence  enjoyment.  The  effect  of 
moonlight,  too,  on  the  Alhambra  has  something  like  enchant- 
ment. Every  rent  and  chasm  of  time,  every  mouldering  tint  and 
weather-stain,  disappears,  the  marble  resumes  its  original  white- 
ness, the  long  colonnades  brighten  in  the  moonbeams,  the  halls 
are  illuminated  with  a  softened  radiance,  until  the  whole  edifice 
reminds  one  of  the  enchanted  palace  of  an  Arabian  tale. 

At  such  time  I  have  ascended  to  the  little  pavilion,  called  the 
Queen's  Toilette,  to  enjoy  its  varied  and  extensive  prospect.  To 
the  right,  the  snowy  summits  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  would  gleam 
like  silver  clouds  against  the  darker  firmament,  and  all  the  out- 
lines of  the  mountain  would  be  softened,  yet  delicately  defined. 
My  delight,  however,  would  be  to  lean  over  the  parapet  of  the 
tocador,  and  gaze  down  upon  Granada,  spread  out  like  a  map  be- 
low me,  all  buried  in  deep  repose,  and  its  white  palaces  and  con- 
vents sleeping  as  it  were  in  the  moonshine. 

Sometimes  I  would  hear  the  faint  sounds  of  castanets  from 
some  party  of  dancers  lingering  in  the  Alameda ;  at  other  times  I 
have  heard  the  dubious  tones  of  a  guitar,  and  the  notes  of  a  single 
voice  rising  from  some  solitary  street,  and  have  pictured  to  my- 
self some  youthful  cavalier  serenading  his  lady's  window, — a  gal- 
lant custom  of  former  clays,  but  now  sadly  on  the  decline,  except 
in  the  remote  towns  and  villages  of  Spain. 

Such  are  the  scenes  that  have  detained  me  for  many  an  hour 
loitering  about  the  courts  and  balconies  of  the  castle,  enjoying 
that  mixture  of  reverie  and  sensation  which  steal  away  existence 
in  a  Southern  climate, — and  it  has  been  almost  morning  before  I 
have  retired  to  my  bed,  and  been  lulled  to  sleep  by  the  falling 
waters  of  the  fountain  of  Lindaraxa.  The  Alhambra. 


280 


WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


THE  GRAVE. 

The  love  which  survives  the  tomb  is  one  of  the  noblest  attri- 
butes of  the  soul.  If  it  has  its  woes,  it  has  likewise  its  delights; 
and  when  the  overwhelming  burst  of  grief  is  calmed  into  the 
gentle  tear  of  recollection,  when  the  sudden  anguish  and  the  con- 
vulsive agony  over  the  present  ruins  of  all  that  we  most  loved  are 
softened  away  into  pensive  meditation  on  all  that  it  was  in  the 
days  of  its  loveliness,  who  would  root  out  such  a  sorrow  from  the 
heart  ?  Though  it  may  sometimes  throw  a  passing  cloud  over  the 
bright  hour  of  gayety,  or  spread  a  deeper  sadness  over  the  hour 
of  gloom,  yet  who  would  exchange  it,  even  for  the  song  of  plea- 
sure or  the  burst  of  revelry  ?  No  :  there  is  a  voice  from  the 
tomb  sweeter  than  song.  There  is  a  remembrance  of  the  dead  to 
which  we  turn  even  from  the  charms  of  the  living.  Oh,  the 
grave  ! — the  grave  !  It  buries  every  error,  covers  every  defect, 
extinguishes  every  resentment !  From  its  peaceful  bosom  spring 
none  but  fond  regrets  and  tender  recollections.  Who  can  look 
down  upon  the  grave  even  of  an  enemy,  and  not  feel  a  com- 
punctious throb  that  he  should  ever  have  warred  with  the  poor 
handful  of  earth  that  lies  mouldering  before  him  ? 

But  the  grave  of  those  we  loved, — what  a  place  for  meditation  ! 
There  it  is  that  we  call  up  in  long  review  the  whole  history  of 
virtue  and  gentleness,  and  the  thousand  endearments  lavished 
upon  ris  almost  unheeded  in  the  daily  intercourse  of  intimacy ; 
there  it  is  that  we  dwell  upon  the  tenderness,  the  solemn,  awful 
tenderness,  of  the  parting  scene.  The  bed  of  death,  with  all  its 
stifled  griefs,  its  noiseless  attendants,  its  mute,  watchful  assi- 
duities !  The  last  testimonies  of  expiring  love !  The  feeble, 
fluttering,  thrilling — oh,  how  thrilling  1 — pressure  of  the  hand  ! 
The  faint,  faltering  accents,  struggling  in  death  to  give  one  more 
assurance  of  affection  !  The  last  fond  look  of  the  glazing  eye, 
turning  upon  us  even  from  the  threshold  of  existence  ! 

Ay,  go  to  the  grave  of  buried  love,  and  meditate  !  There  settle 
the  account  with  thy  conscience  for  every  past  benefit  unrequited, 
every  past  endearment  unregarded,  of  that  departed  being,  who 
can  never,  never,  never  return  to  be  soothed  by  thy  contrition ! 

If  thou  art  a  child,  and  hast  ever  added  a  sorrow  to  the  soul  or 
a  furrow  to  the  silvered  brow  of  an  affectionate  parent, — if  thou 
art  a  husband,  and  hast  ever  caused  the  fond  bosom  that  ventured 
its  whole  happiness  in  thy  arms  to  doubt  one  moment  of  thy  kind- 
ness or  thy  truth, — if  thou  art  a  friend,  and  hast  ever  wronged,  in 
thought,  or  word,  or  deed,  the  spirit  that  generously  confided  in 
thee, — if  thou  art  a  lover,  and  hast  ever  given  one  unmerited 
pang  to  that  true  heart  which  now  lies  cold  and  still  beneath  thy 
feet, — then  be  sure  that  every  unkind  look,  every  ungracious 


WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


281 


word,  and  every  ungentle  action,  will  come  thronging  back  upon 
thy  memory  and  knocking  dolefully  at  thy  soul ;  then  be  sure 
that  thou  wilt  lie  down  sorrowing  and  repentant  on  the  grave,  and 
utter  the  unheard  groan,  and  pour  the  unavailing  tear,  more  deep, 
more  bitter,  because  unheard  and  unavailing. 

Then  weave  thy  chaplet  of  flowers,  and  strew  the  beauties  of 
nature  about  the  grave ;  console  thy  broken  spirit,  if  thou  canst, 
with  these  tender  yet  futile  tributes  of  regret  ;  but  take  warning 
by  the  bitterness  of  this  thy  contrite  affliction  over  the  dead,  and 
henceforth  be  more  faithful  and  affectionate  in  the  discharge  of 
thy  duties  to  the  living. 

Sketch-Book. 

PORTRAIT  OF  A  DUTCHMAN. 

The  renowned  Wouter  (or  Walter)  Van  Twiller  was  descended 
from  a  long  line  of  Dutch  burgomasters,  who  had  successively 
dozed  away  their  lives,  and  grown  fat  upon  the  bench  of  magis- 
tracy in  Rotterdam,  and  who  had  comported  themselves  with  such 
singular  wisdom  and  propriety  that  they  were  never  either  heard 
or  talked  of, — which,  next  to  being  universally  applauded,  should 
be  the  object  of  ambition  of  all  magistrates  and  rulers.  There  are 
two  opposite  ways  by  which  some  men  make  a  figure  in  the  world  : 
one  by  talking  taster  than  they  think ;  and  the  other  by  holding 
their  tongues  and  not  thinking  at  all.  By  the  first,  many  a  smat- 
terer  acquires  the  reputation  of  a  man  of  quick  parts;  by  the 
other,  many  a  dunderpate,  like  the  owl,  the  stupidest  of  birds, 
comes  to  be  considered  the  very  type  of  wisdom.  This,  by-the- 
way,  is  a  casual  remark,  which  I  would  not  for  the  universe  have 
it  thought  I  apply  to  Governor  Van  Twiller.  It  is  true  he  was  a 
man  shut  up  within  himself,  like  an  oyster,  and  rarely  spoke  ex- 
cept in  monosyllables ;  but  then  it  was  allowed  he  seldom  said  a 
foolish  thing.  So  invincible  was  his  gravity  that  he  was  never 
known  to  laugh,  or  even  to  smile,  through  the  whole  course  of  a 
long  and  prosperous  life.  Nay,  if  a  joke  were  uttered  in  his  pre- 
sence that  set  light-minded  hearers  in  a  roar,  it  was  observed  to 
throw  him  into  a  state  of  perplexity.  Sometimes  he  would  deign 
to  inquire  into  the  matter;  and  when,  after  much  explanation, 
the  joke  was  made  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff,  he  would  continue  to 
smoke  his  pipe  in  silence,  and  at  length,  knocking  out  the  ashes, 
would  exclaim,  "  Well !  I  see  nothing  in  all  that  to  laugh  about !" 

The  person  of  this  illustrious  old  gentleman  was  formed  and 
proportioned  as  though  it  had  been  moulded  by  the  hands  of  some 
cunning  Dutch  statuary,  as  a  model  of  majesty  and  lordly  grandeur. 
He  was  exactly  five  feet  six  inches  in  height,  and  six  feet  five 
inches  in  circumference.  His  head  was  a  perfect  sphere,  and  of 
such  stupendous  dimensions,  that  dame  Nature,  with  all  her  sex's 

24* 


282  JOSEPH  S.  BUCKMINSTER. 

ingenuity,  would  have  been  puzzled  to  construct  a  neck  capable 
of  supporting  it;  wherefore  she  wisely  declined  the  attempt,  and 
settled  it  firmly  on  the  back  of  his  back-bone,  just  between  the 
shoulders.  His  body  was  oblong,  and  particularly  capacious  at 
bottom  j  which  was  wisely  ordered  by  Providence,  seeing  that  he 
was  a  man  of  sedentary  habits,  and  very  averse  to  the  idle  labor 
of  walking.  His  legs  were  short,  but  sturdy  in  proportion  to  the 
weight  they  had  to  sustain  j  so  that  when  erect  he  had  not  a  little 
the  appearance  of  a  beer-barrel  on  skids.  His  face — that  infallible 
index  of  the  mind — presented  a  vast  expanse,  unfurrowed  by  any 
of  those  lines  and  angles  which  disfigure  the  human  countenance 
with  what  is  termed  expression.  Two  small  gray  eyes  twinkled 
feebly  in  the  midst,  like  two  stars  of  lesser  magnitude  in  a  hazy 
firmament ;  and  his  full-fed  cheeks,  which  seemed  to  have  taken 
toll  of  every  thing  that  went  into  his  mouth,  were  curiously 
mottled  and  streaked  with  dusky  red,  like  a  spitzenberg  apple. 

His  habits  were  as  regular  as  his  person.  He  daily  took  his 
four  stated  meals,  appropriating  exactly  an  hour  to  each ;  he 
smoked  and  doubted  eight  hours,  and  he  slept  the  remaining 
twelve  of  the  four-and-twenty.  Such  was  the  renowned  Wouter 
Van  Twiller, — a  true  philosopher  ■  for  his  mind  was  either  ele- 
vated above,  or  tranquilly  settled  below,  the  cares  and  perplexities 
of  this  world.  He  had  lived  in  it  for  years,  without  feeling  the 
least  curiosity  to  know  whether  the  sun  revolved  round  it,  or  it 
round  the  sun ;  and  he  had  watched,  for  at  least  half  a  century, 
the  smoke  curling  from  his  pipe  to  the  ceiling,  without  once 
troubling  his  head  with  any  of  those  numerous  theories  by  which 
a  philosopher  would  have  perplexed  his  brain,  in  accounting  for 
its  rising  above  the  surrounding  atmosphere. 

Knickerbocker. 


JOSEPH  S.  BUCKMIXSTER,  1784—1812. 

Joseph  Stevens  Buckmixster  was  born  in  Portsmouth,  New  Hampshire, 
May  26,  1781.  His  ancestors,  both  by  his  father's  and  his  mother's  side,  for 
several  generations,  were  clergymen.  His  father,  Dr.  Buckminster,  was  for  a 
long  time  a  minister  of  Portsmouth,  and  was  esteemed  one  of  the  most  eminent 
clergymen  of  the  State.  His  mother,  the  only  daughter  of  Dr.  Stevens,  of  Kit- 
tery,  was  a  woman  of  an  elegant  and  cultivated  mind;  and,  though  dying  while 
the  subject  of  this  memoir  was  very  young,  she  had  made  such  impressions  on 
his  mind  and  heart  as  deeply  and  permanently  affected  his  character. 

Mr.  Buckminster  was  a  striking  example  of  the  early  development  of  talents. 
There  was  no  period,  after  his  earliest  infancy,  when  he  did  not  impress  on  all 
who  saw  hkn  a  conviction  of  the  certainty  of  his  future  eminence.    He  received 


JOSEPH  S.  BUCKMINSTER. 


283 


his  education  preparatory  for  college  at  Exeter  Academy,  New  Hampshire,  nndei 
the  care  of  the  venerable  Dr.  Benjamin  Abbot,  for  whom  all  his  pupils  ever  enter- 
tained the  highest  veneration.1  At  the  age  of  thirteen  he  entered  Harvard  Uni- 
versity, nearly  a  year  in  advance,  and  at  once  took  the  highest  rank  as  a  scholar, 
which  he  continued  to  maintain  throughout  his  whole  collegiate  career. 

In  1S00,  he  received  the  honors  of  the  University,  and  entered  at  once  upon 
the  study  of  theology,  for  which  he  had  an  inclination  at  an  early  age.  In 
October,  1804,  he  was  invited  to  preach  before  the  Brattle  Street  Church,  Boston, 
and  he  was  ordained  as  their  pastor  January  30,  1805. 

But  a  cloud  was  soon  to  overshadow  this  fair  prospect;  for,  in  October  of  that 
year,  he  was  attacked  by  a  fit  of  epilepsy,  brought  on  by  too  intense  application 
to  his  studies.  In  the  spring  of  1S0G,  the  increase  of  this  fatal  malady  induced 
his  friends  to  insist  upon  his  taking  a  voyage  to  Europe;  and,  accordingly,  he 
embarked  in  May  for  Liverpool.  After  travelling  through  Great  Britain  and  a 
considerable  portion  of  Western  Skirope,  he  returned  home  in  September  of  the 
next  year.  He  was  welcomed  by  his  congregation  with  unabated  affection,  and 
resumed  the  duties  of  his  office  with  redoubled  activity,  and  for  a  few  3rears  he 
continued  to  labor  with  unwearied  industry,  continually  filling  a  larger  space  in 
the  public  eye,  when,  in  the  midst  of  all  his  usefulness,  he  was  suddenly  cut 
down.  A  violent  attack  of  his  old  disorder  at  once  made  a  total  wreck  of  his 
intellect,  and,  after  lingering  for  a  few  days,  during  which  he  had  not  even  a 
momentary  interval  of  reason,  he  sank  under  its  force,  June  9,  1812,  having  just 
completed  his  twenty-eighth  year. 

Few  men  ever  died  more  lamented  by  the  community  in  which  they  lived  than 
Mr.  Buckminster.  His  death  was  felt  by  all  classes,  and  all  sects  of  Christians, 
to  be  a  great  public  loss.  His  life  was  one  of  uniform  purity  and  rectitude,  of 
devotion  to  his  Master's  service,  of  disinterested  zeal  for  the  good  of  mankind. 
As  a  scholar,  Professor  Norton  remarks,  "There  is  no  question  that  he  was  one 
of  the  most  eminent  men  whom  our  country  has  produced.  In  the  time  which 
was  left  him  by  his  many  interruptions,  he  had  acquired  such  a  variety  of  know- 
ledge, that  one  could  hardly  converse  with  him  on  any  subject  connected  with 
his  profession,  or  with  the  branches  of  elegant  literature,  without  having  some 
new  ideas  suggested,  without  receiving  some  information,  or  being  at  least  directed 
how  to  obtain  it.  Yet  he  did  not  labor  to  acquire  learning  merely  for  the  sake 
of  exhibiting  it  to  the  wonder  of  others  ;  but  his  studies  were  all  for  profit  and 
usefulness.  Of  his  public  discourses  I  do  not  fear  speaking  with  exaggerated 
praise.  To  listen  to  them  was  the  indulgence  and  gratification  of  our  best  affec- 
tions.   It  was  to  follow  in  the  triumph  of  religion  and  virtue."2 


1  Dr.  Johnson  has  very  justly  said,  "Not  to  mention  the  school  or  master  of 
distinguished  men  is  a  kind  of  historical  fraud  by  which  honest  fame  is  inju- 
riously diminished." 

2  Read  a  memoir  prefixed  to  his  works,  2  vols.,  Boston,  1839 ;  also  an  article  in 
the  "North  American  Review,"  x.  204;  but,  above  all,  "  Memoirs  of  the  Rev. 
Joseph  Buckminster,  D.D.,  and  of  his  Son,  Rev.  Joseph  Stevens  Buckmiuster," 
by  his  sister,  Eliza  Buckminster  Lee.  Also  a  very  fine  article  in  the  "Christian 
Examiner"  for  September,  1849. 


284  JOSEPH  S.  BUCKMINSTER. 

USES  OF  SICKNESS. 

Sickness  teaches  us  not  only  the  uncertain  tenure,  but  the  utter 
vanity  and  unsatisfactoriness,  of  the  dearest  objects  of  human 
pursuit.  Introduce  into  the  chamber  of  a  sick  and  dying  man  the 
whole  pantheon  of  idols  which  he  has  vainly  worshipped, — fame, 
wealth,  pleasure,  beauty,  power, — what  miserable  comforters  are 
they  all !  Bind  a  wreath  of  laurel  round  his  brow,  and  see  if  it 
will  assuage  his  aching  temples.  Spread  before  him  the  deeds 
and  instruments  which  prove  him  the  lord  of  innumerable  pos- 
sessions, and  see  if  you  can  beguile  him  of  a  moment's  anguish; 
see  if  he  will  not  give  you  up  those  barren  parchments  for  one 
drop  of  cool  water,  one  draught  of  pure  air.  Go,  tell  him,  when  a 
fever  rages  through  his  veins,  that  his  table  smokes  with  luxuries, 
that  the  wine  moveth  itself  aright  and  giveth  its  color  in  the  cup, 
and  see  if  this  will  calm  his  throbbing  pulse.  Tell  him,  as  he 
lies  prostrate,  helpless  and  sinking  with  debility,  that  the  song 
and  dance  are  ready  to  begin,  and  that  all  without  him  is  life, 
alacrity,  and  joy.  Nay,  more,  place  in  his  motionless  hand  the 
sceptre  of  a  mighty  empire,  and  see  if  he  will  be  eager  to  grasp 
it.  This,  my  friends,  this  is  the  school  in  which  our  desires  must 
be  disciplined,  and  our  judgments  of  ourselves  and  the  objects  of 
our  pursuit  corrected. 

TEMPTATIONS  OF  THE  YOUNG. 

It  is  true  that  every  age  and  employment  has  its  snares ;  but 
the  feet  of  the  young  are  most  easily  entrapped.  Issuing  forth, 
as  you  do,  in  the  morning  of  life,  into  the  wide  field  of  existence, 
where  the  flowers  are  all  open,  it  is  no  wonder  that  you  pluck 
some  that  are  poisonous.  Tasting  every  golden  fruit  that  hangs 
over  the  garden  of  life,  it  is  no  wonder  that  you  should  find  some 
of  the  most  tempting  hollow  and  mouldy.  But  the  peculiar  cha- 
racteristic of  your  age,  my  young  friends,  is  impetuosity  and  pre- 
sumptuousness.  You  are  without  caution,  because  without  expe- 
rience. You  are  precipitate,  because  you  have  enjoyed  so  long 
the  protection  of  others  that  you  have  yet  to  learn  to  protect  your- 
selves. You  grasp  at  every  pleasure  because  it  is  new,  and  every 
society  charms  with  a  freshness  which  you  will  be  surprised  to 
find  gradually  wearing  away.  Young  as  you  are  upon  the  stage, 
there  seems  to  be  little  for  you  to  know  of  yourselves ;  therefore 
you  are  contented  to  know  little,  and  the  world  will  not  let  you 
know  more  till  it  has  disappointed  you  oftener. 

Entering,  then,  into  life,  you  will  find  every  rank  and  occupa- 
tion environed  with  its  peculiar  temptations ;  and,  without  some 
other  and  higher  principle  than  that  which  influences  a  merely 


JOSEPH  S.  BTJCKMINSTER. 


285 


worldly  man,  you  are  not  a  moment  secure.  You  are  poor,  and 
you  think  pleasure  and  fashion  and  ambition  will  disdain  to  spread 
their  snares  for  so  ignoble  a  prey.  It  is  true,  they  may.  But 
take  care  that  dishonesty  does  not  dazzle  you  with  an  exhibition 
of  sudden  gains.  Take  care  that  want  docs  not  disturb  your 
imagination  by  temptations  to  fraud.  Distress  may  drive  you  to 
indolence  and  despair,  and  these  united  may  drown  you  in  intem- 
perance. Even  robbery  and  murder  have  sometimes  stalked  in  at 
the  breach  which  poverty  or  calamity  has  left  unguarded.  You 
are  rich,  and  you  think  that  pride  and  a  just  sense  of  reputation 
•  will  preserve  you  from  the  vices  of  the  vulgar.  It  is  true,  they 
may  j  and  you  may  be  ruined  in  the  progress  of  luxury,  and  lost 
to  society,  and,  at  last,  to  God,  while  sleeping  in  the  lap  of  the 
most  nattering  and  enervating  abundance. 

The  last  resource  against  temptation  is  prayer.  Escaping, 
then,  from  your  tempter,  fly  to  G-od.  Cultivate  the  habit  of  de- 
votion. It  shall  be  a  wall  of  fire  around  you,  and  your  glory  in 
the  midst  of  you.  To  this  practice  the  uncorrupted  sentiments 
of  the  heart  impel  you,  and  invitations  are  as  numerous  as  they 
are  merciful  to  encourage  you.  When  danger  has  threatened 
your  life,  you  have  called  upon  Grod.  When  disease  has  wasted 
your  health,  and  you  have  felt  the  tomb  opening  under  your  feet, 
you  have  called  upon  Grod.  When  you  have  apprehended  heavy 
misfortunes  or  engaged  in  hazardous  enterprises,  you  have,  per- 
haps, resorted  to  God  to  ask  his  blessing.  But  what  are  all  these 
dangers  to  the  danger  which  your  virtue  may  be  called  to  encoun- 
ter on  your  first  entrance  into  life  ?  In  habitual  prayer  you  will 
find  a  safeguard.  You  will  find  every  good  resolution  fortified  by 
it,  and  every  seduction  losing  its  power,  when  seen  in  the  new 
light  which  a  short  communion  with  Heaven  affords.  In  prayer 
you  will  find  that  a  state  of  mind  is  generated  which  will  shed  a 
holy  influence  over  the  whole  character ;  and  those  temptations  to 
which  you  were  just  yielding  will  vanish,  with  all  their  allure- 
ments, when  the  day-star  of  devotion  rises  in  your  hearts. 

ACTIVE  AND  INACTIVE  LEARNING. 

The  history  of  letters  does  not,  at  this  moment,  suggest  to  me 
a  more  fortunate  parallel  between  the  effects  of  active  and  of 
inactive  learning  than  in  the  well-known  characters  of  Cicero  and 
Atticus.  Let  me  hold  them  up  to  your  observation,  not  because 
Cicero  was  faultless,  or  Atticus  always  to  blame,  but  because,  like 
you,  they  were  the  citizens  of  a  republic.  They  liwed  in  an  age 
of  learning  and  of  dangers,  and  acted  upon  opposite  principles 
when  Borne  was  to  be  saved,  if  saved  at  all,  by  the  virtuous 
energy  of  her  most  accomplished  minds.    If  we  look  now  for 


286 


JOSEPH  S.  BUCKMINSTER. 


Atticus,  we  find  him  in  the  quiet  of  his  library,  surrounded  with 
books,  while  Cicero  was  passing  through  the  regular  course  of 
public  honors  and  services,  where  all  the  treasures  of  his  mind 
were  at  the  command  of  his  country.  If  we  follow  them,  we  find 
Atticus  pleasantly  wandering  among  the  ruins  of  Athens,  pur- 
chasing up  statues  and  antiques,  while  Cicero  was  at  home,  blasting 
the  projects  of  Catiline,  and  at  the  head  of  the  senate,  like  the 
tutelary  spirit  of  his  country,  as  the  storm  was  gathering,  secretly 
watching  the  doubtful  movements  of  Caesar.  If  we  look  to  the 
period  of  the  civil  wars,  we  find  Atticus  always  reputed,  indeed, 
to  belong  to  the  party  of  the  friends  of  liberty,  yet  originally  dear 
to  Sylla  and  intimate  with  Cloclius,  recommending  himself  to 
Caesar  by  his  neutrality,  courted  by  Antony,  and  connected  with 
Octavius;  poorly  concealing  the  epicureanism  of  his  principles 
under  the  ornaments  of  literature  and  the  splendor  of  his  bene- 
factions ;  till  at  last  this  inoffensive  and  polished  friend  of  suc- 
cessive usurpers  hastens  out  of  life  to  escape  from  the  pains  of  a 
lingering  disease.  Turn  now  to  Cicero,  the  only  great  man  at 
whom  Caesar  always  trembled,  the  only  great  man  whom  falling- 
Rome  did  not  fear.  Do  you  tell  me  that  his  hand  once  offered 
incense  to  the  dictator  ?  Remember,  it  was  the  gift  of  gratitude 
only,  and  not  of  servility ;  for  the  same  hand  launched  its  indig- 
nation against  the  infamous  Antony,  whose  power  was  more  to  be 
dreaded,  and  whose  revenge  pursued  him  till  this  father  of  his 
country  gave  his  head  to  the  executioner  without  a  struggle,  for 
he  knew  that  Rome  was  no  longer  to  be  saved.  If,  my  friends, 
you  would  feel  what  learning,  and  genius,  and  virtue  should 
aspire  to  in  a  clay  of  peril  and  depravity,  when  you  are  tired  of 
the  factions  of  the  city,  the  battles  of  Caesar,  the  crimes  of  the 
triumvirate,  and  the  splendid  court  of  Augustus,  do  not  go  and 
repose  in  the  easy  chair  of  Atticus,  but  refresh  your  virtues  and 
your  spirits  with  the  contemplation  of  Cicero.1 

Phi  Beta  Kappa  Oration. 


1  "  If  I  should  attempt  to  fix  the  period  at  which  I  first  felt  all  the  power  of  Mr. 
Buckminstcr's  influence,  it  would  be  at  the  delivery  of  his  oration  before  the  Phi 
Beta  Kappa  Society,  in  August,  1809 ;  at  which  time  I  had  been  two  years  in 
college,  but  still  hardly  emerged  from  boyhood.  That  address — although  the 
standard  of  merit  for  such  performances  is  higher  now  than  it  was  then — will,  I 
think,  still  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  very  best  of  its  class,  admirably  appropriate, 
thoroughly  meditated,  and  exquisitely  wrought.  It  unites  sterling  sense,  sound 
and  various  scholarship,  precision  of  thought,  the  utmost  elegance  of  style,  with- 
out pomp  or  laborious  ornament,  with  a  fervor  and  depth  of  feeling  truly  evan- 
gelical. These  qualities,  of  course,  are  preserved  in  the  printed  text  of  the  ora- 
tion. But  the  indescribable  charm  of  his  personal  appearance  and  manner, — the 
look,  the  voice,  the  gesture  and  attitude,  the  unstudied  outward  expression  of  the 
inward  feeling, — of  these  no  idea  can  be  formed  by  those  who  never  heard  him." 
— Edward  Everett. 


LEVI  FRISBIE. 


287 


LEVI  FRISBIE,  1784—1822. 

Levi  Frisbie,  whose  father,  of  the  same  name,  was  a  clergyman  of  Ipswich, 
Massachusetts,  was  born  in  that  ancient  town  in  the  year  1781.  After  completing 
his  preparatory  studies  at  Andover  Academy,  Mr.  Frisbie  entered  Harvard  Uni- 
versity in  1798.  As  a  student,  he  was  among  the  most  distinguished  in  his  class 
for  talents  and  accpuisitions,  for  correctness  of  conduct,  integrity,  and  manliness. 
Soon  after  leaving  college,  he  commenced  the  study  of  the  law;  but  his  fair 
prospects  were  soon  clouded  by  an  affection  of  his  eyes,  which  so  deprived  him  of 
their  use  for  the  purpose  of  study  that  he  was  never  after  able  to  employ  them 
except  for  very  short  periods. 

Being  thus  unable  to  pursue  his  professional  studies,  he  accepted  the  place  of 
Latin  tutor  in  Harvard  University  in  1805,  in  which  he  continued  till  1811,  when 
he  was  appointed  Professor  of  the  Latin  Language,  which  chair  he  held  till  1817. 
On  the  5th  of  November  of  that  year1,  he  was  inaugurated  as  Professor  of  Moral 
Philosophy ;  and  the  address  which  he  delivered  upon  the  occasion  is  one  that 
shows  his  eminent  fitness  for  that  high  office,  as  a  scholar  of  enlarged  views,  re- 
iiued  taste,  deep  thought,  and  elevated  Christian  principles.  But,  alas  !  "  Death 
loves  a  shining  mark/'  Professor  Frisbie  had  given  but  two  courses  of  lectures 
when  symptoms  of  that  insidious  but  fatal  disease — consumption — appeared,  and 
on  the  9th  of  July,  1822,  after  a  lingering  illness,  he  breathed  his  last. 

Of  his  character,  one  who  was  associated  with  him  in  the  faculty  of  the  college, 
and  his  most  intimate  friend,1  thus  writes: — "If  those  who  knew  him  best  were 
called  upon  to  mention  any  virtue  of  which  he  was  particularly  distinguished,  I 
believe  they  would  unite  in  naming  Integrity.  He  was  a  man  who,  if  ever  any 
one  could,  might  have  told  the  world  his  purposes,  and  risen  in  their  respect.  If 
you  were  to  determine  whether  he  would  pursue  any  particular  course  of  conduct 
or  aim  at  any  particular  object,  you  had  only  to  determine  whether  he  would 
think  that  object  right,  and  that  course  of  conduct  his  duty,  and  you  were  sure 
that  no  selfish  or  mean  passion,  and  no  sinister  purpose,  would  interfere  to  lead 
insensibly  his  judgment  astray.  There  were  no  false  appearances  about  him. 
He  had  nothing  of  that  disguise  and  cunning  which  are  sometimes  mistaken  for 
policy.  His  conduct  lay  before  you  in  broad  daylight;  and  you  never  were  at  a 
loss  for  his  motives,  and  you  never  perceived  any  but  what  were  honorable.  His 
notions  of  right  and  wrong  were  founded  upon  the  laws  of  religion  and  of  God 
and  not  upon  the  maxims  of  the  world.  He  compared  his  actions,  not  with  the 
opinions  and  sentiments  of  the  day,  but  with  the  eternal  principles  of  morality."2 

THE  RECIPROCAL  INFLUENCE  OF  MORALS  AND  LITERATURE. 

In  no  productions  of  modern  genius  is  the  reciprocal  influence 
of  morals  and  literature  more  distinctly  seen  than  in  those  of  the 


1  Professor  Andrews  Norton, — one  of  Harvard's  most  distinguished  sons, — in 
his  "Address  at  the  Interment  of  Professor  Frisbie." 

2  In  181 7,  Professor  Frisbie  was  married  to  Miss  Catharine  Saltonstall  Mellen, 
daughter  of  John  Mellen,  Esq.,  of  Cambridge. 


288 


LEVI  FRISBIE. 


author  of  Childe  Harold.  His  character  produced  the  poems,  and 
it  cannot  be  doubted  that  his  poems  are  adapted  to  produce  such 
a  character.  His  heroes  speak  a  language  supplied  not  more  by 
imagination  than  consciousness.  They  are  not  those  machines 
that,  by  a  contrivance  of  the  artist,  send  forth  a  music  of  their 
own,  but  instruments  through  which  he  breathes  his  very  soul,  in 
tones  of  agonized  sensibility  that  cannot  but  give  a  sympathetic 
impulse  to  those  who  hear.  The  desolate  misanthropy  of  his  mind 
rises,  and  throws  its  dark  shade  over  his  poetry  like  one  of  his 
own  ruined  castles;  we  feel  it  to  be  sublime,  but  we  forget  that  it 
is  a  sublimity  it  cannot  have  till  it  is  abandoned  by  every  thing 
that  is  kind,  and  peaceful,  and  happy,  and  its  halls  are  ready  to 
become  the  haunts  of  outlaws  and  assassins.  Nor  are  his  more 
tender  and  affectionate  passages  those  to  which  we  can  yield  our- 
selves without  a  feeling  of  uneasiness.  It  is  not  that  we  can  here 
and  there  select  a  proposition  formally  false  or  pernicious,  but  that 
he  leaves  an  impression  unfavorable  to  a  healthful  state  of  thought 
and  feeling,  peculiarly  dangerous  to  the  finest  minds  and  most 
susceptible  hearts.  They  are  the  scene  of  a  summer  evening, 
where  all  is  tender,  and  beautiful,  and  grand ;  but  the  damps  of 
disease  descend  with  the  dews  of  heaven,  and  the  pestilent  vapors 
of  night  are  breathed  in  with  the  fragrance  and  balm,  and  the 
delicate  and  fair  are  the  surest  victims  of  the  exposure. 

Although  I  have  illustrated  the  moral  influence  of  literature, 
principally  from  its  mischiefs,  yet  it  is  obvious,  if  what  I  have 
said  be  just,  it  may  be  rendered  no  less  powerful  as  a  means  of 
good.  Indeed,  the  fountains  of  literature  into  which  an  enemy 
has  sometimes  infused  poison  naturally  flow  with  refreshment  and 
health.  Cowper  and  Campbell  have  led  the  muses  to  repose  in 
the  bowers  of  religion  and  virtue ;  and  Miss  Edgeworth  has  so 
cautiously  combined  the  features  of  her  characters  that  the  pre- 
dominant expression  is  ever  what  it  should  be.  She  has  shown 
us  not  vices  ennobled  by  virtues,  but  virtues  degraded  and  per- 
verted by  their  union  with  vices.  The  success  of  this  lady  has 
been  great;  but,  had  she  availed  herself  more  of  the  motives  and 
sentiments  of  religion,  we  think  it  would  have  been  greater.  She 
has  stretched  forth  a  powerful  hand  to  the  impotent  in  virtue; 
and  had  she  added,  with  the  Apostle,  "  In  the  name  of  Jesus  of 
Nazareth/'  we  should  almost  have  expected  miracles  from  its 
touch. 

The  incorporating  of  religion  with  morality  is  a  means  of  prac- 
tical influence,  and  extends  to  every  order  in  society.  It  is  not 
the  fountain  which  plays  only  in  the  gardens  of  the  palace,  but 
the  rain  of  heaven,  which  descends  alike  upon  the  enclosures  of 
the  rich  and  the  poor,  and  refreshes  the  meanest  shrub  no  less 
than  the  fairest  flower.    The  sages  of  antiquity  seem  to  have 


LEVI  FRISBIE. 


289 


believed  that  morality  had  nothing  to  do  with  religion  j  and  Chris- 
tians of  the  Middle  Ages,  that  religion  had  nothing  to  do  with 
morality ;  but,  at  the  present  day,  we  acknowledge  how  intimate 
and  important  is  their  connection.  It  is  not  views  of  moral  fit- 
ness, by  which  the  minds  of  men  are  at  first  to  be  affected,  but  by 
connecting  their  duties  with  the  feelings  and  motives,  the  hopes 
and  fears,  of  Christianity.  Both  are  necessary :  the  latter,  to 
prompt  and  invigorate  virtue  j  the  former,  to  give  it  the  beauty 
of  knowledge  and  taste.  It  is  heat  that  causes  the  germ  to  spring 
and  flourish  in  the  heart ;  but  it  is  light  that  imparts  verdure  to 
its  foliage,  and  their  hues  to  its  flowers. 

TACITUS  LIVY. 

The  moral  sensibility  of  Tacitus  is,  we  think,  that  particular 
circumstance  by  which  he  so  deeply  engages  his  reader,  and  is 
perhaps  distinguished  from  every  other  writer  in  the  same  depart- 
ment of  literature;  and  the  scenes  he  was  to  describe  peculiarly 
required  this  quality.  His  writings  comprise  a  period  the  most 
corrupt  within  the  annals  of  man.  The  reigns  of  the  Neros,  and 
many  of  their  successors,  seemed  to  have  brought  together  the 
opposite  vices  of  extreme  barbarism  and  excessive  luxury;  the 
most  ferocious  cruelty  and  slavish  submission  ;  voluptuousness  the 
most  effeminate,  and  sensuality  worse  than  brutal.  Not  only  all 
the  general  charities  of  life,  but  the  very  ties  of  nature,  were 
annihilated,  by  a  selfishness  the  most  exclusively  individual.  The 
minions  of  power  butchered  the  parent,  and  the  child  hurried  to 
thank  the  emperor  for  his  goodness.  The  very  fountains  of 
abomination  seemed  to  have  been  broken  up,  and  to  have  poured 
over  the  face  of  society  a  deluge  of  pollution  and  crimes.  How 
important,  then,  was  it  for  posterity  that  the  records  of  such  an 
era  should  be  transmitted  by  one  in  whose  personal  character  there 
should  be  a  redeeming  virtue,  who  would  himself  feel,  and  awaken 
in  his  readers,  that  disgust  and  abhorrence  which  such  scenes 
ought  to  excite  !  Such  a  one  was  Tacitus.  There  is  in  his  narra- 
tive a  seriousness  approaching  sometimes  almost  to  melancholy, 
and  sometimes  bursting  forth  in  expressions  of  virtuous  indigna- 
tion. He  appears  always  to  be  aware  of  the  general  complexion 
of  the  subjects  of  which  he  is  treating;  and  even  when  extra- 
ordinary instances  of  independence  and  integrity  now  and  then 
present  themselves,  you  perceive  that  his  mind  is  secretly  con- 
trasting them  with  those  vices  with  which  his  observation  was 
habitually  familiar.  *  *  * 

We  have  mentioned  what  appear  to  us  the  most  striking  cha- 
racteristics of  Tacitus.  When  compared  with  his  great  prede- 
cessor, he  is  no  less  excellent,  but  essentially  different.    Livy  is 

25 


290 


LEVI  FRISBIE. 


only  a  historian ;  Tacitus  is  also  a  philosopher.  The  former  gives 
you  images ;  the  latter,  impressions.  In  the  narration  of  events, 
Livy  produces  his  effect  by  completeness  and  exact  particularity ; 
Tacitus,  by  selection  and  condensation.  The  one  presents  to  you 
a  panorama :  you  have  the  whole  scene,  with  all  its  complicated 
movements  and  various  appearances,  vividly  before  you.  The 
other  shows  you  the  most  prominent  and  remarkable  groups,  and 
compensates  in  depth  what  he  wants  in  minuteness.  Livy  hurries 
you  into  the  midst  of  the  battle,  and  leaves  you  to  be  borne  along 
by  its  tide;  Tacitus  stands  with  }^ou  upon  an  eminence  where  you 
may  have  more  tranquillity  for  distinct  observation ;  or,  perhaps, 
when  the  armies  have  retired,  walks  with  you  over  the  field,  points 
out  to  you  the  spot  of  each  most  interesting  particular,  and  shares 
with  you  those  solemn  and  profound  emotions  which  you  have 
now  the  composure  to  feel. 

MORAL  TASTE. 

Sensibility  to  beauty  is  in  some  degree  common  to  all ;  but  it  is 
infinitely  varied,  according  as  it  has  been  cultivated  by  habit  and 
education.  To  the  man  whose  taste  has  been  formed  on  just 
principles,  and  who  has  been  led  to  perceive  and  relish  what  is 
truly  beautiful,  a  new  world  is  opened.  He  looks  abroad  over 
nature,  and  contemplates  the  productions  of  art,  with  sentiments 
to  which  those  who  are  destitute  of  this  faculty  are  strangers. 
He  perceives  in  the  works  of  God,  and  in  the  contrivances  of 
man,  all  the  utility  for  which  they  were  destined  and  adapted,  in 
common  with  others;  but  besides  this,  his  heart  is  filled  with 
sentiments  of  the  beautiful  or  the  grand,  according  to  the  nature 
of  the  object.  It  is  in  literature  that  taste,  in  the  more  common 
use  of  the  word,  has  its  most  extensive  sphere,  and  most  varied 
gratifications;  yet,  whether  it  be  exercised  on  nature,  the  fine 
arts,  or  literature,  we  are  aware  how  much  depends  on  associations 
with  life,  feeling,  and  human  character.  Why  does  the  traveller 
wander  with  such  peculiar  interest  over  the  mountains  and  plains 
of  Italy  and  Greece,  but  because  every  spot  is  consecrated  by  the 
memory  of  great  events,  or  presents  to  him  the  memorials  of  de- 
parted genius  ?  It  is  for  this  reason  that  poetry  peoples  even  soli- 
tude and  desolation  with  imaginary  life ;  so  that,  in  ancient  days, 
every  forest  had  its  dryads,  every  fountain  its  nymphs,  and  the 
voice  of  the  naiades  was  heard  in  the  murmuring  of  the  streams. 
It  is  partly  in  reference  to  the  same  principle  that  deserts  and 
mountains,  where  all  is  barrenness  and  solitude,  raise  in  the  mind 
emotions  of  sublimity.  It  is  a  feeling  of  vastness  and  desolation 
that  depends  in  a  great  degree  on  the  absence  of  every  thing 
having  life  or  action.    The  mere  modifications  of  nature  are 


LEVI  FRISBIE. 


291 


beautiful;  the  human  form  from  its  just  proportions,  the  human 
face  from  the  harmonious  combination  of  features  and  coloring ; 
but  it  is  only  when  this  form  is  living  and  moving,  and  when  this 
face  is  suffused  with  emotion  and  animated  with  intelligence, 
when  the  attitude  and  the  look  alike  express  the  workings  of  the 
heart  and  mind,  that  we  feel  the  perfect  sentiment  of  beauty. 

Thus  inanimate  nature,  and  literature  in  its  transcripts  of  the 
aspects  of  nature,  become  most  interesting  by  association  with 
life  and  action,  and,  above  all,  with  man.  It  is  from  descriptions 
of  man,  considered  as  a  moral  being,  that  even  literary  taste  re- 
ceives many  of  its  highest  gratifications.  There  is  a  moral  as 
well  as  natural  beauty  and  grandeur.  A  rational  agent,  animated 
by  high  principles  of  virtue,  exhibiting  the  most  generous  affec- 
tions, and  preferring  on  all  occasions  what  is  just  to  what  is  ex- 
pedient, is  the  noblest  picture  which  the  hand  of  genius  can  pre- 
sent. Very  few  indeed  are  insensible  to  those  fine  touches  of 
moral  feeling  which  are  given  in  our  best  writers )  but  their  full 
effect  requires  not  only  an  improved  mind,  but  a  heart  in  harmony 
with  whatever  is  most  excellent  in  our  natures,  and  a  lively  sus- 
ceptibility to  moral  greatness.    This  susceptibility  is  moral  taste. 

From  Professor  Frisbie's  beautiful  and  finished  fugitive  poetry  we  select  tbe 
following  little  gem  : — 

A  DREAM. 

T0      *      *      -X-  •5f< 

Stay,  stay,  sweet  vision,  do  not  leave  me ; 

Soft  sleep,  still  o'er  my  senses  reign  ; 
Stay,  loveliest  phantom,  still  deceive  me  ; 

Ah,  let  me  dream  that  dream  again ! 

Thy  head  was  on  my  shoulder  leaning ; 

Thy  hand  in  mine  was  gently  press:d ; 
Thine  eyes,  so  soft  and  full  of  meaning, 

Were  bent  on  me,  and  I  was  blest. 

No  word  was  spoken  :  all  was  feeling, 

The  silent  transport  of  the  heart ; 
The  tear,  that  o'er  my  cheek  was  stealing, 

Told  what  words  could  ne'er  impart. 

And  could  this  be  but  mere  illusion  ? 

Could  fancy  all  so  real  seem? 
Sure  fancy's  scenes  are  wild  confusion; 

And  can  it  be  I  did  but  dream  ? 

I'm  sure  I  felt  thy  forehead  pressing, 

Thy  very  breath  stole  o'er  my  cheek ; 
I'm  sure  I  saw  those  eyes  confessing 

What  the  tongue  could  never  speak. 


292 


JOHN  PIERPONT. 


All,  no !  'tis  gone,  'tis  gone,  and  never 
Mine  such  waking  bliss  can  be : 

Oh,  I  would  sleep,  would  sleep  forever, 
Could  I  thus  but  dream  of  thee ! 


JOHN  PIERPONT. 

John  Pierpont  was  born  in  Litchfield,  Connecticut,  on  the  6th  of  April,  1785, 
and  received  his  collegiate  education  at  Yale  College,  where  he  graduated  in  1804. 
The  next  year  he  went  to  South  Carolina,  and  was  private  tutor  in  the  family  of 
Colonel  William  Allston,  where  he  commenced  his  legal  studies.  In  1809,  he  re- 
turned home,  entered  the  celebrated  law-school  of  his  native  town,  and  in  1812, 
having  been  admitted  to  the  bar  of  Essex  County,  Massachusetts,  opened  an 
office  in  Newburyport.  He  soon,  however,  as  other  poets  have  done,  abandoned 
the  law,  determining  to  find  his  pleasure  and'his  occupation  in  literary  pursuits; 
and  in  1816  he  published  The  Airs  of  Palestine,  which  was  received  with  very 
great  favor.  At  the  close  of  that  year,  he  entered  the  theological  school  of  Har- 
vard University,  determined  to  devote  himself  to  the  ministry,  and  in  April,  1819, 
was  ordained  as  pastor  of  the  Hollis  Street  Church,  in  Boston.  In  1835  and  1836, 
he  visited  Europe  for  his  health,  going  through  the  principal  cities  of  England, 
France,  and  Italy,  and  extending  his  tour  to  the  East,  visiting  Athens,  Corinth, 
Constantinople,  and  Asia  Minor.  Soon  after  his  return  home,  he  collected  and 
published,  in  1SI0,  all  his  poems,  in  one  volume,  in  the  preface  to  which  he  says, 
"If  poetry  is  always  fiction,  there  is  no  poetry  in  this  book.  It  gives  a  true, 
though  an  all  too  feeble,  expression  of  the  author's  feelings  and  faith, — of  his  love 
of  right,  freedom,  and  man,  and  of  his  correspondent  and  most  hearty  hatred  of 
every  thing  that  is  at  war  with  them;  and  of  his  faith  in  the  providence  and  gra- 
cious promises  of  God."  The  longest  poem  of  the  volume  is  The  Airs  of  Pales- 
tine. The  subject  is  music,  principally  as  connected  with  sacred  history,  but  with 
occasional  digressions  into  the  land  of  mythology  and  romance.  It  has  no  unity 
of  plan,  but  consists  of  a  succession  of  brilliant  pictures.  Though  this  subject,  so 
congenial  to  the  "poet's  verse,"  had  been  often  handled,  from  Pindar  to  Gray,  yet 
our  author,  nothing  daunted,  did  not  shrink  from  trying  his  own  powers  upon  it. 
It  is  enough  to  say  that  he  has  succeeded.  For  beauty  of  language,  finish  of 
versification,  richness  of  classical  and  sacred  allusions,  and  harmony  of  numbers, 
we  consider  that  it  takes  rank  among  the  very  first  of  American  poems  and  will 
be  among  those  that  will  survive  their  century.  But  Mr.  Pierpont  has  aimed  at 
something  more  than  gratifying  his  own  scholarly  tastes  and  charming  his 
readers  with  the  love  of  the  beautiful.  He  is  a  reformer,  a  whole-hearted  and  a 
fearless  one;  and  a  large  number  of  his  fugitive  pieces  have  been  written  to  pro- 
mote the  holy  causes  of  temperance  and  freedom.  Mr.  Pierpont  has  also  pre- 
pared an  excellent  series  of  reading-books  for  schools  : — The  Little  Learner,  The 
Young  Reader,  Introduction  to  National  Reader,  National  Reader,  and  The  Ame- 
rican First  Class  Book. 


JOHN  PIERPONT. 


CLASSICAL  AND  SACRED  THEMES  FOR  MUSIC. 

Where  lies  our  path  ? — though  many  a  vista  call, 
We  may  admire,  but  cannot  tread  them  all. 
Where  lies  our  path  ? — a  poet,  and  inquire 
What  hills,  what  vales,  what  streams,  become  the  lyre  ? 
See,  there  Parnassus  lifts  his  head  of  snow ; 
See  at  his  foot  the  cool  Cephissus  flow ; 
There  Ossa  rises  ;  there  Olympus  towers  ; 
Between  them,  Tempe  breathes  in  beds  of  flowers, 
Forever  verdant ;  and  there  Peneus  glides 
Through  laurels,  whispering  on  his  shady  sides. 
Your  theme  is  Music  :  yonder  rolls  the  Avave 
Where  dolphins  snatch' d  Arion  from  his  grave, 
Enchanted  by  his  lyre  :  Cithairon's  shade 
Is  yonder  seen,  where  first  Amphion  play'd 
Those  potent  airs,  that,  from  the  j  ieldiug  earth, 
Charm' d  stones  around  him,  and  gave  cities  birth. 
And  fast  b}r  Hasmus,  Thracian  Hebrus  creeps 
O'er  golden  sands,  and  still  for  Orpheus  weeps, 
Whose  gory  head,  borne  by  the  stream  along, 
Was  still  melodious,  and  expired  in  song. 
There  Xereids  sing,  and  Triton  winds  his  shell ; 
There  be  thy  path, — for  there  the  muses  dwell. 

No,  no, — a  lonelier,  lovelier  path  be  mine  : 
Greece  and  her  charms  I  leave  for  Palestine. 
There,  purer  streams  through  happier  valleys  flow, 
And  sweeter  flowers  on  holier  mountains  blow. 
I  love  to  breathe  where  Gilead  sheds  her  balm ; 
I  love  to  walk  on  Jordan's  banks  of  palm ; 
I  love  to  wet  my  foot  on  Hermon's  dews ; 
I  love  the  promptings  of  Isaiah's  muse ; 
In  Carmel's  holy  grots  I'll  court  repose, 
And  deck  my  mossy  couch  with  Sharon's  deathless  rose. 


SONG  OF  THE  SHEPHERDS. 

While  thus  the  shepherds  watch'd  the  host  of  night, 
O'er  heaven's  blue  concave  flash'd  a  sudden  light. 
The  unrolling  glory  spread  its  folds  divine 
O'er  the  green  hills  and  vales  of  Palestine ; 
And,  lo !  descending  angels,  hovering  there, 
Stretch'd  their  loose  wings,  and  in  the  purple  air 
Hung  o'er  the  sleepless  guardians  of  the  fold : 
When  that  high  anthem,  clear,  and  strong,  and  bold, 
On  wavy  paths  of  trembling  ether  ran  : — 
"Glory  to  God, — Benevolence  to  man, — 
Peace  to  the  world:" — and  in  full  concert  came, 
From  silver  tubes  and  harps  of  golden  frame, 
The  loud  and  sweet  response,  whose  choral  strains 
Linger'd  and  languish'd  on  Judea's  plains. 
Yon  living  lamps,  charm'd  from  their  chambers  blue 
By  airs  so  heavenly,  from  the  skies  withdrew : 


294 


JOHN  PIERPONT. 


All  ? — all,  but  one,  that  hung  and  burn'd  alone, 
And  with  mild  lustre  over  Bethlehem  shone. 
Chaldea's  sages  saw  that  orb  afar 
Glow  unextinguish'd ; — 'twas  Salvation's  Star. 


LICENSE-LAWS. 

"We  license  thee  for  so  much  gold,"1 

Says  Congress, — they're  our  servants  there, — 

"  To  keep  a  pen  where  men  are  sold 
Of  sable  skin  and  woolly  hair ; 

For  '  public  good7  requires  the  toil 

Of  slaves  on  freedom's  sacred  soil." 

"For  so  much  gold  we  license  thee" — 
So  say  our  laws — "a  draught  to  sell, 

That  bows  the  strong,  enslaves  the  free, 
And  opens  wide  the  gates  of  hell : 

For  '  public  good'  requires  that  some 

Should  live,  since  many  die,  by  rum." 

Ye  civil  fathers !  while  the  foes 

Of  this  destroyer  seize  their  swords, 

And  Heaven's  own  hail  is  in  the  blows 
They're  dealing, — will  ye  cut  the  cords 

That  round  the  falling  fiend  they  draw, 

And  o'er  him  hold  your  shield  of  law  ? 

And  will  ye  give  to  man  a  bill 

Divorcing  him  from  Heaven's  high  sway ; 
And,  while  God  says,  "Thou  shalt  not  kill," 

Say  ye,  for  gold,  "Ye  may, — ye  may"  ? 
Compare  the  body  with  the  soul ! 
Compare  the  bullet  with  the  bowl ! 

In  which  is  felt  the  fiercer  blast 

Of  the  destroying  angel's  breath  ? 
Which  binds  its  victim  the  more  fast  ? 

Which  kills  him  with  the  deadlier  death  ? 
Will  ye  the  felon  fox  restrain, 
And  yet  take  off  the  tiger's  chain  ? 

The  living  to  the  rotting  dead 

The  God-contemning  Tuscan2  tied, 

Till,  by  the  way,  or  on  his  bed, 

The  poor  corpse-carrier  droop'd  and  died, — 

Lash'd  hand  to  hand,  and  face  to  face, 

In  fatal  and  in  loathed  embrace. 

Less  cutting,  think  ye,  is  the  thong 
That  to  a  breathing  corpse,  for  life, 


1  Four  hundred  dollars  is  the  sum  prescribed  by  Congress — the  local  legislature 
of  the  District  of  Columbia — for  a  license  to  keep  a  prison-house  and  market  for 
the  sale  of  men,  women,  and  children.  See  Jay'a  "View  of  the  Action  of  the 
Federal  Government  in  Behalf  of  Slavery,"  p.  87. 

2  Mezentius.    See  Virgil,  JEneid,  viii.  481-491. 


JOHN  PIERPONT. 


295 


Lashes,  in  torture  loathed  and  long, 

The  drunkard's  child,  the  drunkard's  wife? 
To  clasp  that  clay,  to  breathe  that  breath, 
And  no  escape !    Oh,  that  is  death ! 

Are  ye  not  fathers  ?  When  your  sons 
Look  to  you  for  their  daily  bread, 

Dare  ye,  in  mockery,  load  with  stones 
The  table  that  for  them  ye  spread  ? 

How  can  ye  hope  your  sons  will  live, 

If  ye,  for  fish,  a  serpent  give  ? 

O  holy  God !  let  light  divine 

Break  forth  more  broadly  from  above, 
Till  we  conform  our  laws  to  thine, 

The  perfect  law  of  truth  and  love  ; 
For  truth  and  love  alone  can  save 
Thy  children  from  a  hopeless  grave. 


HYMN.1 

O  Thou,  to  whom  in  ancient  time 

The  lyre  of  Hebrew  bards  was  strung, 

Whom  kings  adored  in  song  sublime, 

And  prophets  praised  with  glowing  tongue; 

Not  now  on  Zion's  height,  alone, 
Thy  favor' d  worshipper  may  dwell ; 

Nor  where,  at  sultry  noon,  thy  Son 
Sat,  weary,  by  the  Patriarch's  well. 

From  every  place  below  the  skies, 

The  grateful  song,  the  fervent  prayer — 

The  incense  of  the  heart — may  rise 
To  heaven,  and  find  acceptance  there. 

In  this,  thy  house,  whose  doors  we  now 

For  social  worship  first  unfold, 
To  thee  the  suppliant  throng  shall  bow, 

While  circling  years  on  years  are  roll'd. 

To  thee  shall  Age,  with  snowy  hair, 

And  Strength  and  Beauty,  bend  the  knee, 

And  Childhood  lisp,  with  reverent  air, 
Its  praises  and  its  prayers  to  thee. 

0  thou,  to  whom  in  ancient  time 

The  lyre  of  prophet-bards  was  strung, 

To  thee,  at  last,  in  every  clime 

Shall  temples  rise,  and  praise  be  sung. 


1  Written  for  the  Opening  of  the  Independent  Congregational  Church  in  Barton 
Square,  Salem,  December  7,  1821. 


JOHN  PIERPONT. 


MY  CHILD. 

I  cannot  make  him  dead ! 

His  fair  sunshiny  head 
Ts  ever  bounding  round  my  study-chair ; 

Yet,  when  my  eyes,  now  dim 

With  tears,  I  turn  to  him, 
The  vision  vanishes, — he  is  not  there ! 

I  walk  my  parlor  floor, 

And  through  the  open  door, 
I  hear  a  footfall  on  the  chamber  stair ; 

I'm  stepping  toward  the  hall 

To  give  the  boy  a  call ; 
And  then  bethink  me  that — he  is  not  there ! 

I  thread  the  crowded  street ; 

A  satchell'd  lad  I  meet, 
With  the  same  beaming  eyes  and  color'd  hair, 

And,  as  he's  running  by, 

Follow  him  with  my  eye, 
Scarcely  believing  that — he  is  not  there ! 

I  know  his  face  is  hid 

Under  the  coffin-lid  ; 
Closed  are  his  eyes  ;  cold  is  his  forehead  fair ; 

My  hand  that  marble  felt ; 

O'er  it  in  prayer  I  knelt ; 
Yet  my  heart  whispers  that — he  is  not  there ! 

I  cannot  make  him  dead  ! 

When  passing  by  the  bed, 
So  long  watch'd  over  with  parental  care, 

My  spirit  and  my  eye 

Seek  it  inquiringly, 
Before  the  thought  comes  that — he  is  not  there ! 

When,  at  the  cool,  gray  break 

Of  day,  from  sleep  I  wake, 
With  my  first  breathing  of  the  morning  air 

My  soul  goes  up,  with  joy, 

To  Him  who  gave  my  boy  ; 
Then  comes  the  sad  thought  that — he  is  not  there ! 

When  at  the  day's  calm  close, 

Before  we  seek  repose, 
I'm  with  his  mother,  offering  up  our  prayer, 

Whate'er  I  may  be  saying, 

I  am,  in  spirit,  praying 
For  our  boy's  spirit,  though — he  is  not  there  ! 

Not  there  ! — Where,  then,  is  he  ? 

The  form  I  used  to  see 
Was  but  the  raiment  that  he  used  to  wear; 

The  grave,  that  now  doth  press 

Upon  that  cast-off  dress, 
Is  but  his  wardrobe  lock'd  ; — he  is  not  there  ! 


JOHN  PIERPONT. 


297 


He  lives  ! — In  all  the  past 

He  lives  ;  nor,  to  the  last, 
Of  seeing  him  again  will  I  despair ; 

In  dreams  I  see  him  now ; 

And,  on  his  angel  brow, 
I  see  it  written,  "  Thou  shalt  see  me  there!" 

Ye?,  we  all  live  to  God! 

Father,  thy  chastening  rod 
So  help  us,  thine  afflicted  ones,  to  bear, 

That,  in  the  spirit-land, 

Meeting  at  thy  right  hand, 
'Twill  be  our  heaven  to  find  that — he  is  there! 

NOT  ON  THE  BATTLE-FIELD.1 

0  no,  no — let  me  lie 

Not  on  a  field  of  battle,  when  I  die ! 

Let  not  the  iron  tread 
Of  the  mad  war-horse  crush  my  helmed  head : 

Nor  let  the  reeking  knife, 
That  I  have  drawn  against  a  brother's  life, 

Be  in  my  hand  when  Death 
Thunders  along,  and  tramples  me  beneath 

His  heavy  squadron's  heels, 
Or  gory  felloes  of  his  cannon's  wheels. 

From  such  a  dying  bed, 
Though  o'er  it  float  the  stripes  of  white  and  red, 

And  the  bald  Eagle  brings 
The  cluster'd  stars  upon  his  wide-spread  wings, 

To  sparkle  in  my  sight, 
0,  never  let  my  spirit  take  her  flight ! 

1  know  that  Beauty's  eye 

Is  all  the  brighter  where  gay  pennants  fly, 

And  brazen  helmets  dance, 
And  sunshine  flashes  on  the  lifted  lance  : 

I  know  that  bards  have  sung, 
And  people  shouted  till  the  welkin  rung, 

In  honor  of  the  brave 
Who  on  the  battle-field  have  found  a  grave ; 

I  know  that  o'er  their  bones 
Have  grateful  hands  piled  monumental  stones. 

Some  of  these  piles  I've  seen : 
The  one  at  Lexington,  upon  the  green 

Where  the  first  blood  was  shed 
That  to  my  country's  independence  led  ; 

And  others,  on  our  shore, 
The  "Battle  Monument"  at  Baltimore, 

And  that  on  Bunker's  Hill. 
Ay,  and  abroad,  a  few  more  famous  still ; 

Thy  "Tomb,"  Themistocles, 
That  looks  out  yet  upon  the  Grecian  seas, 


1  To  fall  on  the  battle-field  fighting  for  my  dear  country, — that'would  not  be 
hard. — The  Neighbors. 


JOHN  PIERPONT. 


And  vrhich  the  waters  kiss 
That  issue  from  the  gulf  of  Salamis. 

And  thine,  too,  have  I  seen, 
Thy  mound  of  earth,  Patroclus,  robed  in  green, 

That,  like  a  natural  knoll, 
Sheep  climb  and  nibble  over,  as  they  stroll, 

Watch'd  by  some  turban'd  boy, 
Upon  the  margin  of  the  plain  of  Troy. 

Such  honors  grace  the  bed, 
I  know,  whereon  the  warrior  lays  his  head, 

And  hears,  as  life  ebbs  out, 
The  conquer'd  flying,  and  the  conqueror's  shout. 

But,  as  his  eyes  grow  dim, 
What  is  a  column  or  a  mound  to  him? 

What,  to  the  parting  soul, 
The  mellow  note  of  bugles?    What  the  roll 

Of  drums  ?    No :  let  me  die 
Where  the  blue  heaven  bends  o'er  me  lovingly, 

And  the  soft  summer  air, 
As  it  goes  by  me,  stirs  my  thin  white  hair, 

And  from  my  forehead  dries 
The  death-damp  as  it  gathers,  and  the  skies 

Seem  waiting  to  receive 
My  soul  to  their  clear  depth !    Or  let  me  leave 

The  world  when  round  my  bed 
Wife,  children,  weeping  friends  are  gathered, 

And  the  calm  voice  of  prayer 
And  holy  hymning  shall  my  soul  prepare 

To  go  and  be  at  rest 
With  kindred  spirits — spirits  who  have  bless'd 

The  human  brotherhood 
By  labors,  cares,  and  counsels  for  their  good. 

And  in  my  dying  hour, 
When  riches,  fame,  and  honor  have  no  power 

To  bear  the  spirit  up, 
Or  from  my  lips  to  turn  aside  the  cup 

That  all  must  drink  at  last, 
0,  let  me  draw  refreshment  from  the  past ! 

Then  let  my  soul  run  back, 
With  peace  and  joy,  along  my  earthly  track, 

And  see  that  all  the  seeds 
That  I  have  scatter'd  there,  in  virtuous  deeds 

Have  sprung  up,  and  have  given, 
Already,  fruits  of  which  to  taste  is  heaven ! 

And  though  no  grassy  mound 
Or  granite  pile  say  'tis  heroic  ground 

Where  my  remains  repose, 
Still  will  I  hope — vain  hope,  perhaps  ! — that  those 

Whom  I  have  striven  to  bless, 
The  wanderer  reclaim' d,  the  fatherless, 

May  stand  around  my  grave, 
With  the  poor  prisoner,  and  the  poorer  slave, 

And  breathe  an  humble  prayer 
That  they  may  die  like  him  whose  bones  are  mouldering  there. 


SAMUEL  WOODWORTH. 


299 


SAMUEL  WOODWORTH,  1785—1842. 

Samuel  Woodworth:  was  born  in  Scituate,  Massachusetts,  January  13,  1785. 
Having  learned  the  art  of  printing  in  his  native  State,  he  removed  to  New  York 
in  1S09,  and  was  for  some  years  editor  of  a  newspaper  there.  Afterwards,  he 
published  a  weekly  miscellany,  called  "  The  Ladies'  Literary  Gazette ;"  and  in 
1823,  in  conjunction  with  Mr.  George  P.  Morris,  he  established  "  The  New  York 
Mirror,"  long  the  most  popular  journal  of  literature  and  art  in  this  country.  In 
the  latter  years  of  his  life  he  suffered  from  paralysis ;  and  he  died  in  New  York, 
December  9,  1812,  much  respected  for  his  moral  worth  and  poetic  talent. 

Mr.  Woodworth  published,  in  1813,  an  Account  of  the  War  icith  Great  Britain, 
and  in  1818,  a  volume  of  Poems,  Odes,  and  Songs,  and  other  Metrical  Effusions. 
From  the  latter  we  select  the  well-known  song,  by  far  the  best  of  his  lyrics,  and 
which  will  ever  hold  its  place  among  the  choice  songs  of  our  country,  called 

THE  OLD  OAKEN  BUCKET. 

How  dear  to  this  heart  are  the  scenes  of  my  childhood, 

When  fond  recollection  presents  them  to  view ! 
The  orchard,  the  meadow,  the  deep-tangled  wild  wood, 

And  every  loved  spot  which  my  infancy  knew ; 
The  wide-spreading  pond,  and  the  mill  which  stood  by  it, 

The  bridge,  and  the  rock  where  the  cataract  fell ; 
The  cot  of  my  father,  the  dairy-house  nigh  it, 

And  e'en  the  rude  bucket  which  hung  in  the  well. 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket, 
The  moss-cover'd  bucket  which  hung  in  the  well. 

That  moss-cover'd  vessel  I  hail  as  a  treasure ; 

For  often,  at  noon,  when  return'd  from  the  field, 
I  found  it  the  source  of  an  exquisite  pleasure, 

The  purest  and  sweetest  that,  nature  can  yield. 
How  ardent  I  seized  it,  with  hands  that  were  glowing ! 

And  quick  to  the  white-pebbled  bottom  it  fell ; 
Then  soon,  with  the  emblem  of  truth  overflowing, 

And  dripping  with  coolness,  it  rose  from  the  well ; 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket, 
The  moss-cover'd  bucket  arose  from  the  well. 

How  sweet  from  the  green  mossy  brim  to  receive  it, 

As,  poised  on  the  curb,  it  inclined  to  my  lips ! 
Not  a  full  blushing  goblet  could  tempt  me  to  leave  it, 

Though  fill'd  with  the  nectar  that  Jupiter  sips. 
And  now,  far  removed  from  the  loved  situation, 

The  tear  of  regret  will  intrusively  swell, 
As  fancy  reverts  to  my  father's  plantation, 

And  sighs  for  the  bucket  which  hangs  in  the  well ; 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket, 
The  moss-cover'd  bucket  which  hangs  in  the  well. 


300 


ANDREWS  NORTON. 


ANDREWS  NORTON,  1786—1853. 

Rev.  Andrews  Nortox,  D.D.,  was  born  in  Hingham,  Massachusetts,  on  the 
31st  of  December,  1786,  and  graduated  at  Harvard  College  in  1804.  He  studied 
theology,  but  never  became  a  settled  clergyman  ;  and  in  1809,  be  was  elected  tutor 
in  Bowdoin  College,  which  situation  he  held  for  two  years.  In  1S11,  he  was 
appointed  tutor  and  librarian  in  Harvard;  and,  in  1813,  he  succeeded  Rev.  Dr. 
Channing  as  Biblical  lecturer.  Upon  the  organization  of  the  theological  depart- 
ment, in  1819,  he  was  appointed  "Dexter  Professor  of  Sacred  Literature,"  and 
fulfilled  its  duties  till  1830,  when  he  was  compelled  by  ill  health  to  resign  it. 
He  continued  to  reside  in  Cambridge  till  his  death,  which  took  place  on  the  18th 
of  September,  1853.  Dr.  Norton  was  married,  in  1821,  to  Miss  Catherine  Eliot, 
daughter  of  Samuel  Eliot,  Esq.,  of  Boston. 

Dr.  Norton  was  a  profound  and  accurate  scholar,  an  eminent  theologian,  and 
for  talent,  acquirements,  and  influence,  one  of  the  first  men  in  New  England.  He 
wrote  occasionally  for  the  literary  and  theological  journals  published  in  his 
vicinity,  and  is  the  author  of  several  theological  works.  His  greatest  and  most 
matured  work  is  on  the  Evidences  of  the  Genuineness  of  the  Gospels, — the  first 
volume  of  which  appeared  in  1837,  and  the  second  and  third  in  1844.  He  also 
published  A  Statement  of  Reasons  for  not  believing  the  Doctrine  of  Trinitarians  con- 
cerning the  Nature  of  God  and  the  Person  of  Christ,  and  some  other  religious  tracts 
of  a  controversial  nature.  His  contributions  to  the  literary  and  religious  jour- 
nals of  his  time,  though  not  numerous,  were  of  a  very  able  character.  He  was 
the  editor  of  the  "  General  Repository  and  Review,"  which  was  published  in 
Cambridge,  and  was  continued  for  three  years,  from  1812.  To  the  new  series  of 
the  "Christian  Disciple,"  in  1819,  he  contributed  many  valuable  papers.  In  the 
early  volumes  of  the  "  Christian  Examiner,"  the  articles  on  the  "  Poetry  of  Mrs. 
Hemans,"  on  "  Pollok's  Course  of  Time,"  on  the  "  Future  Life  of  the  Good," 
and  on  the  "  Punishment  of  Sin,"  and  in  the  fourth,  fifth,  and  sixth  volumes, 
a  series  of  articles  on  the  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews,  are  from  his  pen.  In  the 
"  North  American  Review,"  his  most  noticeable  articles  are  those  on  "  Franklin," 
in  September,  1818;  on  "Byron,"  in  October,  1825;  on  Rev.  William  Ware's 
"  Letters  from  Palmyra,"  in  October,  1837 ;  and  a  Memoir  of  Mrs.  Grant  of 
Laggan,  in  January,  1845.  He  has  also  written  some  verses  of  a  devotional  cast, 
of  great  beauty  and  sweetness.1 


1  "Mr.  Norton's  writings  are  all  impressed  with  the  same  strongly-marked 
qualities,  bearing  the  image  of  the  man  ;  the  same  calm  but  deep  tone  of  religious 
feeling;  the  same  exalted  seriousness  of  view,  as  that  of  man  in  sight  of  God  and 
on  the  borders  of  eternity;  the  same  high  moral  standard,  the  same  transparent 
clearness  of  statement ;  the  same  logical  closeness  of  reasoning ;  the  same  quiet 
earnestness  of  conviction ;  the  same  sustained  confidence  in  his  conclusions,  rest- 
ing as  they  did,  or  as  he  meant  they  should,  on  solid  grounds  and  fully-examined 
premises ;  the  same  minute  accuracy  and  finish ;  the  same  strict  truthfulness  and 
sincerity,  saying  nothing  for  mere  effect.  And  the  style  is  in  harmony  with  the 
thought, — pure,  chaste,  lucid,  aptly  expressive,  unaffected,  uninvolved,  English 
undefiled;  scholarly,  yet  never  pedantic,  strong,  yet  not  hard  or  dry;  and,  when 
the  subject  naturally  called  for  it,  clothing  itself  in  the  rich  hues  and  the  beautiful 
forms  of  poetic  fancy,  that  illumined,  while  it  adorned,  his  thought." — Christian 
Examiner,  November,  1853. 


ANDREWS  NORTON. 


301 


POSTHUMOUS  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  WISE  AND  GOOD. 

The  relations  between  man  and  man  cease  not  with  life.  The 
dead  leave  behind  them  their  memory,  their  example,  and  the 
effects  of  their  actions.  Their  influence  still  abides  with  us. 
Their  names  and  characters  dwell  in  our  thoughts  and  hearts. 
We  live  and  commune  with  them  in  their  writings.  We  enjoy 
the  benefit  of  their  labors.  Our  institutions  have  been  founded 
by  them.  We  are  surrounded  by  the  works  of  the  dead.  Our 
knowledge  and  our  arts  are  the  fruit  of  their  toil.  Our  minds 
have  been  formed  by  their  instructions.  We  are  most  intimately 
connected  with  them  by  a  thousand  dependencies.  Those  whom 
we  have  loved  in  life  are  still  objects  of  our  deepest  and  holiest 
affections.  Their  power  over  us  remains.  They  are  with  us  in 
our  solitary  walks ;  and  their  voices  speak  to  our  hearts  in  the 
silence  of  midnight.  Their  image  is  impressed  upon  our  dearest 
recollections  and  our  most  sacred  hopes.  They  form  an  essential 
part  of  our  treasure  laid  up  in  heaven.  For,  above  all,  we  are 
separated  from  them  but  for  a  little  time.  We  are  soon  to  be 
united  with  them.  If  we  follow  in  the  path  of  those  we  have 
loved,  we  too  shall  soon  join  the  innumerable  company  of  the 
spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect.  Our  affections  and  our  hopes 
are  not  buried  in  the  dust,  to  which  we  commit  the  poor  remains 
of  mortality.  The  blessed  retain  their  remembrance  and  their 
love  for  us  in  heaven ;  and  we  will  cherish  our  remembrance  and 
our  love  for  them  while  on  earth. 

Creatures  of  imitation  and  sympathy  as  we  are,  we  look  around 
us  for  support  and  countenance  even  in  our  virtues.  We  recur 
for  them,  most  securely,  to  the  examples  of  the  dead.  There  is  a 
degree  of  insecurity  and  uncertainty  about  living  worth.  The 
stamp  has  not  yet  been  put  upon  it  which  precludes  all  change, 
and  seals  it  up  as  a  just  object  of  admiration  for  future  times. 
There  is  no  service  which  a  man  of  commanding  intellect  can 
render  his  fellow-creatures  better  than  that  of  leaving  behind  him  an 
unspotted  example.  If  he  do  not  confer  upon  them  this  benefit ; 
if  he  leave  a  character  dark  with  vices  in  the  sight  of  God,  but 
dazzling  with  shining  qualities  in  the  view  of  men,  it  may  be  that 
all  his  other  services  had  better  have  been  forborne,  and  he  had 
passed  inactive  and  unnoticed  through  life.  It  is  a  dictate  of 
wisdom,  therefore,  as  well  as  feeling,  when  a  man,  eminent  for  his 
virtues  and  talents,  has  been  taken  away,  to  collect  the  riches  of 
his  goodness  and  add  them  to  the  treasury  of  human  improve- 
ment. The  true  Christian  liveth  not  for  himself,  and  dieth  not 
for  himself;  and  it  is  thus,  in  one  respect,  that  he  dieth  not  for 
himself. 

26 


302 


ANDREWS  NORTON. 


REFORMERS. 

It  is  delightful  to  remember  that  there  have  been  men  who,  in 
the  cause  of  truth  and  virtue,  have  made  no  compromises  for  their 
own  advantage  or  safety;  who  have  recognised  "  the  hardest  duty 
as  the  highest who,  conscious  of  the  possession  of  great  talents, 
have  relinquished  all  the  praise  that  was  within  their  grasp,  all 
the  applause  which  they  might  have  so  liberally  received,  if  they 
had  not  thrown  themselves  in  opposition  to  the  errors  and  vices 
of  their  fellow-men,  and  have  been  content  to  take  obloquy  and 
insult  instead ;  who  have  approached  to  lay  on  the  altar  of  God 
"  their  last  infirmity."  They,  without  doubt,  have  felt  that  deep 
conviction  of  having  acted  right  which  supported  the  martyred 
philosopher  of  Athens,  when  he  asked,  "  What  disgrace  is  it  to 
me  if  others  are  unable  to  judge  of  me,  or  to  treat  me  as  they 
ought  V  There  is  something  very  solemn  and  sublime  in  the 
feeling  produced  by  considering  how  differently  these  men  have 
been  estimated  by  their  contemporaries,  from  the  manner  in  which 
they  are  regarded  by  God.  We  perceive  the  appeal  which  lies 
from  the  ignorance,  the  folly,  and  the  iniquity  of  man,  to  the 
throne  of  Eternal  Justice.  A  storm  of  calumny  and  reviling  has 
too  often  pursued  them  through  life,  and  continued,  when  they 
could  no  longer  feel  it,  to  beat  upon  their  graves.  But  it  is  no 
matter.  They  had  gone  where  all  who  have  suffered  and  all  who 
have  triumphed  in  the  same  noble  cause  receive  their  reward ; 
and  where  the  wreath  of  the  martyr  is  more  glorious  than  that  of 
the  conqueror. 


SCENE   AFTER  A  SUMMER  SHOWER. 

The  rain  is  o'er.    How  dense  and  bright 
Yon  pearly  clouds  reposing  lie  ! 

Cloud  above  cloud,  a  glorious  sight, 
Contrasting  with  the  dark  blue  sky ! 

In  grateful  silence  earth  receives 

The  general  blessing:  fresh  and  fair 

Each  flower  expands  its  little  leaves, 
As  glad  the  common  joy  to  share. 

The  soften'd  sunbeams  pour  around 
A  fairy  light,  uncertain,  pale  ; 

The  wind  flows  cool :  the  scented  ground 
Is  breathing  odors  on  the  gale. 

Mid  yon  rich  clouds'  voluptuous  pile, 
Methinks  some  spirit  of  the  air 

Might  rest  to  gaze  below  a  while, 
Then  turn  to  bathe  and  revel  there. 


ANDREWS  NORTON. 


303 


The  sun  breaks  forth  ;  from  off  the  scene 
Its  floating  veil  of  mist  is  flung, 

And  all  the  wilderness  of  green 

With  trembling  drops  of  light  is  hung. 

Now  gaze  on  nature — yet  the  same — 
Glowing  with  life,  by  breezes  fann'd, 

Luxuriant,  lovely,  as  she  came 

Fresh  in  her  youth  from  God's  own  hand  2 

Hear  the  rich  music  of  that  voice 
Which  sounds  from  all  below,  above : 

She  calls  her  children  to  rejoice, 

And  round  them  throws  her  arms  of  love. 

Drink  in  her  influence — low-born  care, 
And  all  the  train  of  mean  desire, 

Refuse  to  breathe  this  holy  air, 
And  mid  this  living  light  expire  ! 


FORTITUDE. 

Faint  not,  poor  traveller,  though  thy  way 
Be  rough,  like  that  thy  Saviour  trod ; 

Though  cold  and  stormy  lower  the  day, 
This  path  of  suffering  leads  to  God. 

Nay,  sink  not ;  though  from  every  limb 
Are  starting  drops  of  toil  and  pain; 

Thou  dost  but  share  the  lot  of  Him 
With  whom  his  followers  are  to  reign. 

Thy  friends  are  gone,  and  thou,  alone, 
Must  bear  the  sorrows  that  assail ; 

Look  upward  to  the  eternal  throne, 
And  know  a  Friend  who  cannot  fail. 

Bear  firmly ;  yet  a  few  more  days, 
And  thy  hard  trial  will  be  past ; 

Then,  wrapt  in  glory's  opening  blaze, 
Thy  feet  will  rest  on  heaven  at  last. 

Christian !  thy  Friend,  thy  Master,  pray'd 
When  dread  and  anguish  shook  his  frame ; 

Then  met  his  sufferings  undismay'd : 
Wilt  thou  not  strive  to  do  the  same  ? 

0  !  think'st  thou  that  his  Father's  love 
Shone  round  him  then  with  fainter  rays 

Than  now,  when,  throned  all  height  above, 
Unceasing  voices  hymn  his  praise  ? 

Go,  sufferer !  calmly  meet  the  woes 

Which  God's  own  mercy  bids  thee  bear; 

Then,  rising  as  thy  Saviour  rose, 
Go  !  his  eternal  victory  share.  ' 


304 


RICHARD  H.  DANA. 


RICHARD  H.  DANA. 

Richard  H.  Dana,  eminent  alike  as  a  poet  and  essayist,  was  born  in  Cam- 
bridge, Massachusetts,  on  the  15th  of 'November,  1787.  His  father,  Francis  Dana, 
was  minister  to  Russia  during  the  Revolution,  and  subsequently  member  of  the 
Massachusetts  Convention  for  adopting  the  United  States  Constitution,  member 
of  Congress,  and  chief-justice  of  his  native  State.  At  the  age  often,  the  son  went 
to  Newport,  Rhode  Island,  the  residence  of  his  maternal  grandfather,  the  Hon. 
William  Ellery,  one  of  the  signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  Here  he 
remained  till  he  entered  Harvard  College  ;  on  leaving  which,  he  entered  upon  the 
study  of  the  law.  After  admission  to  the  Boston  bar,  he  was  for  a  time  iu  the 
office  of  Gen.  Robert  Goodloe  Harper,  of  Baltimore.  Eventually,  however,  he 
concluded  to  return  to  his  native  town  and  there  enter  upon  the  practice  of  his 
profession.  But  he  soon  found  it  too  laborious  for  his  health  and  not  congenial 
to  his  tastes :  accordingly  he  gave  it  up,  and  made  an  arrangement  with  his 
relative,  Prof.  Edward  1.  Channing,  to  assist  him  in  conducting  the  "North 
American  Review,"  which  had  then  been  established  about  two  years.  In  1821, 
he  published  his  Idle  3Ian,  in  numbers,  in  which  were  some  of  his  most  admirable 
tales.  But  the  general  tone  of  it  was  too  high  to  be  popular,  and  the  publication 
was  relinquished.  His  first  poem,  The  Dying  Raven,  he  published  in  1825,  in  the 
"New  York  Review,"  then  edited  by  the  poet  Bryant.  Two  years  after,  he  pub- 
lished The  Buccaneer,  and  other  Poems,  and  in  1833,  his  Poems  and  Prose  Writings. 
His  lectures  on  Shakspeare,  which  have  been  delivered  in  many  cities  of  the 
Union,  he  has  not  given  to  the  press.  In  1S50,  Baker  &  Scribner  published  a 
complete  edition  of  his  Poems  and  Prose  Writings,  in  two  volumes.1  Of  late 
years  Mr.  Dana  has  given  us  nothing  new;  nor  need  he,  to  be  secure  of  his  im- 
mortality. He  lives  a  life  of  quiet  domestic  retirement,  his  summer  residence 
being  a  picturesque  spot  on  the  shores  of  Cape  Ann,  while  during  the  winter 
months  he  lives  iu  Boston. 

The  longest  poem  of  Mr.  Dana  is  The  Buccaneer.  It  is  a  tale  of  piracy  and 
murder,  and  of  a  terrible  supernatural  retribution.  The  character  of  the  Buc- 
caneer, Matthew  Lee,  is  drawn  in  a  few  bold  and  masterly  lines.  Disappointed 
in  an  effort  to  engage  in  honest  trade,  he  makes  up  his  mind  to  devote  his  life  to 
piracy.  A  young  bride,  whose  husband  has  fallen  in  the  Spanish  war,  seeks  a 
passage  in  his  ship  to  some  distant  shore.    The  ship  is  at  sea.    The  murderer  is 


1  "In  Mr.  Dana's  poeti\y  the  moral  and  religious  element  is  as  strongly  marked 
as  in  his  prose,  and  constitutes  that  indwelling  power  which  elevates  the  whole  to 
so  high  a  sphere.  Inasmuch  as  religious  truth  touches  the  soul  so  closely,  affects 
its  most  hidden  and  secret  life,  and  excites  its  profoundest  and  loftiest  emotions, 
no  mind  which  has  not  been  moved  by  such  truths  can  fully  appreciate  the 
highest  products  of  literature  or  art,  much  less  produce  them." — North  American 
Review,  January,  1851. 

"We  admire  Mr.  Dana  more  than  any  other  American  poet,  because  he  has 
aimed  not  merely  to  please  the  imagination,  but  to  rouse  up  the  soul  to  a  solemn 
consideration  of  its  future  destinies.  We  admire  him  because  his  poetry  is  full  of 
benevolent,  domestic  feeling;  but,  more  than  this,  because  it  is  full  of  religious 
feeling.  The  fountain  which  gushes  here  has  mingled  with  the  'well  of  water 
springing  up  to  everlasting  life.'" — Rev.  George  B.  Cheever. 


RICHARD  H.  DANA. 


305 


meditating  his  deed  of  death.  The  fearful  scene  follows.  How  strong,  distinct, 
and  terrible  is  the  description  of  the  pirate's  feelings,  and  * 

THE  SCENE  OF  DEATH. 

He  cannot  look  on  her  mild  eye, — 

Her  patient  words  his  spirit  quell. 
Within  that  evil  heart  there  lie 
The  hates  and  fears  of  hell. 
His  speech  is  short ;  he  wears  a  surly  brow. 
There's  none  will  hear  the  shriek.    What  fear  ye  now  ? 

The  workings  of  the  soul  ye  fear ; 

Ye  fear  the  power  that  goodness  hath ; 
Ye  fear  the  Unseen  One,  ever  near, 
"Walking  his  ocean  path. 
From  out  the  silent  void  there  comes  a  cry : — 
"Vengeance  is  mine!    Thou,  murderer,  too  shalt  die!" 

Nor  dread  of  ever-during  woe, 
Nor  the  sea's  awful  solitude, 
Can  make  thee,  wretch,  thy  crime  forego. 
Then,  bloody  hand, — to  blood! 
The  scud  is  driving  wildly  overhead ; 
The  stars  burn  dim;  the  ocean  moans  its  dead. 

Moan  for  the  living, — moan  our  sins, — 

The  wrath  of  man,  more  fierce  than  thine. 
Hark  !  still  thy  waves  !    The  work  begins  : 
Lee  makes  the  deadly  sign. 
The  crew  glide  down  like  shadows.    Eye  and  hand 
Speak  fearful  meanings  through  the  silent  band. 

They're  gone.    The  helmsman  stands  alone, 

And  one  leans  idly  o'er  the  bow. 
Still  as  a  tomb  the  ship  keeps  on ; 
Nor  sound  nor  stirring  now. 
Hush !  hark !  as  from  the  centre  of  the  deep, 
Shrieks  !  fiendish  yells  !    They  stab  them  iu  their  sleep  ! 

The  scream  of  rage,  the  groan,  the  strife, 

The  blow,  the  gasp,  the  horrid  cry, 
The  panting,  throttled  prayer  for  life, 
The  dying's  heaving  sigh, 
The  murderer's  curse,  the  dead  man's  fix'd,  still  glare, 
And  fear's  and  death's  cold  sweat, — they  all  are  there! 

On  pale,  dead  men,  on  burning  cheek, 

On  quick,  fierce  eyes,  brows  hot  and  damp, 
On  hands  that  with  the  warm  blood  reek, 
Shines  the  dim  cabin-lamp. 
Lee  look'd.    "They  sleep  so  sound,"  he,  laughing,  said, 
"  They'll  scarcely  wake  for  mistress  or  for  maid." 

A  crash !    They've  forced  the  door  ;  and  then 
One  long,  long,  shrill,  and  piercing  scream 

Comes  thrilling  'bove  the  grcwl  of  men. 
:Tis  hers  !    0  God,  redeem 


306 


RICHARD  H.  DANA. 


From  worse  than  death  thy  suffering,  helpless  child ! 
That  dreadful  shriek  again, — sharp,  sharp,  and  -wild ! 

It  ceased. — With  speed  o'  th'  lightning's  flash, 

A  loose-robed  form,  with  streaming  hair, 
Shoots  by. — A  leap  ! — a  quick,  short  splash! 
'Tis  gone  ! — and  nothing  there  ! 
The  waves  have  swept  away  the  bubbling  tide. 
Bright-crested  waves,  how  calmly  on  they  ride ! 

She's  sleeping  in  her  silent  cave, 

Nor  hears  the  loud,  stern  roar  above, 
Nor  strife  of  man  on  land  or  wave. 
Young  thing !  her  home  of  love 
She  soon  has  reach'd !    Fair,  unpolluted  thing, 
They  harm'd  her  not !    "Was  dying  suffering  ? 

Oh.  no  ! — To  live  when  joy  was  dead  ; 

To  go  with  one  lone,  pining  thought, — 
To  mournful  love  her  being  wed, — 
Feeling  what  death  had  wrought ; 
To  live  the  child  of  avoc,  nor  shed  a  tear, 
Bear  kindness,  and  yet  share  not  joy  or  fear  ; 

To  look  on  man,  and  deem  it  strange 

That  he  on  things  of  earth  should  brood, 
"When  all  the  throng' d  and  busy  range 
To  her  was  solitude, — 
Oh,  this  was  bitterness  !    Death  came  and  press'd 
Her  wearied  lids,  and  brought  the  sick  heart  rest. 

THE  HUSBAND  AND  WIFE'S  GRAVE. 

Husband  and  wife  !    No  converse  now  ye  hold, 
As  once  ye  did  in  your  young  day  of  love, 
On  its  alarms,  its  anxious  hours,  delays, 
Its  silent  meditations  and  glad  hopes, 
Its  fears,  impatience,  quiet  sympathies  ; 
Nor  do  ye  speak  of  joy  assured,  and  bliss 
Full,  certain,  and  possess'd.    Domestic  cares 
Call  you  not  now  together.    Earnest  talk 
On  what  your  children  may  be  moves  you  not. 
Ye  lie  in  silence,  and  an  awful  silence ; 
Not  like  to  that  in  which  ye  rested  once 
Most  happy, — silence  eloquent,  when  heart 
With  heart  held  speech,  and  your  mysterious  frames, 
Harmonious,  sensitive,  at  every  beat 
Touch'd  the  soft  notes  of  love. 

Is  this  thy  prison-house,  thy  grave,  then,  Love  ? 
And  doth  death  cancel  the  great  bond  that  holds 
Commingling  spirits  ?    Are  thoughts  that  knoAV  no  bounds, 
But,  self-inspired,  rise  upward,  searching  out 
The  Eternal  Mind,  the  Father  of  all  thought,— 
Are  they  become  mere  tenants  of  a  tomb? 

And  do  our  loves  all  perish  with  our  frames  ? 
Do  those  that  took  their  root  and  put  forth  buds, 


RICHARD  II.  DANA. 


307 


And  their  soft  leaves  unfolded  in  the  warmth 

Of  mutual  hearts,  grow  up  and  live  in  beauty, 

Then  fade  and  fail,  like  fair,  unconscious  flowers  ? 

Are  thoughts  and  passions  that  to  the  tongue  give  speech, 

And  make  it  send  forth  winning  harmonies, — 

That  to  the  cheek  do  give  its  living  glow, 

And  vision  in  the  eye  the  soul  intense 

With  that  for  which  there  is  no  utterance, — 

Are  these  the  body's  accidents  ? — no  more  ? — 

To  live  in  it,  and,  when  that  dies,  go  out 

Like  the  burnt  taper's  flame  ? 

Oh,  listen,  man  I1 
A  voice  within  us  speaks  the  startling  word, 
"  Man,  thou  shalt  never  die  !"    Celestial  voices 
Hymn  it  around  our  souls  :  according  harps, 
By  angel  fingers  touch'd  when  the  mild  stars 
Of  morning  sang  together,  sound  forth  still 
The  song  of  our  great  immortality ; 
Thick-clustering  orbs,  and  this  our  fair  domain, 
The  tall,  dark  mountains,  and  the  deep-toned  seas, 
Join  in  this  solemn,  universal  song. 
Oh,  listen  ye,  our  spirits  ;  drink  it  in 
From  all  the  air!    'Tis  in  the  gentle  moonlight; 
Is  floating  in  day's  setting  glories  ;  Night, 
Wrapp'd  in  her  sable  robe,  with  silent  step 
Comes  to  our  bed  and  breathes  it  in  our  ears  : 
Night  and  the  dawn,  bright  day  and  thoughtful  eve, 
All  time,  all  bounds,  the  limitless  expanse. 
As  one  great  mystic  instrument,  are  touch'd 
By  an  unseen,  living  Hand,  and  conscious  chords 
Quiver  with  joy  in  this  great  jubilee. 
The  dying  hear  it ;  and  as  sounds  of  earth 
Grow  dull  and  distant,  wake  their  passing  souls 
To  mingle  in  this  heavenly  harmony. 

Why  is  i  that  I  linger  round  this  tomb  ? 
What  hoLls  it?    Dust  that  cumber'd  those  I  mourn. 
They  shook  it  off,  and  laid  aside  earth's  robes, 
And  put  on  those  of  light.    They're  gone  to  dwell 
In  love, — their  God's  and  angels'.    Mutual  love, 
That  bound  them  here,  no  longer  needs  a  speech 
For  full  communion  ;  nor  sensations  strong, 
Within  the  breast,  their  prison,  strive  in  vain 
To  be  set  free,  and  meet  their  kind  in  joy. 

I  thank  thee,  Father, 
That  at  this  simple  grave  on  which  the  dawn 
Is  breaking,  emblem  of  that  day  which  hath 

No  close,  thou  kindly  unto  my  dark  mind  » 
Hast  sent  a  sacred  light,  and  that  away 


1  "We  scarcely  know  where,  in  the  English  language,  we  could  point  out  a 
aner  extract  than  this,  of  the  same  character.  It  has  a  softened  grandeur  worthy 
of  the  subject ;  especially  in  the  noble  paragraph  commencing  '  Oh,  listen,  man  ?" 
— Rev.  G.  B.  Cheever. 


308 


RICHARD  H.  DANA. 


From  this  green  hillock,  whither  I  had  come 
In  sorrow,  thou  art  leading  me  in  joy. 

THE  DEATH  OF  SIN  AND  THE  LIFE  OF  HOLINESS. 

Blinded  by  passion,  man  gives  up  his  breath, 
Uncall'd  by  God.    We  look,  and  name  it  death. 
Mad  wretch !  the  soul  hath  no  last  sleep  ;  the  strife 
To  end  itself  but  wakes  intenser  life 
In  the  self-torturing  spirit.    Fool,  give  o'er! 
Hast  thou  once  been,  yet  think'st  to  be  no  more? 
What!  life  destroy  itself?    Oh,  idlest  dream, 
Shaped  in  that  emptiest  thing, — a  doubter's  scheme ! 
Think'st  in  a  universal  soul  will  merge 
Thy  soul,  as  rain-drops  mingle  with  the  surge  ? 
Or,  scarce  less  skeptic,  sin  will  have  an  end, 
And  thy  purged  spirit  with  the  holy  blend 
In  joys  as  holy  ?    Why  a  sinner  now  ? 
As  falls  the  tree,  so  lies  it.    So  shalt  thou. 
God's  Book,  rash  doubter,  holds  the  plain  record. 
Dar'st  talk  of  hopes  and  doubts  against  that  Word? 
Or  palter  with  it  in  a  quibbling  sense  ? 
That  Book  shall  judge  thee  when  thou  passest  hence. 
Then,  with  thy  spirit  from  the  bod}-  freed, 
Then  shalt  thou  know,  see,  feel,  what's  life  indeed. 

Bursting  to  life,  thy  dominant  desire 
Shall  upward  name,  like  a  tierce  forest  fire ; 
Then,  like  a  sea  of  fire,  heave,  roar,  and  dash, — 
Roll  up  its  lowest  depths  in  waves,  and  flash 
A  wild  disaster  round,  like  its  own  woe. — 
Each  wave  cry,  "Woe  forever!"  in  its  flow, 
And  then  pass  on, — from  far  adown  its  path 
Send  back  commingling  sounds  of  woe  and  wrath, — 
Th'  indomitable  Will  shall  know  no  sway ; 
God  calls. — man,  hear  him ;  quit  that  fearful  way  ! 

Come,  listen  to  His  voice  who  died  to  save 
Lost  man,  and  raise  him  from  his  moral  grave  ; 
From  darkness  show'd  a  path  of  light  to  heaven ; 
Cried,  "Rise  and  walk:  thy  sins  are  all  forgiven." 

Blest  are  the  pure  in  heart.    Wouldst  thou  be  blest  ? 
He'll  cleanse  thy  spotted  soul.    Wouldst  thou  find  rest? 
Around  thy  toils  and  cares  he'll  breathe  a  calm, 
And  to  thy  wounded  spirit  lay  a  balm, 
From  fear  draw  love,  and  teach  thee  where  to  seek 
Lost  strength  and  grandeur, — with  the  bow'd  and  meek. 

Come  lowly ;  he  will  help  thee.    Lay  aside 
That  subtle,  first  of  evils, — human  pride. 
Know  God,  and,  so,  thyself ;  and  be  afraid 
To  call  aught  poor  or  low  that  he  has  made. 
Fear  naught  but  sin ;  love  all  but  sin  ;  and  learn 
In  all  beside  'tis  wisdom  to  discern 
His  forming,  his  creating  power, — and  bind 
Earth,  self,  and  brother  to  th'  Eternal  Mind. 


RICHARD   II.  DANA. 


309 


THE  MOTHER  AND  SON. 

"  The  sun  not  set  yet,  Thomas  T"  "  Xot  quite,  sir.  It  blazes 
through  the  trees  on  the  hill  yonder  as  if  their  branches  were  all 
on  fire/' 

Arthur  raised  himself  heavily  forward,  and,  with  his  hat  still 
over  his  brow,  turned  his  glazed  and  dim  eyes  toward  the  setting 
sun.  It  was  only  the  night  before  that  he  had  heard  his  mother 
was  ill,  and  could  survive  but  a  day  or  two.  He  had  lived  nearly 
apart  from  society,  and,  being  a  lad  of  a  thoughtful,  dreamy  mind, 
had  made  a  world  to  himself.  His  thoughts  and  feelings  were  so 
much  in  it  that,  except  in  relation  to  his  own  home,  there  were  the 
same  vague  notions  in  his  brain,  concerning  the  state  of  things 
surrounding  him,  as  we  have  of  a  foreign  land. 

He  had  passed  the  night  between  tumultuous  grief  and  numb 
insensibility.  Stepping  into  the  carriage,  with  a  slow,  weak 
motion,  like  one  who  was  quitting  his  sick-chamber  for  the  first 
time,  he  began  his  way  homeward.  As  he  lifted  his  eyes  upward, 
the  few  stars  that  were  here  and  there  over  the  sky  seemed  to 
look  down  in  pity,  and  shed  a  religious  and  healing  light  upon 
him.  But  they  soon  went  out,  one  after  another,  and  as  the  last 
faded  from  his  sight,  it  was  as  if  something  good  and  holy  had 
forsaken  him.  The  faint  tint  in  the  east  soon  became  a  ruddy 
glow,  and  the  sun,  shooting  upward,  burst  over  every  living  thing 
in  full  glory.  The  sight  went  to  Arthur's  sick  heart,  as  if  it  were 
in  mockery  of  his  sorrow. 

Leaning  back  in  his  carriage,  with  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  he 
was  carried  along,  hardly  sensible  it  was  day.  The  old  servant, 
Thomas,  who  was  sitting  by  his  side,  went  on  talking  in  a  low, 
monotonous  tone ;  but  Arthur  only  heard  something  sounding  in 
his  ears,  scarcely  heeding  that  it  was  a  human  voice.  He  had  a 
sense  of  wearisomeness  from  the  motion  of  the  carriage;  but  in 
all  things  else  the  day  passed  as  a  melancholy  dream. 

Almost  the  first  words  Arthur  spoke  were  those  I  have  men- 
tioned. As  he  looked  out  upon  the  setting  sun,  he  shuddered 
and  turned  pale,  for  he  knew  the  hill  near  him.  As  they  wound 
round  it,  some  peculiar  old  trees  appeared,  and  he  was  in  a  few 
minutes  in  the  midst  of  the  scenery  near  his  home.  The  river 
before  him,  reflecting  the  rich  evening  sky,  looked  as  if  poured 
out  from  a  molten  mine ;  and  the  birds,  gathering  in,  were  shoot- 
ing across  each  other,  bursting  into  short,  gay  notes,  or  singing 
their  evening  songs  in  the  trees.  It  was  a  bitter  thing  to  find  all 
so  bright  and  cheerful,  and  so  near  his  own  home,  too.  His 
horses'  hoofs  struck  upon  the  old  wooden  bridge.  The  sound 
went  to  his  heart ;  for  it  was  here  his  mother  took  her  last  leave 
of  him,  and  blessed  him. 


310 


RICHARD  H.  DANA. 


As  lie  passed  through  the  village,  there  was  a  feeling  of  strange- 
ness that  every  thing  should  be  just  as  it  was  when  he  left  it. 
An  undefined  thought  floated  in  his  mind,  that  his  mother's  state 
should  produce  a  visible  change  in  whatever  he  had  been  familiar 
with.  But  the  boys  were  at  their  noisy  games  in  the  street,  the 
laborers  returning  together  from  their  work,  and  the  old  men 
sitting  quietly  at  their  doors.  He  concealed  himself  as  well  as 
he  could,  and  bade  Thomas  hasten  on. 

As  they  drew  near  the  house,  the  night  was  shutting  in  about 
it,  and  there  was  a  melancholy  gusty  sound  in  the  trees.  Arthur 
felt  as  if  approaching  his  mother's  tomb.  He  entered  the  parlor. 
There  was  the  gloom  and  stillness  of  a  deserted  house.  Presently 
he  heard  a  slow,  cautious  step  overhead.  It  was  in  his  mother's 
chamber.  His  sister  had  seen  him  from  the  window.  She  hur- 
ried down,  and  threw  her  arms  about  her  brother's  neck,  without 
uttering  a  word.  As  soon  as  he  could  speak,  he  asked,  "  Is  she 
alive  ?" — he  could  not  say,  my  mother.  "  She  is  sleeping," 
answered  his  sister,  "  and  must  not  know  to-night  that  you  are 
here  :  she  is  too  weak  to  bear  it  now."  "  I  will  go  look  at  her, 
then,  while  she  sleeps,"  said  he,  drawing  his  handkerchief  from 
his  face.  His  sister's  sympathy  had  made  him  shed  the  first  tears 
which  had  fallen  from  him  that  day,  and  he  was  more  composed. 

He  entered  the  chamber  with  a  deep  and  still  awe  upon  him ; 
and,  as  he  drew  near  his  mother's  bedside,  and  looked  on  her 
pale,  placid  face,  he  scarcely  dared  breathe,  lest  he  should  dis- 
turb the  secret  communion  that  the  soul  was  holding  with  the 
world  into  which  it  was  soon  to  enter.  His  grief,  in  the  loss 
which  he  was  about  to  suffer,  was  forgotten  in  the  feeling  of  a 
holy  inspiration,  and  he  was,  as  it  were,  in  the  midst  of  invisible 
spirits,  ascending  and  descending.  His  mother's  lips  moved 
slightly  as  she  uttered  an  indistinct  sound.  He  drew  back,  and 
his  sister  wrent  near  to  her,  and  she  spoke.  It  was  the  same 
gentle  voice  which  he  had  known  and  felt  from  his  childhood. 
The  exaltation  of  his  soul  left  him, — he  sunk  down, — and  his 
sorrowr  went  over  him  like  a  flood. 

The  next  day,  as  soon  as  his  mother  became  composed  enough 
to  see  him,  Arthur  went  into  her  chamber.  She  stretched  out 
her  feeble  hand,  and  turned  toward  him,  with  a  look  that  blessed 
him.  It  was  the  short  struggle  of  a  meek  spirit.  She  covered 
her  eyes  with  her  hand,  and  the  tears  trickled  down  between  her 
pale,  thin  fingers.  As  soon  as  she  became  tranquil,  she  spoke  of 
the  gratitude  she  felt  at  being  spared  to  see  him  before  she  died. 

"  My  dear  mother,"  said  Arthur, — but  he  could  not  go  on. 
His  voice  choked,  and  his  eyes  filled.  "  Do  not  be  so  afflicted, 
Arthur,  at  the  loss  of  me.  We  are  not  to  part  forever.  Remem- 
ber, too,  how  comfortable  and  happy  you  have  made  my  days. 


RICHARD  II.  DANA. 


311 


Heaven,  I  am  sure,  will  bless  so  good  a  son  as  you  have  been  to 
me.  Fou  will  have  that  consolation,  my  son,  which  visits  too  few 
sons,  perhaps :  3^011  will  be  able  to  look  back  upon  your  conduct, 
not  without  pain  only,  but  with  a  sacred  joy.  And  think  here- 
after of  the  peace  of  mind  you  give  me,  now  that  I  am  about  to 
die,  in  the  thought  that  I  am  leaving  your  sister  to  your  love  and 
care.  So  long  as  you  live,  she  will  find  you  both  father  and 
brother  to  her."  She  paused  for  a  moment.  "  I  have  long  felt 
that  I  could  meet  death  with  composure ;  but  I  did  not  know, — • 
I  did  not  know,  till  now  that  the  hour  is  come,  how  hard  a  thing- 
it  would  be  to  leave  my  children." 

The  hue  of  death  was  now  fast  spreading  over  his  mother's  face. 
He  stooped  forward  to  catch  the  sound  of  her  breathing.  It 
grew  quick  and  faint.  "  My  mother  I"  She  opened  her  eyes,  for 
the  last  time,  upon  him;  a  faint  flush  passed  over  her  cheek; 
there  was  the  serenity  of  an  angel  in  her  look;  her  hand  just 
pressed  his.    It  was  all  over. 

His  spirit  had  endured  to  its  utmost.  It  sank  down  from  its 
unearthly  height;  and,  with  his  face  upon  his  mother's  pillow, 
he  wept  like  a  child.  He  arose  with  a  softened  grief,  and,  step- 
ping into  an  adjoining  chamber,  spoke  to  his  aunt.  "It  is  past," 
said  he.  "  Is  my  sister  asleep  ?  Well,  be  it  so :  let  her  have 
rest :  she  needs  it."  He  then  went  to  his  own  chamber,  and  shut 
himself  in. 

It  is  an  impression,  of  which  we  cannot  rid  ourselves  if  we 
would,  when  sitting  by  the  body  of  a  friend,  that  he  has  still  a 
consciousness  of  our  presence ;  that,  though  he  no  longer  has  a 
concern  in  the  common  things  of  the  world,  love  and  thought  are 
still  there.  The  face  which  we  had  been  familiar  with  so  long, 
when  it  was  all  life  and  motion,  seems  only  in  a  state  of  rest.  We 
know  not  how  to  make  it  real  to  ourselves  that  in  the  body  before 
us  there  is  not  a  something  still  alive. 

Arthur  was  in  such  a  state  of  mind  as  he  sat  alone  in  the  room 
by  his  mother,  the  day  after  her  death.  It  was  as  if  her  soul  was 
holding  communion  with  spirits  in  paradise,  though  it  still  abode 
in  the  body  that  lay  before  him.  He  felt  as  if  sanctified  by  the 
presence  of  one  to  whom  the  other  world  had  been  opened, — as  if 
under  the  love  and  protection  of  one  made  holy.  The  religious 
reflections  which  his  mother  had  early  taught  him  gave  him 
strength  :  a  spiritual  composure  stole  over  him,  and  he  found 
himself  prepared  to  perform  the  last  offices  to  the  dead. 

When  the  hour  came,  Arthur  rose  with  a  firm  step  and  fixed 
eye,  though  his  face  was  tremulous  with  the  struggle  within  him. 
He  went  to  his  sister,  and  took  her  arm  within  his.  The  bell 
struck.  Its  heavy,  undulating  sound  rolled  forward  like  a  sea, 
He  felt  a  beating  through  his  frame,  which  shook  him  so  that  he. 


312 


RICHARD  HENRY  WILDE. 


reeled.  It  was  but  a  momentary  weakness.  He  moved  on,  pass 
ing  those  who  surrounded  him  as  if  they  had  been  shadows. 
While  he  followed  the  slow  hearse,  there  was  a  vacancy  in  his 
eye,  as  it  rested  on  the  coffin,  which  showed  him  hardly  conscious 
of  what  was  before  him.  His  spirit  was  with  his  mother's.  As 
he  reached  the  grave,  he  shrunk  back,  and  turned  pale;  but, 
dropping  his  head  upon  his  breast,  and  covering  his  face,  he  stood 
motionless  as  a  statue  till  the  service  was  over. 

It  was  a  gloomy  and  chilly  evening  when  he  returned  home. 
As  he  entered  the  house  from  which  his  mother  had  gone  for- 
ever, a  sense  of  dreary  emptiness  oppressed  him,  as  if  his  abode 
had  been  deserted  by  every  living  thing.  He  walked  into  his 
mother's  chamber.  The  naked  bedstead,  and  the  chair  in  which 
she  used  to  sit,  were  all  that  were  left  in  the  room.  As  he  threw 
himself  back  into  the  chair,  he  groaned  in  the  bitterness  of  his 
spirit.  A  feeling  of  forlornness  came  over  him,  which  was  not 
to  be  relieved  by  tears.  She,  whom  he  watched  over  in  her  dying 
hour,  and  whom  he  had  talked  to  as  she  lay  before  him  in  death, 
as  if  she  could  hear  and  answer  him,  had  gone  from  him. 
Nothing  was  left  for  the  senses  to  fasten  fondly  on,  and  time  had 
not  yet  taught  him  to  think  of  her  only  as  a  spirit.  But  time  and 
holy  endeavors  brought  this  consolation ;  and  the  little  of  life  that 
a  wasting  disease  left  him  was  passed  by  him,  when  alone,  in 
thoughtful  tranquillity;  and  among  his  friends  he  appeared  with 
that  gentle  cheerfulness  which,  before  his  mother's  death,  had 
been  a  part  of  his  nature. 


RICHARD  HENRY  WILDE,  1789—1847. 

This  accomplished  scholar  and  poet  was  horn  in  Dublin,  Ireland,  on  the  24th 
of  September,  1789.  When  he  was  seven  years  old,  his  father,  who  had  been  a 
hardware-merchant,  came  to  Baltimore  to  better  his  fortunes.  By  the  mis- 
management of  a  partner  in  Dublin,  he  lost  nearly  all  the  property  he  left 
behind,  and  died  poor  in  1802.  The  following  year  the  widowed  mother  re- 
moved to  Augusta,  Georgia,  and  there  opened  a  small  shop  to  gain  her  living, 
her'  son  Richard  aiding  her  during  the  day,  and  pursuing  his  studies  at  night. 
He  early  directed  his  attention  to  the  law,  and,  in  1809,  was  admitted  to  the 
bar.  He  rose  rapidly  in  his  profession,  and  was  soon  elected  Attorney-General 
of  the  State. 

In  1815,  when  just  past  the  legal  age,  he  was  chosen  representative  to  Con- 
gress, and  served  but  one  term.  He  was  again  a  member  of  that  body  from  1828 
to  1835.  He  then  went  to  Europe,  passing  most  of  his  time,  when  abroad,  in 
Italy,  in  the  pursuit  of  his  favorite  study,  Italian  literature.  On  his  return 
home,  he  published,  in  1842,  Conjectures  and  Researches  concerning  the  Love, 


RICHARD  HENRY  WILDE. 


313 


Madness,  and  Imprisonment  of  Torquato  Tasso,  in  two  volumes.'  In  1844,  he 
removed  to  New  Orleans,  and  here  acquired  the  highest  rank  as  a  civilian. 
In  the  spring  of  1S47,  he  was  appointed  Professor  of  Constitutional  Law  in  the 
University  of  Louisiana.  His  lectures  had  been  partially  prepared,  but  were 
never  delivered,  his  useful  career  being  cut  short  by  death  on  the  10th  of 
September,  1847.  His  son,  William  Cummings  Wilde,  Esq.,  of  New  Orleans, 
is  soon  to  publish  the  life  and  works  of  his  father,  in  which  will  be  his  longest 
poem,  Hesperia,  which  he  left  in  manuscript. 

JOHN  RANDOLPH  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

Among  the  legislators  of  that  day,  but  not  of  them,  in  the 
fearful  and  solitary  sublimity  of  genius,  stood  a  gentleman  from 
Virginia,  whom  it  was  superfluous  to  designate.  Whose  speeches 
were  universally  read  ?  Whose  satire  was  universally  feared  ? 
Upon  whose  accents  did  this  habitually  listless  and  un  listening 
house  hang,  so  frequently,  with  rapt  attention  ?  Whose  fame  was 
identified  with  that  body  for  so  long  a  period  ?  Who  was  a  more 
dexterous  debater,  a  riper  scholar,  better  versed  in  the  politics 
of  our  own  country,  or  deeper  read  in  the  history  of  others  ? 
Above  all,  who  was  more  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  idiom  of 
the  English  language — more  completely  master  of  its  strength, 
and  beauty,  and  delicacy,  or  more  capable  of  breathing  thoughts 
of  flame  in  words  of  magic  and  tones  of  silver  ? 

Nor  may  I  pass  over  in  silence  a  representative  from  New 
Hampshire,  who  has  almost  obliterated  all  memory  of  that  dis- 
tinction by  the  superior  fame  he  has  attained  as  a  Senator  from 
Massachusetts.  Though  then  but  in  the  bud  of  his  political  life, 
and  hardly  conscious,  perhaps,  of  his  own  extraordinary  powers, 
he  gave  promise  of  the  greatness  he  has  achieved.  The  same 
vigor  of  thought;  the  same  force  of  expression;  the  short  sen- 
tences ;  the  calm,  cold,  collected  manner ;  the  air  of  solemn  dig- 
nity ;  the  deep,  sepulchral,  unimpassioned  voice ;  all  have  been 
developed  only,  not  changed,  even  to  the  intense  bitterness  of  his 
frigid  irony.  The  piercing  coldness  of  his  sarcasms  was  indeed 
peculiar  to  him ;  they  seemed  to  be  emanations  from  the  spirit 


1  "Wilde's  theory  about  Tasso  is,  that  Tasso  was  devotedly  attached  to  the 
Princess  Leonora  of  Ferrara,  who  seems  to  have  requited  his  affection,  but  that 
the  difference  in  their  rank  made  it  necessary  for  him,  by  feigning  madness,  to 
conceal  their  attachment;  that  it  was  most  ignominiously  betrayed  by  a  heartless 
friend,  who  possessed  himself  of  the  secret  by  means  of  false  keys  ;  and  that  the  sub- 
sequent severity  of  the  Duke  Alphonso  had  its  origin  in  his  knowledge  of  the 
love  of  the  princess.  The  volume  does  equal  honor  to  the  genius,  the  learning, 
and  the  impartiality  of  the  author.  How  we  could  wish  that  more  of  our  coun- 
trymen, whom  circumstances  enable  to  reside  abroad,  would  devote  their  time  and 
wealth  to  such  honorable  labors  as  have  engaged  the  leisure  of  Mr.  Wilde  \" — 
Democratic  Review,  February,  1842. 

27 


314 


RICHARD  HENRY  WILDE. 


of  the  icy  ocean.  Nothing  could  be  at  once  so  novel  and  so 
powerful;  it  was  frozen  mercury  becoming  as  caustic  as  red- 
hot  iron. 


MY  LIFE  IS  LIKE  THE  SUMMER  ROSE. 

My  life  is  like  the  summer  rose 

That  opens  to  the  morning  sky, 
But,  ere  the  shades  of  evening  close, 

Is  scatter'd  on  the  ground  to  die. 
Yet  on  that  rose's  humble  bed 
The  softest  dews  of  night  are  shed, 
As  if  she  wept  such  waste  to  see — 
But  none  shall  drop  a  tear  for  me. 

My  life  is  like  the  autumn  leaf 

That  trembles  in  the  moon's  pale  ray  ; 
Its  hold  is  frail — its  state  is  brief — 
Restless,  and  soon  to  pass  away  : 
But  when  that  leaf  shall  fall  and  fade, 
The  parent  tree  will  mourn  its  shade, 
The  winds  bewail  the  leafless  tree — 
But  none  shall  breathe  a  sigh  for  me. 

My  life  is  like  the  print  which  feet 

Have  left  on  Tampa's  desert  strand ; 
Soon  as  the  rising  tide  shall  beat, 

Their  track  will  vanish  from  the  sand : 
Yet,  as  if  grieving  to  efface 
All  vestige  of  the  human  race, 
On  that  lone  shore  loud  moans  the  sea — ■ 
But  none  shall  thus  lament  for  me. 


TO  THE  MOCKING-BIRD. 

Wing'd  mimic  of  the  woods!  thou  motley  fool! 

Who  shall  thy  gay  buffoonery  describe  ? 
Thine  ever-ready  notes  of  ridicule 

Pursue  thy  fellows  still  with  jest  and  gibe. 
Wit,  sophist,  songster,  Yorick  of  thy  tribe. 

Thou  untaught  satirist  of  Nature's  school ; 
To  thee  the  palm  of  scoffing  we  ascribe, 

Arch-mocker  and  mad  Abbot  of  Misrule ! 
For  such  thou  art  by  day ;  but  all  night  long 

Thou  pour'st  a  soft,  sweet,  pensive,  solemn  strain, 
As  if  thou  didst  in  this  thy  moonlight  song 

Like  to  the  melancholy  Jacques  complain, 
Musing  on  falsehood,  folly,  vice,  and  wrong, 

And  sighing  for  thy  motley  coat  again. 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER. 


315 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER,  1789—1851. 

James  Fejjimore  Cooper,  the  celebrated  American  novelist,  was  born  in  Bur- 
lington, New  Jersey,  in  the  year  1789.  His  father,  William  Cooper,  an  English 
emigrant,  who  had  settled  there  many  years  before,  had  purchased  a  large  quantity 
of  land  on  the  borders  of  Lake  Otsego,  New  York,  and  thither  Cooper  was  removed 
in  his  infancy,  and  there  passed  his  childhood, — in  a  region  that  was  then  an 
almost  unbroken  wilderness.  At  the  age  of  thirteen,  he  entered  Yale  College, 
but  left  it  in  three  years,  and  became  a  midshipman  in  the  United  States  Navy, 
in  which  he  continued  for  six  years,  making  himself,  unconsciously,  master  of 
that  knowledge  and  imagery  which  he  afterwards  employed  to  so  much  advan- 
tage in  his  romances  of  the  sea.  In  1811,  having  resigned  his  post  as  midship- 
man, he  married  Miss  Delancey,  sister  of  Rev.  Dr.  Delancey,  with  whom,  after  a 
brief  residence  in  Westchester  County,  the  scene  of  one  of  his  finest  fictions,  he 
removed  to  Cooperstown,  where,  Avith  the  exception  of  his  occasional  absences  in 
Europe,  he  passed  the  greater  part  of  his  life,  and  where  he  died  on  the  14th  of 
September,  1851. 

Before  his  removal  to  Cooperstown,  he  had  written  and  published  a  novel  of 
English  life,  called  Precaution,  which  met  with  but  little  favor.  But  The  Sjvj, 
which  followed  in  1821,  at  once  established  his  fame,  and  was  soon  republished  in 
England  and  on  the  Continent.  It  had  its  faults,  indeed, — defects  in  plot,  and 
occasional  blemishes  in  the  composition :  but  it  was  a  work  of  original  genius, 
and  was  widely  read  and  admired.  The  Pioneers,  which  appeared  in  1823,  not 
only  sustained  but  advanced  his  reputation;  and  each  succeeding  volume  of  the 
Leather-Stocking  Tales,  The  Prairie,  The  Last  of  the  Mohicans,  The  Pathfinder, 
and  The  Deerslayer,  was  read  with  increasing  interest.  Shortly  after  the  success 
of  The  Pioneers  had  made  Mr.  Cooper  the  first  novelist  of  the  country,  he  achieved 
a  triumph  on  the  sea  as  signal  as  that  he  had  already  won  upon  the  land.  His 
romance  of  The  Pilot,  followed  at  intervals  by  The  Red  Rover,  The  Water-  Witch, 
The  Two  Admirals,  Wing  and  Wing,  &c,  placed  him  at  the  head  of  nautical 
novelists,  where  he  still  stands,  perhaps,  without  a  rival.1 

In  the  year  1826,  Mr.  Cooper  went  to  Europe,  where  his  fame  had  preceded 
him,  and  where,  while  advancing  his  own  reputation  by  new  fictions,  he  defended 


1  Read  articles  on  his  writings  in  "North  American  Review,"  xxiii.  150, 
xxvii.  139,  xlix.  432;  "American  Quarterly,"  lvii.  407.  In  the  "  Bibliotheca 
Americana,"  by  0.  A.  Roorbach,  is  a  list  of  all  his  works,  amounting  to  forty 
volumes. 

The  following,  I  believe,  is  a  complete  list  of  his  novels,  with  the  dates  of  their 
publication  : — 
Precaution,  1821. 
The  Spy,  1821. 
The  Pioneers,  1823. 
The  Pilot,  1823. 
Lionel  Lincoln.  1825. 
Last  of  the  Mohicans,  1826. 
Red  Rover,  1827. 
The  Prairie,  1827. 
Travelling  Bachelor,  1828. 
Wept  of  Wish-ton-Wish,  1829. 
The  Water-Witch,  1830. 
The  Bravo.  1831. 


The  Heidenmauer,  1832. 
The  Headsman.  1833. 
The  Monikins,  1S35. 
Homeward  Bound,  1838. 
Home  as  Found,  1838. 
The  Pathfinder,  1840. 
Mercedes  of  Castile,  1840. 
The  Deerslayer,  1841. 
The  Two  Admirals,  1842. 
Wing  and  Wing,  1842'. 
Ned  Myers,  1843. 


Wyandotte,  1843. 

Afloat  and  Ashore,  1844. 

Miles  Wallingford,  1844. 

The  Chainbearer,  1845. 

Satanstoe,  1845. 

The  Red  Skins.  184G. 

The  Crater.  1847. 

Jack  Tier,  1848. 

Oak  Openings,  1848. 

The  Sea  Lions.  1849. 

The  Ways  of  the  Hour.  1850. 


316 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER. 


that  of  his  country  by  pamphlets  and  letters.  These  again  brought  upon  him  a 
shower  of  rejoinders,  and  much  of  the  time  when  he  was  abroad  was  spent  in 
controversial  writings.    In  1833,  he  returned  home. 

Besides  his  novels,  Mr.  Cooper  was  the  author  of  a  History  of  the  United  States 
Navy,  Gleanings  in  Europe,  Sketches  of  Switzerland,  and  several  smaller  works, 
which  have  run  through  many  editions.  His  mind  was  always  fertile  and  active, 
and  his  mode  of  treating  his  subjects  full  of  animation  and  freshness.  He  was 
one  of  those  frank  and  decided  characters  who  make  strong  enemies  and  warm 
friends, — who  repel  by  the  positiveness  of  their  convictions,  while  they  attract  by 
the  richness  of  their  culture  and  the  amiability  of  their  lives.  He  was  nicely 
exact  in  all  his  business  relations,  but  generous  and  noble  in  the  management  of 
his  means.  His  beautiful  residence  on  the  Otsego  was  ever  the  home  of  a  large 
and  liberal  hospitality ;  and  those  who  knew  him  best  were  those  who  loved 
him  most,  and  who  deplored  his  loss  with  the  keenest  feelings.1 

THE  CAPTURE  OF  A  WHALE. 

"  Tom/'  cried  Barnstable,  starting,  "  there  is  the  blow  of  a 
whale." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  returned  the  cockswain,  with  undisturbed  com- 
posure j  "  here  is  his  spout,  not  half  a  mile  to  seaward ;  the  easterly 
gale  has  driven  the  creater  to  leeward,  and  he  begins  to  find  him- 
self in  shoal  water.  He's  been  sleeping,  while  he  should  have 
been  working  to  windward  !" 

"  The  fellow  takes  it  coolly,  too !  he's  in  no  hurry  to  get  an 
offing." 

"I  rather  conclude,  sir,"  said  the  cockswain,  rolling  over  his 
tobacco  in  his  mouth  very  composedly,  while  his  little  sunken 
eyes  began  to  twinkle  with  pleasure  at  the  sight,  "  the  gentleman 
has  lost  his  reckoning,  and  don't  know  which  way  to  head,  to  take 
himself  back  into  blue  water." 

"  ;Tis  a  fin  back!"  exclaimed  the  lieutenant;  "he  will  soon 
make  headway,  and  be  off." 

"No,  sir;  'tis  a  right  whale,"  answered  Tom;  "I  saw  his 


1  "  Mr.  Cooper's  character  was  peculiar  and  decided,  creating  strong  attach- 
ments and  equally  strong  dislikes.  There  was  no  neutral  ground  in  his  nature. 
He  had  fixed  opinions,  and  was  bold  and  uncompromising  in  expressing  them. 
He  was  exact  in  his  dealings  and  generous  in  his  disposition.  His  integrity  and 
uprightness  no  one  ever  called  in  question.  He  had  less  fear  of  public  opinion, 
and  more  self-reliance,  than  are  common  in  our  country ;  and  his  courage  and 
truthfulness  were  worthy  of  all  praise.  He  was  an  ardent  patriot,  and  as  ready 
to  defend  his  country  when  in  the  right,  as  to  rebuke  her  when  he  deemed  her  in 
the  wrong.  He  was  affectionate  in  his  domestic  relations,  and  his  home  was  the 
seat  of  a  cordial  and  generous  hospitality." — G.  S.  HlLLARD. 

"  Mr.  Cooper  dined  with  me.  He  was  in  person  solid,  robust,  athletic ;  in  voice, 
manly  ;  in  manner,  earnest,  emphatic,  almost  dictatorial, — with  something  of  self- 
assertion  bordering  on  egotism.  The  first  effect  was  unpleasant,  indeed  repulsive  ; 
but  there  shone  through  all  this  a  frankness  which  excited  confidence,  respect, 
and  at  last  affection." — Goodrich' s  Recollections. 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER. 


317 


spout ;  he  threw  up  a  pair  of  as  pretty  rainbows  as  a  Christian 

would  wish  to  look  at.    He's  a  raal  oil-butt,  that  fellow  I" 
Barnstable  laughed,  and  exclaimed,  in  joyous  tones — 
"  Give  strong  way,  my  hearties  !    There  seems  nothing  better 

to  be  done ;  let  us  have  a  stroke  of  a  harpoon  at  that  impudent 

rascal." 

The  men  shouted  spontaneously,  and  the  old  cockswain  suffered 
his  solemn  visage  to  relax  into  a  small  laugh,  while  the  whale- 
boat  sprang  forward  like  a  courser  for  the  goal.  During  the  few 
minutes  they  were  pulling  towards  their  game,  long  Tom  arose 
from  his  crouching  attitude  in  the  stern  sheets,  and  transferred 
his  huge  frame  to  the  bows  of  the  boat,  where  he  made  such  pre- 
paration to  strike  the  whale  as  the  occasion  required.  The  tub, 
containing  about  half  of  a  whale-line^  was  placed  at  the  feet  of 
Barnstable,  who  had  been  preparing  an  oar  to  steer  with,  in  place 
of  the  rudder,  which  was  unshipped  in  order  that,  if  necessary, 
the  boat  might  be  whirled  round  when  not  advancing. 

Their  approach  was  utterly  unnoticed  by  the  monster  of  the 
deep,  who  continued  to  amuse  himself  with  throwing  the  water 
in  two  circular  spouts  high  into  the  air,  occasionally  flourishing 
the  broad  flukes  of  his  tail  with  graceful  but  terrific  force,  until 
the  hardy  seamen  were  within  a  few  hundred  feet  of  him,  when 
he  suddenly  cast  his  head  downwards,  and,  without  apparent 
effort,  reared  his  immense  body  for  many  feet  above  the  water, 
waving  his  tail  violently,  and  producing  a  whizzing  noise,  that 
sounded  like  the  rushing  of  winds.  The  cockswain  stood  erect, 
poising  his  harpoon,  ready  for  the  blow ;  but,  when  he  beheld  the 
creature  assuming  this  formidable  attitude,  he  waved  his  hand  to 
his  commander,  who  instantly  signed  to  his  men  to  cease  rowing. 
In  this  situation  the  sportsmen  rested  a  few  moments,  while  the 
whale  struck  several  blows  on  the  water  in  rapid  succession,  the 
noise  of  which  re-echoed  along  the  cliffs  like  the  hollow  reports 
of  so  many  cannon.  After  this  wanton  exhibition  of  his  terrible 
strength,  the  monster  sunk  again  into  his  native  element,  and 
slowly  disappeared  from  the  eyes  of  his  pursuers. 

"  Which  way  did  he  head,  Tom  V  cried  Barnstable,  the  moment 
the  whale  was  out  of  sight. 

"  Pretty  much  up  and  down,  sir,"  returned  the  cockswain, 
whose  eye  Was  gradually  brightening  with  the  excitement  of  the 
sport;  "he'll  soon  run  his  nose  against  the  bottom,  if  he  stands 
long  on  that  course,  and  will  be  glad  to  get  another  snuff  of  pure 
air;  send  her  a  few  fathoms  to  starboard,  sir,  and  I  promise  we 
shall  not  be  out  of  his  track." 

The  conjecture  of  the  experienced  old  seaman  proved  true,  for 
in  a  few  minutes  the  water  broke  near  them,  and  another  spout 
was  cast  into  the  air,  w'len  the  huge  animal  rushed  for  half  his 

27* 


318 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER. 


length  in  the  same  direction,  and  fell  on  the  sea  with  a  turbulence 
and  foam  equal  to  that  which  is  produced  by  the  launching  of  a 
vessel,  for  the  first  time,  into  its  proper  element.  After  this 
evolution,  the  whale  rolled  heavily,  and  seemed  to  rest  from  fur- 
ther efforts. 

His  slightest  movements  were  closely  watched  by  Barnstable 
and  his  cockswain,  and,  when  he  was  in  a  state  of  comparative 
rest,  the  former  gave  a  signal  to  his  crew  to  ply  their  oars  once . 
more.  A  few  long  and  vigorous  strokes  sent  the  boat  directly 
up  to  the  broadside  of  the  whale,  with  its  bows  pointing  towards 
one  of  the  fins,  which  was,  at  times,  as  the  animal  yielded  slug- 
gishly to  the  action  of  the  waves,  exposed  to  view.  The  cock- 
swain poised  his  harpoon  with  much  precision,  and  then  darted  it 
from  him  with  a  violence  that  buried  the  iron  in  the  body  of  their 
foe.  The  instant  the  blow  was  made,  long  Tom  shouted,  with 
singular  earnestness, — 

"  Starn  all  !" 

"  Stern  all  V  echoed  Barnstable;  when  the  obedient  seamen,  by 
united  efforts,  forced  the  boat  in  a  backward  direction,  beyond  the 
reach  of  any  blow  from  their  formidable  antagonist.  The  alarmed 
animal,  however,  meditated  no  such  resistance ;  ignorant  of  his 
own  power,  and  of  the  insignificance  of  his  enemies,  he  sought 
refuge  in  flight.  One  moment  of  stupid  surprise  succeeded  the 
entrance  of  the  iron,  when  he  cast  his  huge  tail  into  the  air  with 
a  violence  that  threw  the  sea  around  him  into  increased  commo- 
tion, and  then  disappeared,  with  the  quickness  of  lightning,  amid 
a  cloud  of  foam. 

"Snub  him!"  shouted  Barnstable;  "hold  on,  Tom;  he  rises 
already." 

"  Ay,  ay 3  sir,"  replied  the  composed  cockswain,  seizing  the  line, 
which  was  running  out  of  the  boat  with  a  velocity  that  rendered 
such  a  manoeuvre  rather  hazardous,  and  causing  it  to  yield  more 
gradually  round  the  large  loggerhead,  that  was  placed  in  the  bows 
of  the  boat  for  that  purpose.  Presently  the  line  stretched  for- 
ward, and,  rising  to  the  surface  with  tremulous  vibrations,  it  indi- 
cated the  direction  in  which  the  animal  might  be  expected  to  re- 
appear. Barnstable  had  cast  the  bows  of  the  boat  towards  that 
point,  before  the  terrified  and  wounded  victim  rose  once  more  to 
the  surface,  whose  time  was,  however,  no  longer  wasted  in  his 
sports,  but  who  cast  the  waters  aside  as  he  forced  his  way,  with 
prodigious  velocity,  along  their  surface.  The  boat  was  dragged 
violently  in  his  wake,  and  cut  through  the  billows  with  a  terrifis 
rapidity,  that  at  moments  appeared  to  bury  the  slight  fabric  in  the 
ocean.  When  long  Tom  beheld  his  victim  throwing  his  spouts  on 
high  again,  he  pointed  with  exultation  to  the  jetting  fluid,  which 
was  streaked  with  the  deep  red  of  blood,  and  cried, — 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER. 


319 


"  Ay,  I've  touched  the  fellow's  life  !  It  must  be  more  than  two 
foot  of  blubber  that  stops  my  iron  from  reaching  the  life  of  any 
whale  that  ever  sculled  the  ocean." 

"  I  believe  you  have  saved  yourself  the  trouble  of  using  the 
bayonet  you  have  rigged  for  a  lance,"  said  his  commander,  who 
entered  into  the  sport  with  all  the  ardor  of  one  whose  youth  had 
been  chiefly  passed  in  such  pursuits;  "feel  your  line;  Master 
Coffin ;  can  we  haul  alongside  of  our  enemy  ?  I  like  not  the 
course  he  is  steering,  as  he  tows  us  from  the  schooner." 

"'Tis  the  creater's  way,  sir,"  said  the  cockswain;  "you  know 
they  need  the  air  in  their  nostrils  when  they  run,  the  same  as  a 
man ;  but  lay  hold,  boys,  and  let  us  haul  up  to  him." 

The  seamen  now  seized  their  whale-line,  and  slowly  drew  their 
boat  to  within  a  few  feet  of  the  tail  of  the  fish,  whose  progress 
became  sensibly  less  rapid  as  he  grew  weak  with  the  loss  of  blood. 
In  a  few  minutes  he  stopped  running,  and  appeared  to  roll  un- 
easily on  the  water,  as  if  suffering  the  agony  of  death. 

"  Shall  we  pull  in  and  finish  him,  Tom  V*  cried  Barnstable ;  "  a 
few  sets  from  your  bayonet  would  do  it." 

The  cockswain  stood  examining  his  game  with  cool  discretion, 
and  replied  to  this  interrogatory, — 

"  No,  sir,  no;  he's  going  into  his  flurry;  there's  no  occasion  for 
disgracing  ourselves  by  using  a  soldier's  weapon  in  taking  a  whale. 
Starn  off",  sir,  starn  off !  the  creater's  in  his  flurry." 

The  warning  of  the  prudent  cockswain  was  promptly  obeyed, 
and  the  boat  cautiously  drew  off  to  a  distance,  leaving  to  the 
animal  a  clear  space  while  under  its  dying  agonies.  From  a  state 
of  perfect  rest,  the  terrible  monster  threw  its  tail  on  high  as  when 
in  sport,  but  its  blows  were  trebled  in  rapidity  and  violence,  till 
all  was  hid  from  view  by  a  pyramid  of  foam,  that  was  deeply 
dyed  with  blood.  The  roarings  of  the  fish  were  like  the  bellow- 
ings  of  a  herd  of  bulls,  and,  to  one  who  was  ignorant  of  the  fact, 
it  would  have  appeared  as  if  a  thousand  monsters  were  engaged 
in  deadly  combat  behind  the  bloody  mist  that  obstructed  the 
view.  Gradually  these  efforts  subsided,  and,  when  the  discolored 
water  again  settled  down  to  the  long  and  regular  swell  of  the 
ocean,  the  fish  was  seen  exhausted,  and  yielding  passively  to  its 
fate.  As  life  departed,  the  enormous  black  mass  rolled  to  one 
side ;  and  when  the  white  and  glistening  skin  of  the  belly 
became  apparent,  the  seamen  well  knew  that  their  victory  was 
achieved. 

THE  WRECK  OF  THE  ARIEL. 

"  Go,  my  boys,  go,"  said  Barnstable,  as  the  moment  of  dreadful 
uncertainty  passed;  "you  have  still  the  whale-boat,  and  she,  at 
least,  will  take  you  nigh  the  shore ;  go  into  her,  my  boys ;  God 


320 


JAMES  FEXIMORE  COOPER. 


bless  you,  God  bless  you  all;  you  have  been  faithful  and  honest 
fellows,  and  I  believe  he  will  not  yet  desert  you ;  go,  my  friends, 
while  there  is  a  lull." 

The  seamen  threw  themselves,  in  a  mass  of  human  bodies,  into 
the  light  vessel,  which  nearly  sunk  under  the  unusual  burden ; 
but  when  they  looked  around  them,  Barnstable,  and  Merry,  Dil- 
lon, and  the  cockswain,  were  yet  to  be  seen  on  the  decks  of  the 
Ariel.  The  former  was  pacing,  in  deep  and  perhaps  bitter  melan- . 
choly,  the  wet  planks  of  the  schooner,  while  the  boy  hung,  un- 
heeded, on  his  arm,  uttering  disregarded  petitions  to  his  com- 
mander to  desert  the  wreck.  Dillon  approached  the  side  where 
the  boat  lay,  again  and  again  j  but  the  threatening  countenances 
of  the  seamen  as  often  drove  him  back  in  despair.  Tom  had 
seated  himself  on  the  heel  of  the  bowsprit,  where  he  continued,  in 
an  attitude  of  quiet  resignation,  returning  no  other  answers  to  the 
loud  and  repeated  calls  of  his  shipmates,  than  by  waving  his  hand 
towards  the  shore. 

"  Now,  hear  me,"  said  the  boy,  urging  his  request  to  tears : 
"  if  not  for  my  sake,  or  for  your  own  sake,  Mr.  Barnstable,  or  for 
the  hopes  of  God's  mercy,  go  into  the  boat,  for  the  love  of  my 
cousin  Katherine." 

The  young  lieutenant  paused  in  his  troubled  walk,  and,  for  a 
moment,  he  cast  a  glance  of  hesitation  at  the  cliffs;  but,  at 
the  next  instant,  his  eyes  fell  on  the  ruin  of  his  vessel,  and  he 
answered, — 

"  Never,  boy,  never  :  if  my  hour  has  come,  I  will  not  shrink 
from  my  fate." 

"  Listen  to  the  men,  dear  sir :  the  boat  will  be  swamped  along- 
side the  wreck,  and  their  cry  is,  that  without  you  they  will  not  let 
her  go." 

Barnstable  motioned  to  the  boat,  to  bid  the  boy  enter  it,  and 
-urned  away  in  silence. 

"  Well,"  said  Merry,  with  firmness,  "if  it  be  right  that  a  lieu- 
tenant shall  stay  by  the  wreck,  it  must  also  be  right  for  a  mid- 
shipman. Shove  off :  neither  Mr.  Barnstable  nor  myself  will  quit 
the  vessel." 

"  Boy,  your  life  has  been  intrusted  to  my  keeping,  and  at  my 
hands  will  it  be  required,"  said  his  commander,  lifting  the 
struggling  youth,  and  tossing  him  into  the  arms  of  the  seamen. 
"  Away  with  ye,  and  God  be  with  you  :  there  is  more  weight  in 
you  now  than  can  go  safe  to  land." 

Still,  the  seamen  hesitated ;  for  they  perceived  the  cockswain 
moving,  with  a  steady  tread,  along  the  deck,  and  they  hoped  he 
had  relented,  and  would  yet  persuade  the  lieutenant  to  join  h\> 
crew.  But  Tom,  imitating  the  example  of  his  commander,  seized 
the  latter,  suddenly,  in  his  powerful  grasp,  and  threw  him  over 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER. 


321 


the  bulwarks  with  an  irresistible  force.  At  the  same  moment,  he 
cast  the  fast  of  the  boat  from  the  pin  that  held  it,  and,  lifting  his 
broad  hands  high  into  the  air,  his  voice  was  heard  in  the  tempest. 

"  God's  will  be  done  with  me  I"  he  cried.  "  I  saw  the  first 
timber  of  the  Ariel  laid,  and  shall  live  just  long  enough  to  see  it 
turn  out  of  her  bottom ;  after  which  I  wish  to  live  no  longer." 

But  his  shipmates  were  swept  far  beyond  the  sounds  of  his 
voice  before  half  these  words  were  uttered.  All  command  of  the 
boat  was  rendered  impossible,  by  the  numbers  it  contained,  as  well 
as  the  raging  of  the  surf;  and,  as  it  rose  on  the  white  crest  of  a 
wave,  Tom  saw  his  beloved  little  craft  for  the  last  time  :  it  fell 
into  a  trough  of  the  sea,  and  in  a  few  moments  more  its  fragments 
were  ground  into  splinters  on  the  adjacent  rocks.  The  cockswain 
still  remained  where  he  had  cast  off  the  rope,  and  beheld  the 
numerous  heads  and  arms  that  appeared  rising,  at  short  intervals, 
on  the  waves;  some  making  powerful  and  well-directed  efforts  to 
gain  the  sands,  that  were  becoming  visible  as  the  tide  fell,  and 
others  wildly  tossed  in  the  frantic  movements  of  helpless  despair. 
The  honest  old  seaman  gave  a  cry  of  joy,  as  he  saw  Barnstable 
issue  from  the  surf,  bearing  the  form  of  Merry  in  safety  to  the 
sands,  where,  one  by  one,  several  seamen  soon  appeared  also, 
dripping  and  exhausted.  Many  others  of  the  crew  were  carried, 
in  a  similar  manner,  to  places  of  safety ;  though,  as  Tom  returned 
to  his  seat  on  the  bowsprit,  he  could  not  conceal  from  his  reluctant 
eyes  the  lifeless  forms  that  were,  in  other  spots,  driven  against  the 
rocks,  with  a  fury  that  soon  left  them  but  few  of  the  outward 
vestiges  of  humanity. 

Dillon  and  the  cockswain  were  now  the  sole  occupants  of  their 
dreadful  station.  The  former  stood,  in  a  kind  of  stupid  despair, 
a  witness  of  the  scene  we  have  related ;  but,  as  his  curdled  blood 
began  again  to  flow  more  warmly  through  his  heart,  he  crept 
close  to  the  side  of  Tom,  with  that  sort  of  selfish  feeling  that 
makes  even  hopeless  misery  more  tolerable,  when  endured  in 
participation  with  another. 

"  When  the  tide  falls,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  betrayed  the 
agony  of  fear,  though  his  words  expressed  the  renewal  of  hope, 
"  we  shall  be  able  to  walk  to  land." 

"  There  was  One,  and  only  One,  to  whose  feet  the  waters  were 
the  same  as  a  dry  deck,"  returned  the  cockswain;  "  and  none  but 
such  as  have  this  power  will  ever  be  able  to  walk  from  these  rocks 
to  the  sands."  The  old  seaman  paused,  and,  turning  his  eyes, 
which  exhibited  a  mingled  expression  of  disgust  and  compassion, 
on  his  companion,  he  added,  with  reverence,  "  Had  you  thought 
more  of  him  in  fair  weather,  your  case  would  be  less  to  be  pitied 
in  this  tempest !" 

"  Do  you  still  think  there  is  much  danger  ?"  asked  Dillon. 


322 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER. 


"  To  them  that  have  reason  to  fear  death.    Listen  !    Do  you 
hear  that  hollow  noise  beneath  ye  V1 
"'Tis  the  -wind  driving  by  the  vessel." 

"'Tis  the  poor  thing  herself,"  said  the  affected  cockswain, 
"  giving  her  last  groans.  The  water  is  breaking  up  her  decks, 
and,  in  a  few  minutes  more,  the  handsomest  model  that  ever 
cut  a  wave  will  be  like  the  chips  that  fell  from  her  timbers  in 
framing !" 

"  Why,  then,  did  you  remain  here  ?"  cried  Dillon,  wildly. 

"  To  die  in  my  coffin,  if  it  should  be  the  will  of  God,"  returned 
Tom.  u  These  waves  to  me  are  what  the  land  is  to  you:  I  was 
born  on  them,  and  I  have  always  meant  that  they  should  be  my 
grave." 

"  But  I — I,"  shrieked  Dillon,  "  I  am  not  ready  to  die  ! — I  can- 
not die  ! — I  will  not  die  !" 

"Poor  wretch  !"  muttered  his  companion,  "you  must  go,  like 
the  rest  of  us :  when  the  death-watch  is  called,  none  can  skulk 
from  the  muster." 

"  I  can  swim,"  Dillon  continued,  rushing  with  frantic  eager- 
ness to  the  side  of  the  wreck.  "  Is  there  no  billet  of  wood,  no 
rope,  that  I  can  take  with  me  ?" 

"  None  :  every  thing  has  been  cut  away,  or  carried  off  by  the 
sea.  If  ye  are  about  to  strive  for  your  life,  take  with  ye  a  stout 
heart  and  a  clean  conscience,  and  trust  the  rest  to  God  I" 

"  God  I"  echoed  Dillon,  in  the  madness  of  his  frenzy  :  "  I  know 
no  God  !  there  is  no  God  that  knows  me  !" 

"  Peace  !"  said  the  deep  tones  of  the  cockswain,  in  a  voice  that 
seemed  to  speak  in  the  elements ;  "  blasphemer,  peace  !" 

The  heavy  groaning,  produced  by  the  water,  in  the  timbers  of 
the  Ariel,  at  that  moment,  added  its  impulse  to  the  raging  feelings 
of  Dillon,  and  he  cast  himself  headlong  into  the  sea. 

The  water,  thrown  by  the  rolling  of  the  surf  on  the  beach,  was 
necessarily  returned  to  the  ocean,  in  eddies,  in  different  places, 
favorable  to  such  an  action  of  the  element.  Into  the  edge  of  one 
of  these  counter-currents,  that  was  produced  by  the  very  rocks  on 
which  the  schooner  lay,  and  which  the  watermen  call  the  "  under- 
tow," Dillon  had,  unknowingly,  thrown  his  person  ;  and  when  the 
waves  had  driven  him  a  short  distance  from  the  wreck,  he  was 
met  by  a  stream  that  his  most  desperate  efforts  could  not  over- 
come. He  was  a  light  and  powerful  swimmer,  and  the  struggle 
was  hard  and  protracted.  With  the  shore  immediately  before  his 
eyes,  and  at  no  great  distance,  he  was  led,  as  by  a  false  phantom, 
to  continue  his  efforts,  although  they  did  not  advance  him  a  foot. 
The  old  seaman,  who,  at  first,  had  watched  his  motions  with  care- 
less indifference,  understood  the  danger  of  his  situation  at  a 
glance;  and,  forgetful  of  his  own  fate,  he  shouted  aloud,  in  a 


JAMES  A.  HILLHOUSE. 


323 


voice  that  was  driven  over  the  struggling  victim,  to  the  ears  of 
his  shipmates  on  the  sands, — 

"  Sheer  to  port,  and  clear  the  under-tow !  sheer  to  the  south- 
ward !" 

Dillon  heard  the  sounds,  but  his  faculties  were  too  much  ob- 
scured by  terror  to  distinguish  their  object;  he,  however,  blindly 
yielded  to  the  call,  and  gradually  changed  his  direction,  until  his 
face  was  once  more  turned  towards  the  vessel.  The  current  swept 
him  diagonally  by  the  rocks,  and  he  was  forced  into  an  eddy 
where  he  had  nothing  to  contend  against  but  the  waves,  whosi 
violence  was  much  broken  by  the  wreck.  In  this  state  he  con 
tinued  still  to  struggle,  but  with  a  force  that  was  too  much 
weakened  to  overcome  the  resistance  he  met.  Tom  looked  around 
him  for  a  rope,  but  not  one  presented  itself  to  his  hands :  all  had 
gone  over  with  the  spars,  or  been  swept  away  by  the  waves.  At 
this  moment  of  disappointment,  his  eyes  met  those  of  the  despe- 
rate Dillon.  Calm,  and  inured  to  horrors,  as  was  the  veteran  sea- 
man, he  involuntarily  passed  his  hand  before  his  brow,  as  if  to 
exclude  the  look  of  despair  he  encountered;  and  when,  a  moment 
afterwards,  he  removed  the  rigid  member,  he  beheld  the  sinking 
form  of  the  victim,  as  it  gradually  settled  in  the  ocean,  still 
struggling,  with  regular  but  impotent  strokes  of  the  arms  and 
feet,  to  gain  the  wreck,  and  to  preserve  an  existence  that  had 
been  so  much  abused  in  its  hour  of  allotted  probation. 

"  He  will  soon  know  his  Grod,  and  learn  that  his  God  knows 
him  !"  murmured  the  cockswain  to  himself.  As  he  yet  spoke,  the 
wreck  of  the  Ariel  yielded  to  an  overwhelming  sea,  ana,  after  a 
universal  shudder,  her  timbers  and  planks  gave  way,  and  were 
swept  towards  the  cliffs,  bearing  the  body  of  the  simple-hearted 
cockswain  among  the  ruins. 


JAMES  A.  HILLHOUSE,  17S9— 1841. 

"Hillhouse,  whose  music,  like  his  themes, 
Lifts  earth  to  heaven. — whose  poet-dreams 
Are  pure  and  holy  as  the  hymn 
Echoed  from  harps  of  seraphim 
By  bard>  that  drank  at  Zion's  fountains 

When  glory,  p  'ace.  and  hope  were  hers. 
And  beautiful  upon  the  mountains 

The  fjet  of  angel-messengers." — Halleck. 

The  Hillhouse  family  held  a  high  social  position  in  Deny,  Ireland,  and  one  of 
the  members  emigrated  to  America  and  settled  in  Connecticut  in  1720.  The 
father  of  the  poet,  Hon.  James  Hillhouse,  who  died  in  1833,  filled  various  offices 
in  his  native  State,  and  was  for  many  years  a  leading  member  of  Congress. 

The  subject  of  the  present  sketch  wa-  born  in  New  Haven,  on  the  26th  of 


324 


JAMES  A.  HILLHOUSE. 


September,  1789.  At  the  age  of  fifteen,  he  entered  Yale  College,  and  graduated 
in  1S08,  with  a  high  reputation  for  scholarship.  At  the  Commencement  of  1812, 
he  delivered  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  a  descriptive  poem,  entitled  The 
Judgment,  which  gained  him  high  reputation.  It  is  in  the  form  of  a  "vision," 
and  is  designed  to  represent  the  fearful  events  of  the  great  day  of  final  retribution.1 

In  1820,  he  published  Percy's  Masque,  a  Drama  in  Five  Acts,  founded  upon  the 
ballad  of  "The  Hermit  of  Warkwortk,"  by  Bishop  Percy.  In  1822,  he  was  mar- 
ried to  Cornelia  Lawrence,  daughter  of  Isaac  Lawrence,  Esq.,  of  New  York,  and 
took  up  his  residence  in  New  Haven,  at  "Sachem's  Wood,"  the  name  of  his  beau- 
tiful seat, — occupied  with  the  pursuits  of  a  man  of  taste  and  fortune. 

During  the  year  1821,  Hadad,  a  Dramatic  Poem,  was  written,  and  the  next 
year  was  committed  to  the  press.  It  is  based  upon  the  belief  in  a  former  intercourse 
between  mankind  and  the  good  and  evil  beings  of  the  spiritual  world,  and  the 
scene  is  laid  in  Judea,  in  the  time  of  King  David.  Hadad,  a  Syrian  prince,  is  in 
Jerusalem,  and  falls  in  love  with  Tamar,  the  sister  of  Absalom ;  but  she  will 
give  no  encouragement  to  him  unless  he  renounce  his  heathenism  and  conform 
to  the  Jewish  worship.  This  is  generally  considered  the  most  finished  of  hi? 
productions.2  In  1839,  he  published,  in  Boston,  in  two  volumes,  all  the  above- 
mentioned  poems,  with  Demetrio,  a  Tragedy  in  Fire  Acts,  founded  on  an  Italiau 
tale  of  love,  jealous}-,  and  revenge ;  and  Sachem's  Wood,  together  with  several 
orations  wrhieh  he  had  delivered  on  public  occasions. 

For  some  time  previous  to  this,  the  health  of  Mr.  Hillhouse  had  been  failing, 
and  in  the  autumn  of  1840  he  left  home,  for  the  last  time,  to  visit  his  friends  ii$ 
Boston.  He  returned  somewhat  benefited;  but,  on  the  second  day  of  the  follow- 
ing January,  his  disorder  assumed  an  alarming  form,  which  terminated  fatally  on 
the  evening  of  the  fourth  of  that  month.3 

h 

SCENE  FROM  HADAD. 

The  garden  of  Absalom's  house  on  Mount  Zion,  near  the  palace,  overlooking  the  city. 
Tamar  sitting  by  a  fountain.    [Enter  Hadad.] 

Had.    Delicious  to  behold*the  world  at  rest. 
Meek  Labor  wipes  his  brow,  and  intermits 
The  curse,  to  clasp  the  younglings  of  his  cot ; 
Herdsmen  and  shepherds  fold  their  flocks — and,  hark  ! 
What  merry  strains  they  send  from  Olivet! 
The  jar  of  life  is  still;  the  city  speaks 


1  "  In  Hadad  and  The  Judgment  bis  scriptural  erudition  and  deep  perceptions 
of  the  Jewish  character,  and  his  sense  of  religious  truth,  are  evinced  in  the  most 
carefully-finished  and  nobly-conceived  writings." — H.  T.  Tuckerman. 

2  "  Hillhouse's  dramatic  and  other  pieces  are  the  first  instances,  in  this  country, 
of  artistic  skill  in  the  higher  and  more  elaborate  spheres  of  poetic  writing.  He 
possessed  the  scholarship,  the  leisure,  the  dignity  of  taste,  and  the  noble  sym- 
pathy requisite  thus  '  to  build  the  loft}-  rhyme ;'  and  his  volumes,  though  unattract- 
ive to  the  mass  of  readers,  have  a  permanent  interest  and  value  to  the  refined, 
the  aspiring,  and  the  disciplined  mind." — II.  T.  Tuckerman. 

3  Bead  criticisms  upon  his  writings  in  the  "  North  American  Review,"  January, 
1826,  by  F.  W.  P.  Greenwood,  and  January,  1840,  by  John  G.  Palfrey;  also,  tlie 
leading  article  in  the  "New  Englander,"  November,  1858,  by  H.  T.  Tuckerman. 


JAMES  A.  HILLHOUSE. 


325 


In  gentle  murmurs ;  voices  chime  with  lutes 
Waked  in  the  streets  and  gardens  ;  loving  pairs 
Eye  the  red  west,  in  one  another's  arms  ; 
And  nature,  breathing  dew  and  fragrance,  yields 
A  glimpse  of  happiness,  which  He,  who  form'd 
Earth  and  the  stars,  had  power  to  make  eternal. 

Tarn.  Ah,  Hadad,  meanest  thou  to  reproach  the  Friend 
"Who  gave  so  much,  because  he  gave  not  all  ? 

Had.    Perfect  benevolence,  methinks,  had  will'd 
Unceasing  happiness,  and  peace,  and  joy ; 
Fill'd  the  whole  uuiverse  of  human  hearts 
With  pleasure,  like  a  flowing  spring  of  life. 

Tarn.    Our  Prophet  teaches  so,  till  man  rebell'd. 

Had.    Mighty  rebellion  !    Had  he  'leagured  heaven 
With  beings  powerful,  numberless,  and  dreadful, 
►Strong  as  the  enginery  that  rocks  the  world 
When  all  its  pillars  tremble ;  mix'd  the  tires 
Of  onset  with  annihilating  bolts 
Defensive  volley'd  from  the  throne;  this,  this 
Had  been  rebellion  worthy  of  the  name, 
Worthy  of  punishment.    But  what  did  man? 
Tasted  an  apple  !  and  the  fragile  scene, 
Eden,  and  innocence,  and  human  bliss, 
The  nectar-flowing  streams,  life-giving  fruits, 
Celestial  shades,  and  amaranthine  flowers, 
Vanish ;  and  sorrow,  toil,  and  pain,  and  death, 
Cleave  to  him  by  an  everlasting  curse. 

Tarn.    Ah!  talk  not  thus. 

Had.    Is  this  benevolence  ? — 
Nay,  loveliest,  these  things  sometimes  trouble  me ; 
For  I  was  tutor'd  in  a  brighter  faith. 
Our  Syrians  deem  each  lucid  fount,  and  stream, 
Forest,  and  mountain,  glade,  and  bosky  dell, 
Peopled  with  kind  divinities,  the  friends 
Of  man,  a  spiritual  race,  allied 
To  him  by  many  sympathies,  who  seek 
His  happiness,  inspire  him  with  gay  thoughts, 
Cool  with  their  waves,  and  fan  him  with  their  airs. 
O'er  them,  the  Spirit  of  the  Universe, 
Or  Soul  of  Nature,  circumfuses  all 
With  mild,  benevolent,  and  sunlike  radiance  ; 
Pervading,  warming,  vivifying  earth, 
As  spirit  does  the  body,  till  green  herbs, 
And  beauteous  flowers,  and  branchy  cedars  rise; 
And  shooting  stellar  influence  through  her  caves ; 
Whence  minerals  and  gems  imbibe  their  lustre. 

Tarn.    Dreams,  Hadad,  empty  dreams. 

Had.    These  deities 
They  invocate  with  cheerful,  gentle  rites, 
Hang  garlands  on  their  altars,  heap  their  shrines 
With  Nature's  bounties,  fruits,  and  fragrant  flowers. 
Not  like  yon  gory  mouut  that  ever  reeks — 

Tarn.    Cast  not  reproach  upon  the  holy  altar. 

Had.    Nay,  sweet. — Having  enjoy 'd  all  pleasures  here 
That  Nature  prompts,  but  chieflv  blissful  love, 
28 


326  JAMES  A.  HILLHOUSE. 

At  death,  the  happy  Syrian  maiden  deems 

Her  immatei-ial  flies  into  the  fields, 

Or  circumambient  clouds,  or  crystal  brooks, 

And  dwells,  a  Deity,  with  those  she  worshipp'd, 

Till  time  or  fate  return  her  in  its  course 

To  quaff,  once  more,  the  cup  of  human  joy. 

Tarn.    But  thou  believ'st  not  this  ? 

Had.    I  almost  wish 
Thou  didst ;  for  I  have  fear'd,  my  gentle  Tamar, 
Thy  spirit  is  too  tender  for  a  law 
Announced  in  terror,  coupled  with  the  threats 
Of  an  inflexible  and  dreadful  Being. 

Turn.     (In  tears,  clasping  her  hands.) 
Witness,  ye  heavens  !    Eternal  Father,  witness ! 
Blest  God  of  Jacob  !  Maker !  Friend,  Preserver ! 
That,  with  my  heart,  my  undivided  soul, 
I  love,  adore,  and  praise  thy  glorious  name, 
Confess  thee  Lord  of  all,  believe  thy  laws 
Wise,  just,  and  merciful,  as  they  are  true. 

0  Hadad,  Hadad!  you  misconstrue  much 
The  sadness  that  usurps  me:  'tis  for  thee 

1  grieve — for  hopes  that  fade — for  your  lost  soul, 
And  my  lost  happiness. 

Had.    0  say  not  so, 
Beloved  princess.    Why  distrust  my  faith  ? 

Tarn.    Thou  know'st,  alas !  my  weakness  ;  but  remember, 
I  never,  never  will  be  thine,  although 
The  feast,  the  blessing,  and  the  song  were  past, 
Though  Absalom  and  David  called  me  bride, 
Till  sure  thou  own'st,  with  truth  and  love  sincere, 
The  Lord  Jehovah. 

HADAD's  DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  CITY  OF  DAVID. 

'Tis  so  ; — the  hoary  harper  sings  aright ; 
How  beautiful  is  Zion ! — Like  a  queen, 
Arm'd  with  a  helm,  in  virgin  loveliness, 
Her  heaving  bosom  in  a  bossy  cuirass, 
She  sits  aloft,  begirt  with  battlements 
And  bulwarks  swelling  from  the  rock,  to  guard 
The  sacred  courts,  pavilions,  palaces, 
Soft  gleaming  through  the  umbrage  of  the  woods, 
Which  tuft  her  summit,  and,  like  raven  tresses, 
Wave  their  dark  beauty  round  the  tower  of  David. 
Resplendent  with  a  thousand  golden  bucklers, 
The  embrasures  of  alabaster  shine; 
Hail'd  by  the  pilgrims  of  the  desert,  bound 
To  Judah's  mart  with  orient  merchandise. 
But  not,  for  thou  art  fair  and  turret-crown'd, 
Wet  with  the  choicest  dew  of  heaven,  and  bless'd 
With  golden  fruits,  and  gales  of  frankincense, 
Dwell  I  beneath  thine  ample  curtains.  Here, 
Where  saints  and  prophets  teach,  where  the  stern  law 
Still  speaks  in  thunder,  where  chief  angels  watch, 
And  where  the  Glory  hovers,  here  I  war. 


JAMES  A.  IIILLIIOUSE. 


327 


HOW  PATERNAL  WEALTH  SHOULD  BE  EMPLOYED. 

The  mischievous,  and  truly  American  notion,  that,  to  enjoy  a 
respectable  position,  every  man  must  traffic,  or  preach,  or  practise, 
or  hold  an  office,  brings  to  beggary  and  infamy  many  who  might 
have  lived,  under  a  justcr  estimate  of  things,  usefully  and  happily; 
and  cuts  us  off  from  a  needful,  as  well  as  ornamental  portion  of 
society.  The  necessity  of  laboring  for  sustenance  is,  indeed,  the 
great  safeguard  of  the  world,  the  ballast,  without  which  the  wild 
passions  of  men  would  bring  communities  to  speedy  wreck.  But 
man  will  not  labor  without  a  motive  ;  and  successful  accumulation, 
on  the  part  of  the  parent,  deprives  the  son  of  this  impulse.  In- 
stead, then,  of  vainly  contending  against  laws  as  insurmountable 
as  those  of  physics,  and  attempting  to  drive  their  children  into 
lucrative  industry,  why  do  not  men,  who  have  made  themselves 
opulent,  open  their  eyes,  at  once,  to  the  glaring  fact,  that  the  cause 
— the  cause  itself — which  braced  their  own  nerves  to  the  struggle 
for  fortune,  does  not  exist  for  their  offspring  ?  The  father  has 
taken  from  his  son  his  motive  ! — a  motive  confessedly  important 
to  happiness  and  virtue,  in  the  present  state  of  things.  He  is 
bound,  therefore,  by  every  consideration  of  prudence  and  human- 
ity, neither  to  attempt  to  drag  him  forward  without  a  cheering, 
animating  principle  of  action — nor  recklessly  to  abandon  him  to  his 
own  guidance — nor  to  poison  him  with  the  love  of  lucre  for  itself; 
but,  under  new  circumstances,  with  new  prospects,  at  a  totally 
difFerent  starting-place  'from  his  own,  to  supply  other  motives — 
drawn  from  our  sensibility  to  reputation,  from  our  natural  desire 
to  know,  from  an  enlarged  view  of  our  capacities  and  enjoyments, 
and  a  more  high  and  liberal  estimate  of  our  relations  to  society. 
Fearful,  indeed,  is  the  responsibility  of  leaving  youth,  without 
mental  resources,  to  the  temptations  of  splendid  idleness  !  Men 
who  have  not  considered  this  subject,  while  the  objects  of  their 
affection  yet  surround  their  table,  drop  no  seeds  of  generous  sen- 
timents, animate  them  with  no  discourse  on  the  beauty  of  dis- 
interestedness, the  paramount  value  of  the  mind,  and  the  dignity 
of  that  renown  which  is  the  echo  of  illustrious  actions.  Absorbed 
in  one  pursuit,  their  morning  precept,  their  mid-day  example,  and 
their  evening  moral,  too  often  conspire  to  teach  a  single  maxim, 
and  that  in  direct  contradiction  of  the  inculcation,  so  often  and  so 
variously  repeated  :  "  It  is  better  to  get  wisdom  than  gold."  Right 
views,  a  careful  choice  of  agents,  and  the  delegation,  betimes,  of 
strict  authority,  would  insure  the  object.  Only  let  the  parent 
feel,  and  the  son  be  early  taught,  that,  with  the  command  of 
money  and  leisure,  to  enter  on  manhood  without  having  mastered 
every  attainable  accomplishment,  is  more  disgraceful  than  thread- 
bare garments,  and  we  might  have  the  happiness  to  see  in  the 


328 


WILLIAM  JAY. 


inheritors  of  paternal  wealth,  less  frequently,  idle,  ignorant  prodi- 
gals and  heart-breakers,  and  more  frequently,  high-minded,  highly- 
educated  young  men,  embellishing,  if  not  called  to  public  trusts, 
a  private  station. 


WILLIAM  JAY,  1789— 1S58. 

William  Jay,  the  son  of  that  wise  statesman  and  able  jurist,  John  Jay,  the 
first  Chief-Justice  of  the  United  States,  was  born  in  the  city  of  New  York,  June 
16,  1789.  In  1807,  he  graduated  at  Yale  College,  and  studied  law  in  Albany, 
but,  through  infirm  health,  never  practised  his  profession,  and  took  up  his  re- 
sidence at  the  paternal  mansion,  in  Bedford,  Westchester  County,  New  York, 
which  he  afterwards  inherited.  In  1812,  he  was  married  to  Augusta  McVickar, 
daughter  of  John  McVickar,  Esq.,  of  New  York, — a  lady  in  whose  character 
were  blended  all  the  Christian  virtues.    She  died  in  April,  1857. 

Soon  after  his  marriage,  Mr.  Jay  was  appointed  First  Judge  of  the  county  of 
Westchester,  and  he  was  continued  upon  the  bench  by  successive  Governors,  of 
opposite  politics,  through  the  varied  changes  of  party,  till  1843.  His  first  appear- 
ance as  a  writer  was  in  his  advocacy  of  the  claims  of  the  American  Bible  Society, 
which  led  him  into  a  controversy  with  Bishop  Hobart,  and  which  excited  great 
attention  at  the  time  from  the  ability  with  which  it  was  conducted.  He  was 
always  a  warm  advocate  of  Sunday-schools,  of  temperance,  and  of  peace,  and  he 
was  for  many  years  the  President  of  the  American  Peace  Society,  for  which  he 
wrote  several  addresses.  In  1833,  he  published,  in  two  volumes,  octavo,  The 
Life  and  Writings  of  John  Jay. 

But  his  distinctive  life-work  was  what  he  did  in  behalf  of  the  Anti-Slavery  cause. 
His  first  publication  upon  this  subject  was  in  1834,  entitled  An  Inquiry  into  the 
Character  and  Tendency  of  the  American  Colonization  and  American  Anti-Slavery 
Societies.  This  was  followed  by  A  View  of  the  Action  of  the  Federal  Government 
in  Behalf  of  Slavery.  Since  that  time,  his  writings  upon  the  subject  have  been 
constant  and  numerous,  as  occasions  and  subjects  arose  upon  which  he  deemed  it 
his  duty  to  let  his  views  be  known.  The  chief  of  the  pamphlets  thus  written 
were  published  in  1853,  in  a  large  duodecimo  of  G70  pages,  entitled  Miscellaneous 
'  Writings  on  Slavery.  All  his  publications  on  this  subject  are  uniformly  charac- 
terized by  the  candor  of  a  philosopher,  the  accuracy  of  a  statesman,  the  courtesy 
of  a  gentleman,  and  the  charity  of  a  Christian.  The  extent  of  his  information 
and  the  correctness  of  his  assertions,  in  all  historical  subjects,  were  alike  re- 
markable. None  of  his  statements  in  his  carefully-written  History  of  the  Jfexiean 
War  have  ever  been  refuted, — a  history  that  will  remain  an  enduring  monument 
to  his  truthfulness  and  faithfulness  in  historic  research,  to  his  unbending  in- 
tegrity, and  to  his  pure  and  elevated  Christian  principles. 

Judge  Jay  died  at  his  residence  in  Bedford,  Westchester  County,  New  York,  on 
the  14th  of  October,  1858,  leaving  an  example  worthy  of  all  imitation.  In  the 
discharge  of  his  judicial  duties  for  thirty  years,  he  showed  himself  the  wise  and 
upright  as  well  as  learned  judge;  while  in  his  private  life  he  was  a  model  of  per- 
sonal excellence, — an  exemplification  of  the  true  Christian  character. 


WILLIAM  JAY. 


320 


PATRIOTISM. 

Counterfeits  imply  an  original.  There  is  such  a  virtue  as 
patriotism,  acknowledged  and  inculcated  by  both  natural  and  re- 
vealed religion ;  and  it  is  but  a  development  of  that  benevolence 
which  springs  from  moral  goodness.  To  do  good  unto  all  men 
as  we  have  opportunity,  is  an  injunction  invested  with  divine 
authority.  Generally,  our  ability  to  do  good  is  confined  to  our 
families,  neighbors,  and  countrymen  j  and  the  natural  promptings 
of  our  hearts  lead  us  to  select  these,  in  preference  to  more  distant 
objects,  for  the  subjects  of  our  kind  offices.  Our  benevolence, 
when  directed,  to  our  countrymen  at  large,  constitutes  patriotism; 
and  its  exercise  is  as  much  controlled  by  the  laws  of  morality  as 
when  confined  to  our  neighbors  or  our  families.  A  voice  from 
heaven  has  forbidden  us  "  to  do  evil  that  good  may  come."  The 
sentiment,  "  Our  country,  right  or  wrong,"  is  as  profligate  and 
impious  as  would  be  the  sentiment,  "  Our  church,  or  our  party, 
right  or  wrong."  If  it  be  rebellion  against  God  to  violate  his 
laws  for  the  benefit  of  one  individual,  however  dear  to  us,  not  less 
sinful  must  it  be  to  commit  a  similar  act  for  the  benefit  of  any 
number  of  individuals.  If  we  may  not,  in  kindness  to  the  high- 
wayman, assist  him  in  robbing  and  murdering  the  traveller,  what 
divine  law  permits  us  to  aid  any  number  of  our  own  countrymen 
in  robbing  and  murdering  other  people  ?  He  who  engages  in  a 
defensive  war,  with  a  full  conviction  of  its  necessity  and  justice, 
may  be  impelled  by  patriotism,  by  a  benevolent  desire  to  save  the 
lives,  and  property,  and  rights  of  his  countrymen.  But,  if  he  be- 
lieves the  war  to  be  one  of  invasion  and  conquest,  and  utterly 
unjust,  by  taking  part  in  it  he  assumes  its  guilt,  and  becomes 
responsible  for  its  crimes. 

JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 

The  American  people  have  by  acclamation  adjudged  John 
Quincy  Adams  a  patriot, — a  judgment  from  which  not  one 
politician  of  any  name  has  dared  to  appeal.  This  judgment  sets 
aside,  condemns,  and  repudiates  almost  every  test  of  patriotism 
prescribed  by  the  demagogues  of  the  day.  It  has  now  been  de- 
cided, by  a  tribunal  which  these  men  admit  to  be  infallible,  that  a 
man  may  be  a  patriot,  nay,  an  "  illustrious  patriot,"  according  to 
the  official  gazette,  who  openly  repudiates  the  sentiment,  "  Our 
country,  right  or  wrong;"1  who,  on  a  question  of  international  law, 


1  In  some  verses  written  by  Mr.  Adams  shortly  before  his  death,  and  entitled 
"  Congress,  Slavery,  and  an  Unjust  War,"  are  these  lines  : — 

"  And  say  not  thou,  '  My  country,  right  or  wrong,' 
Nor  shed  thy  blood  for  an  unhallow'd  cause." 
28* 


330 


WILLIAM  JAY. 


sides  with  a  foreign  government  against  his  own  j  who  gives  "  aid 
and  comfort"  to  the  enemy  by  denouncing  as  unjust  the  war 
waged  against  him,  and  by  striving  to  withhold  supplies  from  the 
army  sent  to  fight  him  ;  who  mourns  over  the  degeneracy  of  his 
country  and  doubts  whether  she  is  to  be  numbered  "  among  the 
first  liberators  or  the  last  oppressors  of  the  race  of  immortal  man  j" 
who,  notwithstanding  all  "the  compromises  of  the  Constitution/' 
denounces  human  bondage  as  a  crime  against  God,  and  proposes 
so  to  change  the  Constitution  as  to  effect  the  immediate  abolition 
of  hereditary  slavery  throughout  the  American  Confederacy,  and, 
pouring  contempt  upon  the  lying  Democracy  of  the  day,  claims  for 
the  black  man  the  same  rights  of  suffrage  that  are  accorded  to  his 
white  fellow-citizen. 

Such  is  the  character  of  a  patriot,  as  established  by  the  latest 
decision  of  the  American  public.  Surely  there  must  have  been 
some  potent  principle  of  action  which  impelled  him  to  pursue  a 
path  so  divergent  from  those  usually  selected  by  political  aspirants, 
— one,  to  all  appearance,  leading  him  far  from  popular  applause, 
and  yet  in  the  end  conducting  him  to  the  very  pinnacle  of  fame. 
There  was  such  a  principle,  and  it  is  shadowed  forth  in  the  moral 
with  which  Mr.  McDowell  "  adorned  his  tale."  "  His  life,"  said 
the  Virginia  eulogist,  "  has  been  a  continuous  and  beautiful  illus- 
tration of  the  great  truth  that,  while  the  fear  of  man  is  the  con- 
summation of  all  folly,  the  fear  of  God  is  the  beginning  of  wis- 
dom."1 Unhappy  it  is  for  our  country,  that  the  reverse  of  this 
truth  forms  the  maxim  by  which  so  many  of  our  public  men 
apparently  govern  their  conduct.  But  what  was  the  secret  of  the 
great  strength  of  this  moral  Samson?  Since  his  death,  certain 
letters  to  his  son  have  been  given  to  the  press,  and  in  these  we 
find  an  answer  to  the  inquiry.  It  appears  that,  while  at  the  court 
of  St.  Petersburg,  in  1811,  he  commenced  a  series  of  letters  to  his 
absent  child,  on  the  study  of  the  Bible, — "  the  divine  revelation," 
as  he  called  it.  In  these  he  remarks,  "  I  have  myself,  for  many 
years,  made  it  a  practice  to  read  through  the  Bible  once  every 
year.  I  have  always  endeavored  to  read  it  with  the  same  spirit 
and  temper  of  mind  which  I  now  recommend  to  you;  that  is, 
with  the  intention  and  desire  that  it  may  contribute  to  my  ad- 
vancement in  wisdom  and  virtue.  My  custom  is,  to  read  four  or 
five  chapters  every  morning,  immediately  after  rising  from  my 
bed.  It  employs  about  half  an  hour  of  my  time,  and  seems  to  me 
the  most  suitable  manner  of  beginning  the  day."  The  following 
advice  to  his  son  seems  both  indicative  of  his  own  future  course, 
and  prophetic  of  its  glorious  termination  : — "  Never  give  way  to 


1  From  the  Eulogy  pronounced  in  the  House  of  Representatives,  by  Hon.  Wil- 
liam McDowell,  of  Virginia. 


WILLIAM  JAY. 


331 


the  pushes  of  impudence,  wrong-headedness,  or  intractability, 
which  would  lead  or  draw  you  aside  from  the  dictates  of  your 
own  conscience  and  your  own  sense  of  right.  Till  you  die,  let 
not  your  integrity  depart  from  you.  Build  your  house  upon  the 
rock,  and  then  let  the  rains  descend,  and  the  flood  come,  and  the 
winds  blow,  and  beat  upon  that  house,  it  shall  not  fall.  So  pro- 
mises your  blessed  Lord  and  Master."  In  a  most  wonderful 
manner  was  this  promise  fulfilled  in  his  own  case,  even  in  the 
present  world.  But  there  is  a  day  approaching  when  the  secrets 
of  all  hearts  shall  be  laid  open,  and  when  every  man  shall  come  to 
judgment.  Then  will  those  who  have  in  this  life  pursued  expe- 
diency in  preference  to  duty,  learn,  when  too  late,  that  "  the 
wisdom  of  this  world  is  foolishness  with  God." 

THE  HIGHER  LAW7.1 

Human  government  is  indispensable  to  the  happiness  and  pro- 
gress of  human  society.  Hence  God,  in  his  wisdom  and  benevo- 
lence, wills  its  existence ;  and  in  this  sense,  and  this  alone,  the 
powers  that  be  are  ordained  by  him.  But  civil  government  can- 
not exist  if  each  individual  may,  at'  his  pleasure,  forcibly  resist 
its  injunctions.  Therefore,  Christians  are  required  to  submit  to 
the  powers  that  be,  whether  a  Nero  or  a  slave-catching  Congress. 
But  obedience  to  the  civil  ruler  often  necessarily  involves-rebel- 
lion  to  God.  Hence  we  are  warned  by  Christ  and  his  apostles, 
and  by  the  example  of  saints  in  all  ages,  in  such  cases,  not  to 
obey,  but  to  submit  and  suffer.  We  are  to  hold  fast  our  allegiance 
to  Jehovah,  but  at  the  same  time  not  to  take  up  arms  to  defend 
ourselves  against  the  penalties  imposed  by  the  magistrate  for  our 
disobedience.  Thus  the  divine  sovereignty  and  the  authority  of 
human  government  are  both  maintained.  Revolution  is  not  the 
abolition  of  human  government,  but  a  change  in  its  form,  and  its 
lawfulness  depends  on  circumstances.  What  was  the  "  den"  in 
which  John  Bunyan  had  his  glorious  vision  of  the  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress"  ?  A  prison  to  which  he  was  confined  for  years  for 
refusing  obedience  to  human  laws.  And  what  excuse  did  this 
holy  man  make  for  conduct  now  denounced  as  wicked  and  rebel- 
lious ?  "I  cannot  obey,  but  I  can  suffer."  The  Quakers  have 
from  the  first  refused  to  obey  the  law  requiring  them  to  bear  arms ; 
yet  have  they  never  been  vilified  by  our  politicians  and  "  cotton 
clergymen"  as  rebels  against  the  powers  that  be,  nor  sneered  at 
for  their  acknowledgment  of  a  "  higher"  than  human  law.  The 


1  From  "A  Letter  to  the  Hon.  Samuel  A.  Elliot,  Representative  in  Congress 
from  the  City  of  Boston,  in  Reply  to  his  Apology  for  Voting  for  the  Fugitive 
Slave  Bill." 


332 


JARED  SPARKS. 


Lord  Jesus  Christ,  after  requiring  us  to  love  God  and  our  neigh- 
bor, added,  "  There  is  none  other  commandment  greater  than 
these no,  not  even  a  slave-catching  act  of  Congress,  which  re- 
quires us  to  hunt  our  neighbor,  that  he  may  be  reduced  to  the 
condition  of  a  beast  of  burden.  Rarely  has  the  religious  faith  of 
the  community  received  so  rude  a  shock  as  that  which  has  been 
given  it  by  your  horrible  law,  and  the  principles  advanced  by  its 
political  and  clerical  supporters.  Cruelty,  oppression,  and  in- 
justice are  elevated  into  virtues;  while  justice,  mercy,  and  com- 
passion are  ridiculed  and  vilified. 


JARED  SPARKS. 

Jaued  Sparks,  whose  name  will  ever  be  inseparably  associated  with  American 
history,  and  who  has  done  so  much  to  hand  down  to  posterity  the  great  names  and 
important  events  of  our  Revolutionary  annals,  was  born  in  Willington,  Conuec- 
ticut,  in  1789.  His  father  was  a  poor  farmer,  and  he  was  apprenticed  to  a  car- 
penter. But  his  innate  love  of  books  was  so  strong  that  he  would  devote  all  his 
leisure  time  to  reading  and  study ;  and,  finding  a  number  of  kind  friends  ready  to 
aid  him  in  his  pursuit  of  knowledge,  he  went,  in  1809,  to  Phillips  Academy, 
Exeter,  New  Hampshire.  He  graduated  at  Harvard  in  1815 ;  was  preceptor  of 
Lancaster  Academy  for  one  year,  and  then  returned  to  Cambridge  to  pursue  his 
theological  studies,  at  the  same  time  discharging  the  duties  of  tutor  in  the  college, 
in  Mathematics  and  Natural  Philosophy. 

On  the  5th  of  May,  1819,  he  was  ordained  over  the  First  Unitarian  Church  in 
Baltimore,  and  for  a  number  of  years  he  wrote  extensively  upon  subjects  of 
theological  controversy,  publishing,  in  1820,  Letters  on  the  Ministry,  Ritual,  and 
Doctrines  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church,  in  reply  to  a  sermon  by  Rev. 
William  E.  Wyatt,  of  St.  Paul's  Church.  About  this  time  he  edited  a  monthly 
periodical,  entitled  The  Unitarian  Miscellany  and  Christian  Monitor.  "While  in 
Baltimore,  he  commenced  the  publication  of  a  Collection  of  Essays  and  Tracts  in 
Theology,  from  Various  Authors,  with  Biographical  and  Critical  Notices ;  com- 
pleted in  Boston,  in  1826,  in  six  volumes.  In  1823  appeared  An  Inquiry  into  the 
Comparative  Moral  Tendency  of  Trinitarian  and  Unitarian  Doctrines,  in  a  scries 
of  Letters  to  Samuel  Miller,  D.D.,  of  Princeton.  The  latter  part  of  that  year  he 
removed  to  Boston,  and  purchased  the  "North  American  Review,"  of  which  he 
became  the  sole  editor,  and  continued  such  till  1S30.  In  1828,  "he  commenced 
that  noble  series  of  volumes  illustrative  of  American  History,  to  which  he  has 
ever  since  devoted  himself,  and  which  have  forever  associated  his  own  name  with 
the  names  of  the  most  illustrious  of  our  countrymen." 

The  first  of  his  historical  works  was  the  Life  of  John  Ledyard,  the  American 
Navigator  and  Traveller,  one  volume,  octavo,  published  in  1828  ;  the  second,  The 
Diplomatic  Correspondence  of  the  American  Revolution,  in  12  volumes,  1S29  to  1831.; 
the  third,  The  Life  of  Gouverneur  Morris,  in  three  volumes,  1832;  the  fourth,  Tie 


JAR  ED  SPARKS. 


333 


Life  and  Writings  of  Washington,  twelve  volumes,  1833  to  1840;  the  fifth,  The 
Works  of  Benjamin  Franklin,  with  Notes  and  a  Life  of  the  Author,  ten  volumes, 
1S40  :  the  sixth,  Correspondence  of  the  American  Revolution  j  being  Letters  of  Emi- 
nent Men  to  George  Washington,  from  the  time  of  his  talcing  the  command  of  the  army 
to  the  end  of  his  Presidency,  four  volumes,  1853, 

In  1835,  Mr.  Sparks  commenced  the  Library  of  American  Biography,  and  the 
first  series,  in  ten  volumes,  was  completed  in  1S39.  The  "Second  Scries,"  con- 
sisting of  fifteen  volumes,  was  begun  in  1S43,  and  finished  in  1816.  Of  the 
sixty  lives  in  these  twenty-five  volumes,  Mr.  Sparks  wrote  the  biographies  of 
Ethan  Allen,  Benedict  Arnold,  Father  Marquette,  Robert  Cavelier  de  la  Salle, 
Count  Pulaski,  John  Ribault,  Charles  Lee,  and  John  Ledyard.  It  is  to  Mr. 
Sparks,  also,  that  we  are  indebted  for  one  of  the  most  valuable  periodical  publi- 
cations, "The  American  Almanac  and  Repository  of  Useful  Knowledge,"  the 
first  volume  of  which  was  edited  by  him  in  1830.  This  is  a  work  of  such  value 
as  a  book  of  reference  that  no  one  who  has  ever  taken  it  feels  that  he  can  do 
without  it. 

In  1839,  Mr.  Sparks  was  appointed  to  the  M'Lean  Professorship  of  Ancient 
and  Modern  History  in  Harvard  University,  which  chair  he  held  till  1849,  when 
he  was  elected  President  of  that  institution.  This  high  post  of  honor  and  re- 
sponsibility he  held  till  1852,  when  he  felt  obliged  to  resign  it  on  account  of  ill 
health. 

Such  is  a  brief  outline  of  the  literary  labors  of  this  distinguished  scholar,  who 
now  resides  in  Cambridge,  engaged,  it  is  said,  on  a  History  of  the  Foreign  Rela- 
tions of  the  United  States  during  the  American  Revolution. 

ANECDOTE  OF  JOHN  LEDYARD. 

On  the  margin  of  the  Connecticut  River,  which  runs  near  the 
college,1  stood  many  majestic  forest  trees,  nourished  by  a  rich 
soil.  One  of  these  Ledyard  contrived  to  cut  down.  Pie  then 
set  himself  at  work  to  fashion  its  trunk  into  a  canoe,  and  in  this 
labor  he  was  assisted  by  some  of  his  fellow-students.  As  the 
canoe  was  fifty  feet  long,  and  three  wide,  and  was  to  be  dug  out 
and  constructed  by  these  unskilful  workmen,  the  task  was  not 
a  trifling  one,  nor  such  as  could  be  speedily  executed.  Operations 
were  carried  on  with  spirit,  however,  till  Ledyard  wounded  him- 
self with  an  axe,  and  was  disabled  for  several  days.  "When  he 
recovered,  he  applied  himself  anew  to  his  work ;  the  canoe  was 
finished,  launched  into  the  stream,  and,  by  the  further  aid  of  his 
companions,  equipped  and  prepared  for  a  voyage.  His  wishes 
were  now  at  their  consummation,  and,  bidding  adieu  to  these 
haunts  of  the  muses,  where  he  had  gained  a  dubious  mine,  he  set 
off  alone,  with  a  light  heart,  to  explore  a  river  with  the  naviga- 
tion of  which  he  had  not  the  slightest  acquaintance.    The  dis- 


1  Dartmouth  College,  Xew  Hampshire. 


334 


JARED  SPARKS. 


tance  to  Hartford  was  not  less  than  one  hundred  and  forty  miles ; 
much  of  the  way  was  through  a  wilderness,  and  in  several  places 
there  were  dangerous  falls  and  rapids. 

With  a  bearskin  for  a  covering,  and  his  canoe  well  stocked 
with  provisions,  he  yielded  himself  to  the  current,  and  floated 
leisurely  down  the  stream,  seldom  using  his  paddle,  and  stopping 
only  in  the  night  for  sleep.  He  told  Mr.  Jefferson  in  Paris,  four- 
teen years  afterwards,  that  he  took  only  two  books  with  him,  a 
Greek  Testament  and  Ovid,  one  of  which  he  was  deeply  engaged 
in  reading  when  his  canoe  approached  Bellows'  Falls,  where  he 
was  suddenly  roused  by  the  noise  of  the  waters  rushing  among 
the  rocks  through  the  narrow  passage.  The  danger  was  imminent, 
as  no  boat  could  go  down  that  fall  without  being  instantly  dashed 
in  pieces.  With  difficulty  he  gained  the  shore  in  time  to  escape 
such  a  catastrophe,  and,  through  the  kind  assistance  of  the  people 
in  the  neighborhood,  who  were  astonished  at  the  novelty  of  such 
a  voyage  down  the  Connecticut,  his  canoe  was  drawn  by  oxen 
around  the  fall,  and  committed  again  to  the  water  below.  From 
that  time,  till  he  arrived  at  his  place  of  destination,  we  hear  of  no 
accident,  although  he  was  carried  through  several  dangerous 
passes  in  the  river.  On  a  bright  spring  morning,  just  as  the  sun 
was  rising,  some  of  Mr.  Seymour's  family  were  standing  near  his 
house  on  the  high  bank  of  the  small  river  that  runs  through  the 
city  of  Hartford  and  empties  itself  into  the  Connecticut  River, 
when  they  espied  at  some  distance  an  object  of  unusual  appear- 
ance, moving  slowly  up  the  stream.  Others  were  attracted  by  the 
singularity  of  the  sight,  and  all  were  conjecturing  what  it  could 
be,  till  its  questionable  shape  assumed  the  true  and  obvious  form 
of  a  canoe;  but  by  what  impulse  it  was  moved  forward,  none 
could  determine.  Something  was  seen  in  the  stern,  but  appa- 
rently without  life  or  motion.  At  length  the  canoe  touched  the 
shore  directly  in  front  of  the  house  ;  a  person  sprang  from  the 
stern  to  a  rock  in  the  edge  of  the  water,  threw  off  a  bearskin  in 
which  he  had  been  enveloped,  and  behold  John  Ledyard,  in  the 
presence  of  his  uncle  and  connections,  who  were  filled  with 
wonder  at  this  sudden  apparition ;  for  they  had  received  no  intel- 
ligence of  his  intention  to  leave  Dartmouth,  but  supposed  him 
still  there,  diligently  pursuing  his  studies,  and  fitting  himself  to 
be  a  missionary  among  the  Indians. 

We  cannot  look  back  to  Ledyard,  thus  launching  himself  alone 
in  so  frail  a  bark,  upon  the  waters  of  a  river  wholly  unknown  to 
him,  without  being  reminded  of  the  only  similar  occurrence  which 
has  been  recorded — the  voyage  down  the  river  Niger,  by  Mungo 
Park,  a  name  standing  at  the  very  head  of  those  most  renowned 
for  romantic  and  lofty  enterprise.  The  melancholy  fate,  it  is  true, 
by  which  he  was  soon  arrested  in  his  noble  career,  adds  greatly  to 


V 


JARED  SPARKS. 


335 


the  interest  of  his  situation,  when  pushing  from  the  shore  his 
little  boat  Joliba,  and  causes  us  to  read  his  last  affecting  letter  to 
his  wife  with  emotions  of  sympathy  more  intense,  if  possible,  than 
would  be  felt  if  the  tragical  issue  were  not  already  known.  In 
many  points  of  character,  there  was  a  strong  resemblance  between 
these  two  distinguished  travellers,  and  they  both  perished,  mar- 
tyrs in  the  same  cause,  attempting  to  explore  the  hidden  regions 
of  Africa. 

THE  AMERICAN  REVOLUTION. 

The  acts  of  the  Revolution  derive  dignity  and  interest  from  the 
character  of  the  actors,  and  the  nature  and  magnitude  of  the 
events.  Statesmen  were  at  hand,  who,  if  not  skilled  in  the  art 
of  governing  empires,  were  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  principles 
of  just  government,  intimately  acquainted  with  the  history  of 
former  ages,  and,  above  all,  with  the  condition,  sentiments,  feel- 
ings of  their  countrymen.  If  there  were  no  Eichelieus  nor 
3Iazarins,  no  Cecils  nor  Chathams,  in  America,  there  were  men 
who,  like  Themistocles,  knew  how  to  raise  a  small  state  to  glory 
and  greatness. 

The  eloquence  and  the  internal  counsels  of  the  Old  Congress 
were  never  recorded  :  we  know  them  only  in  their  results ;  but 
that  assembly,  with  no  other  power  than  that  conferred  by  the 
suffrage  of  the  people,  with  no  other  influence  than  that  of  their 
public  virtue  and  talents,  and  without  precedent  to  guide  their 
deliberations — unsupported  even  by  the  arm  of  the  law  or  of 
ancient  usages — that  assembly  levied  troops,  imposed  taxes,  and 
for  years  not  only  retained  the  confidence  and  upheld  the  civil 
existence  of  a  distracted  country,  but  carried  through  a  perilous 
war  under  its  most  aa'^ravatimr  burdens  of  sacrifice  and  suffering. 
Can  we  imagine  a  situation  in  which  were  required  higher  moral 
courage,  more  intelligence  and  talent,  a  deeper  insight  into  human 
nature  and  the  principles  of  social  and  political  organizations,  or, 
indeed,  any  of  those  qualities  which  constitute  greatness  of  cha- 
racter in  a  statesman  ?  See,  likewise,  that  work  of  wonder,  the 
Confederation — a  union  of  independent  States,  constructed  in  the 
very  heart  of  a  desolating  war,  but  with  a  beauty  and  strength, 
imperfect  as  it  was,  of  which  the  ancient  leagues  of  the  Amphic- 
tyons,  the  Aehaeans,  the  Lycians,  and  the  modern  confederacies 
of  Germany,  Holland,  Switzerland,  afford  neither  exemplar  nor 
parallel. 

In  their  foreign  affairs,  these  same  statesmen  showed  no  less 
sagacity  and  skill,  taking  their  stand  boldly  in  the  rank  of  nations, 
maintaining  it  there,  competing  with  the  tactics  of  practised  di- 
plomacy, and  extorting  from  the  powers  of  the  Old  World  not  only 
the  homage  of  respect,  but  the  proffers  of  friendship. 


336 


LYDIA  HUNTLEY  SIGOURXEY. 


The  instructive  lesson  of  history,  teaching  by  example,  can  no- 
where be  studied  with  more  profit,  or  with  a  better  promise,  than 
in  this  Revolutionary  period  of  America;  and  especially  by  us, 
who  sit  under  the  tree  our  fathers  have  planted,  enjoy  its  shade, 
and  are  nourished  by  its  fruits.  But  little  is  our  merit  or  gain 
that  we  applaud  their  deeds,  unless  we  emulate  their  virtues. 
Love  of  country  was  in  them  an  absorbing  principle,  an  un- 
divided feeling;  not  of  a  fragment,  a  section,  but  of  the  whole 
country.  Union  was  the  arch  on  which  they  raised  the  strong 
tower  of  a  nation's  independence.  Let  the  arm  be  palsied  that 
would  loosen  one  stone  in  the  basis  of  this  fair  structure,  or  mar 
its  beauty  j  the  tongue  mute  that  would  dishonor  their  names,  by 
calculating  the  value  of  that  which  they  deemed  without  price. 

They  have  left  us  an  example  already  inscribed  in  the  world's 
memory ;  an  example  portentous  to  the  aims  of  tyranny  in  every 
land  ;  an  example  that  will  console  in  all  ages  the  drooping  aspi- 
rations of  oppressed  humanity.  They  have  left  us  a  written 
charter  as  a  legacy,  and  as  a  guide  to  our  course.  But  every  day 
convinces  us  that  a  written  charter  may  become  powerless.  Igno- 
rance may  misinterpret  it ;  ambition  may  assail,  and  faction  de- 
stroy, its  vital  parts ;  and  aspiring  knavery  may  at  last  sing  its 
requiem  on  the  tomb  of  departed  liberty.  It  is  the  spirit  which 
lives ;  in  this  are  our  safety  and  our  hope, — the  spirit  of  our 
fathers ;  and  while  this  dwells  deeply  in  our  remembrance,  and 
its  flame  is  cherished,  ever  burning,  ever  pure,  on  the  altar  of  our 
hearts ;  while  it  incites  us  to  think  as  they  have  thought,  and  do 
as  they  have  done,  the  honor  and  the  praise  will  be  ours,  to  have 
preserved,  unimpaired,  the  rich  inheritance  which  they  so  nobly 
achieved. 


LYDIA  HUXTLEY  SIGOURXEY. 

Lydia  Huntley  Sigourxey  is  the  only  child  of  the  late  Ezekiel  Huntley,  of 
Norwich,  Connecticut,  where  she  was  born  on  the  1st  of  September,  1791.  In 
her  earliest  jears  she  gave  evidence  of  uncommon  abilities,  and  when  eight  years 
old  began  to  develop  those  poetical  talents  which  have  since  made  her  name  so 
widely  and  favorably  known.  The  hest  advantages  of  education  which  could  he 
attained  in  her  childhood  and  youth  were  secured  to  her  :  and,  upon  leaving 
school,  she  herself  engaged  in  the  instruction  of  a  select  number  of  young  ladies, 
— a  position  to  which  she  had  long  aspired. 

In  1S15,  Miss  Huntley  was  induced  by  Daniel  "Wadsworth,  Esq., — an  intelli- 
gent and  wealthy  gentleman  of  Hartford, — to  give  a  volume  of  her  poems  to  the 
public.  It  was  published  under  the  modest  title  of  Moral  Pieces  in  Prose  and 
Verse,  and  showed  very  clearly  that  an  author  who  had  done  so  well  could  do  still 


LYDIA  HUNTLEY  SIGOURNEY. 


337 


better.1  In  1819,  she  was  married  to  Charles  Sigourney,  Esq.,  a  leading  mer- 
chant of  Hartford,  and  a  gentleman  of  education  and  literary  taste.  Henceforth 
her  career  was  to  be  that  of  an  author.  The  true  interests  of  her  own  sex  and  the 
good  of  the  rising  generation  stimulated  her  efforts  in  such  works  as  Letters  to 
Pupils;  Letters  to  Young  Ladies ;  Whisper  to  a  Bride;  and  Letters  to  Mothers. 
The  guidance  of  the  unfolding  mind,  impressed  on  her  as  it  was,  night  and  day, 
by  the  assiduous  home-culture  of  her  own  children,  called  forth  the  Child's  Book; 
Girl's  Book;  Boys  Book;  How  to  be  Happy ;  and  a  variety  of  other  juvenile 
works,  which  have  been  deservedly  popular. 

A  conviction  of  the  importance  of  temperance  suggested  Water-Drops ;  of  the 
blessings  of  peace,  Olive- Leaves.  Scenes  in  my  Native  Land  portray  some  of  the 
attractions  of  the  country  that  she  loves;  and  Pleasant  Memories  of  Pleasant 
Lands  give  us  life-pictures  of  a  tour  in  Europe.  Those  "  who  go  down  to  the  sea 
in  ships"  find  a  companion  in  her  Sea  and  Sailor;  the  forgotten  red  man  is  re- 
membered in  Pocahontas ;  the  harp  of  comfort  for  mourners  is  hung  upon  the 
Weeping  Willow;  while  the  young  and  blooming  may  hear  her  Voice  of  Flowers 
among  the  lilies  of  the  field.  Sayings  of  the  Little  Ones,  and  Poems  for  their 
Mothers,  express  her  sympathies  for  the  helpless  stranger  just  entering  life;  Past 
Meridian,2  for  the  wearied  pilgrim  trembling  at  the  gates  of  the  west;  while 
Lucy  Howard's  Journal  shows  the  influence  of  a  right  home-training  on  the  duties 
and  destinies  of  woman.  Since  she  entered  the  field  of  authorship,  between  forty 
and  fifty  volumes,  varying  in  size,  have  emanated  from  her  pen;  and  she  yet 
continues,  with  unflagging  industry,  her  intellectual  labors,  enjoying,  with  un- 
impaired powers,  that  happiness  of  existence  which  sometimes  brightens  with 
age.  Every  thing  that  she  has  written  has  been  pure  and  elevating  in  its  whole 
tone  and  influence :  other  writers  have  had  more  learning,  more  genius,  more 
power,  but  none  have  employed  their  talents  for  a  higher  end, — to  make  the 
world  wiser,  happier,  holier.  An  accomplished  critic3  has  remarked  of  her  poems 
that  "they  express,  with  great  purity  and  evident  sincerity,  the  tender  affections 
which  are  so  natural  to  the  female  heart,  and  the  lofty  aspirations  after  a  higher 
and  better  state  of  being,  which  constitute  the  truly  ennobling  and  elevating 
principle  in  art  as  well  as  nature.    Love  and  religion  are  the  unvarying  elements 


1  This  was  quite  favorably  noticed  in  the  very  first  number  of  the  "  North 
American  Review,"  May,  IS  15.  Little  did  she  then  dream  that  so  long  a  literary 
life  was  before  her, — a  life  of  pure  beneficence, — and  that  forty-two  years  after, 
the  same  review  would  notice  her  forty-second  published  work  {Past  Meridian)  in 
still  warmer  terms  of  praise. 

2  "Mrs.  Sigourney  has  never  before  written  so  wisely,  so  usefully,  so  beauti- 
fully, as  in  this  volume.  In  saying  so,  we  yield  to  none  in  our  high  appreciation 
of  her  previous  literary  merit;  but,  unless  we  greatly  mistake,  this  is  one  of  the 
comparatively  few  books  of  our  day  which  will  be  read  with  glistening  eyes  and 
glowing  heart,  when  all  who  now  read  it  will  have  gone  to  their  graves.  It  is 
written  by  her  in  the  character  of  one  who  has  passed  the  meridian  of  life,  and 
addresses  itself  to  sensations  and  experiences  which  all  whose  faces  are  turned 
westward  can  understand,  and  feel  with  her.  It  is  devotion,  philosophy,  and 
poetry,  so  intertwined  that  each  is  enriched  and  adorned  by  the  association. 
Above  all,  it  blends  with  the  serene  sunset  of  a  well-spent  life  the  young  morning 
beams  of  the  never-setting  day." — North  American  Iievieio,  January,  1857. 

3  Alexander  H.  Everett. 

29 


338 


LYDIA  HUNTLEY  SIGOURNEY. 


ot  her  song.  If  her  power  of  expression  was  equal  to  the  purity  and  elevation 
of  her  habits  of  thought  and  feeling,  she  would  be  a  female  Milton  or  a  Christian 
Pindar." 


WIDOW  AT  HER  DAUGHTER'S  BRIDAL. 

Deal  gently,  thou,  whose  hand  hath  won 

The  young  bird  from  its  nest  away, 
Where,  careless,  'neath  a  vernal  sun, 

She  gayly  caroll'd,  day  by  day ; 
The  haunt  is  lone,  the  heart  must  grieve, 

From  whence  her  timid  wing  doth  soar, 
They  pensive  list  at  hush  of  eve, 

Yet  hear  her  gushing  song  no  more. 

Deal  gently  with  her :  thou  art  dear, 

Beyond  what  vestal  lips  have  told, 
And,  like  a  lamb  from  fountains  clear, 

She  turns  confiding  to  thy  fold ; 
She  round  thy  sweet  domestic  bower 

The  wreath  of  changeless  love  shall  twine, 
Watch  for  thy  step  at  vesper  hour, 

And  blend  her  holiest  prayer  with  thine. 

Deal  gently,  thou,  when,  far  away, 

'Mid  stranger  scenes  her  foot  shall  rove, 
Nor  let  thy  tender  care  decay, — 

The  soul  of  woman  lives  in  love  : 
And  shouldst  thou,  wondering,  mark  a  tear, 

Unconscious,  from  her  eyelids  break, 
Be  pitiful,  and  soothe  the  fear 

That  man's  strong  heart  may  ne'er  partake. 

A  mother  yields  her  gem  to  thee, 

On  thy  true  breast  to  sparkle  rare, 
She  places  'neath  thy  household  tree 

The  idol  of  her  fondest  care  ; 
And  by  thy  trust  to  be  forgiven 

When  judgment  wakes  in  terror  wild, 
By  all  thy  treasured  hopes  of  heaven, 

Deal  gently  with  the  widow's  child. 


NIAGARA. 

Flow  on  forever,  in  thy  glorious  robe 
Of  terror  and  of  beauty.    Yes,  flow  on, 
Unfathom'd  and  resistless.    God  hath  set 
His  rainbow  on  thy  forehead,  and  the  cloud 
Mantled  around  thy  feet. — And  he  doth  give 
Thy  voice  of  thunder  power  to  speak  of  him 
Eternally, — bidding  the  lip  of  man 
Keep  silence,  and  upon  thy  rocky  altar  pour 
Incense  of  awe-struck  praise. 


LYDIA  HUNTLEY  SIGOURNEY. 


And  who  can  dare 
To  lift  the  insect  trump  of  earthly  hope, 
Or  love,  or  sorrow,  'mid  the  peal  sublime 
Of  thy  tremendous  hymn  ? — Even  Ocean  shrinks 
Back  from  thy  brotherhood,  and  his  wild  waves 
Retire  abash'd. — For  he  doth  sometimes  seem 
To  sleep  like  a  spent  laborer,  and  recall 
His  wearied  billows  from  their  vexing  play, 
And  lull  them  to  a  cradle  calm:  but  thou, 
With  everlasting,  undecaying  tide, 
Doth  rest  not  night  or  day. 

The  morning  stars, 
When  first  they  sang  o'er  young  creation's  birth, 
Heard  thy  deep  anthem, — and  those  wrecking  fir< 
That  wait  the  archangel's  signal  to  dissolve 
The  solid  earth,  shall  find  Jehovah's  name 
Graven,  as  with  a  thousand  diamond  spears, 
On  thine  unfathom'd  page. — Each  leafy  bough 
That  lifts  itself  within  thy  proud  domain, 
Doth  gather  greenness  from  thy  living  spray, 
And  tremble  at  the  baptism. — Lo  !  yon  birds 
Do  venture  boldly  near,  bathing  their  wing 
Amid  thy  foam  and  mist. — 'Tis  meet  for  them 
To  touch  thy  garment's  hem, — or  lightly  stir 
The  snowy  leaflets  of  thy  vapor  wreath, — 
Who  sport  unharm'd  upon  the  fleecy  cloud, 
And  listen  at  the  echoing  gate  of  heaven, 
Without  reproof. — But  as  for  us, — it  seems 
Scarce  lawful  with  our  broken  tones  to  speak 
Familiarly  of  thee. — Methinks,  to  tint 
Thy  glorious  features  with  our  pencil's  point, 
Or  woo  thee  to  the  tablet  of  a  song, 
Were  profanation. 

Thou  dost  make  the  soul 
A  wondering  witness  of  thy  majesty  ; 
And  while  it  rushes  with  delirious  joy 
To  tread  thy  vestibule,  dost  chain  its  step, 
And  check  its  rapture  with  the  humbling  view 
Of  its  own  nothingness,  bidding  it  stand 
In  the  dread  presence  of  the  Invisible, 
As  if  to  answer  to  its  God  through  thee. 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  A  CHILD'S  GRAVE. 

A  butterfly  bask'd  on  a  baby's  grave, 
Where  a  lily  had  chanced  to  grow  : 
"Why  art  thou  here,  with  thy  gaudy  dye, 
When  she  of  the  blue  and  sparkling  eye 
Must  sleep  in  the  churchyard  low  ?" 

Then  it  lightly  soar'd  through  the  sunny  air, 
And  spoke  from  its  shining  track : 


LYDIA  HUNTLEY  SIGOURNEY. 


"I  was  a  -worm  till  I  won  my  wings, 
And  she  whom  thou  mourn'st,  like  a  seraph  sings 
Wouldst  thou  call  the  blest  one  hack?" 


DEATH  OF  AN  INFANT. 

Death  found  strange  beauty  on  that  polish'd  brow, 
And  dash'd  it  out.    There  was  a  tint  of  rose 
On  cheek  and  lip.    He  touclrd  the  veins  with  ice, 
And  the  rose  faded.    Forth  from  those  blue  eyes 
There  spake  a  wishful  tenderness,  a  doubt 
Whether  to  grieve  or  sleep,  which  innocence 
Alone  may  wear.    With  ruthless  haste  he  bound 
The  silken  fringes  of  those  curtaining  lids 
Forever.    There  had  been  a  murmuring  sound 
With  which  the  babe  would  claim  its  mother's  ear, 
Charming  her  even  to  tears.    The  spoiler  set 
The  seal  of  silence.    But  there  beam'd  a  smile, 
So  fix'd,  so  holy,  from  that  cherub  brow, 
Death  gazed,  and  left  it  there.    He  dared  not  steal 
The  signet-ring  of  Heaven. 

ALPINE  ELOWERS. 

Meek  dwellers  'mid  yon  terror-stricken  cliff's ! 
With  brows  so  pure,  and  incense-breathing  lips, 
Whence  are  ye?    Did  some  white-wing'd  messenger 
On  mercy's  missions  trust  your  timid  germ 
To  the  cold  cradle  of  eternal  snows? 
Or,  breathing  on  the  callous  icicles, 
Bid  them  with  tear-drops  nurse  ye  ? — 

— Tree  nor  shrub 
Dare  that  drear  atmosphere  ;  no  polar  pine 
Uprears  a  veteran  front ;  yet  there  ye  stand, 
Leaning  your  cheeks  against  the  thick-ribb*d  ice, 
And  looking  up  with  brilliant  eyes  to  Him 
Who  bids  you  bloom  unblanch'd  amid  the  waste 
Of  desolation.    Man,  who,  panting,  toils 
O'er  slippery  steeps,  or,  trembling,  treads  the  verge 
Of  yawning  gulfs,  o'er  which  the  headlong  plunge 
Is  to  eternity,  looks  shuddering  up, 
And  marks  ye  in  your  placid  loveliness. — 
Fearless,  yet  frail, — and,  clasping  his  chill  hands, 
Blesses  your  pencill'd  beauty.    'Mid  the  pomp 
Of  mountain-summits  rushing  on  the  sky, 
And  chaining  the  rapt  soul  in  breathless  awe, 
He  bows  to  bind  you  drooping  to  his  breast, 
Inhales  your  spirit  from  the  frost-wing'd  gale 
And  freer  dreams  of  heaven. 

CONTENTMENT. 

Think'st  thou  the  steed  that  restless  roves 
O'er  rocks  and  mountains,  fields  and  groves, 


LYDIA  HUNTLEY  S1G0UHNEY. 


341 


With  wild,  unbridled  bound. 
Finds  fresher  pasture  than  the  bee, 
On  thyiny  bank  or  vernal  tree, 
Intent  to  store  her  industry 

"Within  her  waxen  round? 

Think'st  thou  the  fountain  forced  to  turn 
Through  marble  vase  or  sculptured  urn 

Affords  a  sweeter  draught 
Than  that  which,  in  its  native  sphere, 
Perennial,  undisturb'd  and  clear, 
Flows  the  lone  traveller's  thirst  to  cheer, 

And  wake  his  grateful  thought  ? 

Think'st  thou  the  man  whose  mansions  hold 
The  worldling's  pomp  and  miser's  gold 

Obtains  a  richer  prize 
Than  he  who,  in  his  cot  at  rest, 
Finds  heavenly  peace  a  willing  guest, 
And  bears  the  promise  in  his  breast 

Of  treasure  in  the  skies  ? 


THE  CORAL-INSECT. 

Toil  on  !  toil  on !  ye  ephemeral  train, 

Who  build  in  the  tossing  and  treacherous  main ; 

Toil  on — for  the  wisdom  of  man  ye  mock, 

With  your  sand-based  structures  and  domes  of  rock : 

Your  columns  the  fathomless  fountains  lave, 

And  your  arches  spring  up  to  the  crested  wave ; 

Ye're  a  puny  race,  thus  to  boldly  rear 

A  fabric  so  vast,  in  a  realm  so  drear. 

Ye  bind  the  deep  with  your  secret  zone, 

The  ocean  is  seal'd,  and  the  surge  a  stone ; 

Fresh  wreaths  from  the  coral  pavement  spring, 

Like  the  terraced  pride  of  Assyria's  king  ; 

The  turf  looks  green  where  the  breakers  roll'd ; 

O'er  the  whirlpool  ripens  the  rind  of  gold ; 

The  sea-snatch'd  isle  is  the  home  of  men, 

And  the  mountains  exult  where  the  wave  hath  been. 

But  why  do  ye  plant  'neath  the  billows  dark 
The  wrecking  reef  for  the  gallant  bark  ? 
There  are  snares  enough  on  the  tented  field, 
'Mid  the  blossom'd  sweets  that  the  valleys  yield ; 
There  are  serpents  to  coil,  ere  the  flowers  are  up ; 
There's  a  poison-drop  in  man's  purest  cup ; 
There  are  foes  that  watch  for  his  cradle  breath; 
And  why  need  ye  sow  the  floods  with  death? 

With  mouldering  bones  the  deeps  are  white, 
From  the  ice-clad  pole  to  the  tropics  bright ; 
The  mei*maid  hath  twisted  her  fingers  cold 
With  the  mesh  of  the  sea-boy's  curls  of  gold, 


342 


LYDIA  HUNTLEY  SIGOURNEY. 


And  the  gods  of  ocean  hare  frown'd  to  see 
The  mariner's  bed  in  their  halls  of  glee ; 
Hath  earth  no  graves,  that  ye  thus  must  spread 
The  boundless  sea  for  the  thronging  dead? 

Ye  build — ye  build — but  ye  enter  not  in, 

Like  the  tribes  whom  the  desert  devour'd  in  their  sin  ; 

From  the  land  of  promise  ye  fade  and  die, 

Ere  its  verdure  gleams  forth  on  your  weary  eye; 

As  the  kings  of  the  cloud-crown'd  pyramid, 

Their  noteless  bones  in  oblivion  hid, 

Ye  slumber  unmark'd  'mi?l  the  desolate  main, 

While  the  wonder  and  pride  of  your  works  remain. 


THE  GAIN  OF  ADVERSITY. 

"  Sweet  are  the  nses  of  adversity." 

A  Lily  said  to  a  threatening  Cloud 
That  in  sternest  garb  array'd  him, 

"You  have  taken  my  lord,  the  Sun,  away, 
And  I  knoAV  not  where  you  have  laid  him." 

It  folded  its  leaves,  and  trembled  sore 
As  the  hours  of  darkness  press'd  it, 

But  at  morn,  like  a  bride,  in  beauty  shone, 
For  with  pearls  the  dews  had  dress'd  it. 

Then  it  felt  ashamed  of  its  fretful  thought, 
And  fain  in  the  dust  would  hide  it, 

For  the  night  of  weeping  had  jewels  brought, 
Which  the  pride  of  day  denied  it. 


THE  PRIVILEGES  OF  AGE. 

The  aged,  especially  if  their  conquest  of  self  is  imperfect,  are 
prone  to  underrate  the  advantages  that  remain.  Their  minds 
linger  among  depressing  subjects,  repining  for  what  "time's  effac- 
ing fingers''  will  never  restore.  Far  better  would  it  be  to  muse 
on  their  remaining  privileges,  to  recount  them,  and  to  rejoice  in 
them.  Many  instances  have  I  witnessed,  both  of  this  spirit,  and 
the  want  of  it,  which  left  enduring  impressions. 

I  well  remember  an  ancient  dwelling,  sheltered  by  lofty,  um- 
brageous trees,  and  with  all  the  appendages  of  rural  comfort.  A 
fair  prospect  of  hill  and  dale,  and  broad  river,  and  distant  spire, 
cheered  the  vine-covered  piazzas,  through  whose  loop-holes,  with 
the  subdued  cry  of  the  steam-borne  cars,  the  world's  great  Babel 
made  a  dash  at  the  picture  without  coming  too  near.  Traits  of 
agricultural  life,  divested  of  its  rude  and  sordid  toils,  were  plea- 
santly visible.  A  smooth-coated  and  symmetrical  cow  ruminated 
over  her  clover-meal.    A  faithful  horse,  submissive  to  the  gentlest 


LYDIA  HUNTLEY  SIGOURNEY. 


343 


rein,  protruded  his  honest  face  through  the  barn  window.  A  few 
brooding  mothers  were  busy  with  the  nurture  of  their  chickens, 
while  the  proud  father  of  the  flock  told,  with  a  clarion-voice,  his 
happiness.  There  were  trees,  whose  summer  fruits  were  richly 
swelling,  and  bushes  of  ripening  berries,  and  gardens  of  choice 
vegetables.  Those  who,  from  the  hot  and  dusty  city,  came  to 
breathe  the  pure  air  of  this  sylvan  retreat,  took  note  of  these 
"  creature-comforts,"  and  thought  they  added  beauty  to  the 
landscape. 

Within  the  abode,  fair  pictures  and  books  of  no  mean  literature 
adorned  the  parlors;  in  the  carpeted  kitchen,  ticked  the  stately 
old  family  clock,  while  the  bright  dishes  stood  in  orderly  array 
upon  the  speckless  shelves.  Visitants  could  not  but  admire  that 
union  of  taste  and  education  which  makes  rural  life  beautiful.  It 
might  seem  almost  as  an  Elysium,  where  care  would  delight 
to  repose,  or  philosophjr  to  pursue  her  researches  without  interrup- 
tion. But  to  any  such  remark,  the  excellent  owner  was  wont 
mournfully  to  reply, — 

"  Here  are  only  two  old  people  together.  Our  children  are 
married  and  gone.  Some  of  them  are  dead.  .We  cannot  be  ex- 
pected to  have  much  enjoyment." 

Oh,  dear  friends,  but  it  is  expected  that  you  should.  Your 
very  statement  of  the  premises  is  an  admission  of  peculiar  sources 
of  comfort. 

"  Two  old  people  together."  Whose  sympathies  can  be  so  per- 
fect ?  And  is  not  sympathy  a  source  of  happiness  ?  Side  by 
side  ye  have  journeyed  through  joys  and  sorrows.  You  have  stood 
by  the  grave's  brink  when  it  swallowed  up  your  idols,  and  the 
iron  that  entered  into  your  souls  was  fused  as  a  living  link,  that 
time  might  never  destroy.  Under  the  cloud,  and  through  the 
sea,  you  have  walked  hand  in  hand,  heart  to  heart.  What  subjects 
of  communion  must  you  have,  with  which  no  other  human  being 
could  intermeddle  ! 

"  Tico  old  people."  Would  your  experience  be  so  rich  and 
profound,  if  you  were  not  old  ?  or  your  congeniality  so  entire, 
if  one  was  old,  and  the  other  young  ?  What  a  blessing  that  you 
can  say,  There  are  two  of  us.  Can  you  realize  the  loneliness  of 
soul  that  must  gather  around  the  words  "left  alone  1"  How  many 
of  memory's  cherished  pictures  must  then  be  viewed  through 
blinding  tears  !  how  feelingly  the  expression  of  the  poet  must  be 
adopted — "  'tis  the  survivor  dies"  ! 

"Our  children  are  married  and.  gone."  Would  you  have  it 
otherwise  ?  Was  it  not  fitting  for  them  to  comply  with  the  insti- 
tution of  their  Creator  ?  Is  it  not  better  than  if  they  were  all  at 
home,  without  congenial  employment,  pining  in  disappointed  hope, 
or  solitude  of  the  heart?    Married  and  gone  !    To  teach  in  other 


344 


ALEXANDER  II .  EVERETT. 


homes  the  virtues  they  have  learned  from  you.  Perchance,  in 
newer  settlements,  to  diffuse  the  energy  of  right  habits,  and  the 
high  influence  of  pure  principles.  Gone!  to  learn  the  luxury  of 
life's  most  intense  affections,  and  wisely  to  train  their  own  young 
blossoms  for  time  and  for  eternity.    Praise  God  that  it  is  so. 

"  Some  are  dead."  They  have  gone  a  little  before.  They  have 
shown  you  the  way  through  that  gate  where  all  the  living  must 
pass.  Will  not  their  voice  of  welcome  be  sweet  in  the  skies  ? 
Dream  ye  not  sometimes  that  ye  hear  the  echo  of  their  harp- 
strings  ?  Is  not  your  eternal  home  brought  nearer  and  made 
dearer  by  them  ?     Then  praise  God. 

Past  Meridian. 


ALEXANDER  H.  EVERETT,  1791—1847. 

Alexander  Hill  Everett,  son  of  Rev.  Oliver  Everett,  of  Dorchester,  Massa- 
chusetts, was  born  in  Boston,  March  19,  1790,  and  graduated  with  very  dis- 
tinguished reputation  .at  Harvard  University,  in  1806.  After  leaving  college,  he 
was  an  usher  in  Phillips  Exeter  Academy,  and  then  engaged  in  the  study  of  the 
law.  In  1809,  he  accompanied  John  Quincy  Adams,  as  secretary  of  legation,  to 
St.  Petersburg,-  and  after  that  his  life  was  more  devoted  to  diplomatic  pursuits 
than  to  the  legal  profession. 

In  1S15,  he  again  went  to  Europe  as  secretary  of  legation  at  the  court  of  the 
King  of  the  Netherlands,  and  returned  home  in  1817.  In  IS  1 8  he  embarked 
again  for  Holland,  having  been  appointed  charge  d'affaires;  and  in  1825  he 
accepted  the  position  of  ambassador  at  the  court  of  Madrid,  where  he  remained 
till  1829.  A  few  months  after  his  return  to  the  United  States  from  Madrid,  Mr. 
Everett  became  the  editor  and  principal  proprietor  of  the  "  North  American 
Review."  He  had  long  been  a  leading  contributor  to  this  journal,  and  under  his 
charge  it  was  materially  improved.  About  the  year  1832,  he  engaged  actively  in 
politics,  and,  in  1815,  was  appointed  commissioner  to  China  ;  but,  in  consequence 
of  ill  health,  he  proceeded  no  farther  than  Rio  Janeiro,  whence  he  returned  to  the 
United  States.  After  an  interval  of  several  months,  he  again  sailed  for  Canton, 
but  had  hardly  become  settled  in  his  new  residence,  when  his  mortal  career  was 
terminated,  on  the  28th  of  June,  1847. 

Mr.  Everett  was  one  of  the  most  eminent  literary  men  of  our  country ;  profi- 
cient in  the  languages  and  literature  of  modern  Europe,  in  philosophy,  in  diplo- 
macy, the  law  of  nations,  and  all  the  learning  requisite  for  a  statesman;  and  in 
his  death  our  country  incurred  the  loss  of  one  who  had  served  her  ably  and 
faithfully  abroad,  and  had  contributed  essentially  to  elevate,  among  European 
scholars,  the  character  of  American  literature. 

Besides  his  numerous  contributions  to  periodicals,  Mr.  Everett's  principal 
published  works  are,  Europe, — a  treatise  on  the  political  condition  of  Europe  in 
1821,  published  in  1822;  America, — a  similar  treatise  on  our  country,  published 
in  1S25 ;  and  New  Ideas  on  Population,  suggested  by,  and  a  reply  to,  Malthus  and 


ALEXANDER  H.  EVERETT. 


345 


his  school,  published  in  1827.  Two  volumes  of  his  Critical  and  Miscellaneous 
Essays  had  been  published  before  his  death,  and  he  was,  at  the  time  of  that 
event,  preparing  for  a  continuation  of  the  series.1 

ENGLAND. 

Whatever  may  be  the  extent  of  the  distress  in  England,  or  the 
difficulty  of  finding  any  remedies  for  it  which  shall  be  at  once 
practicable  and  sufficient,  it  is  certain  that  the  symptoms  of  de- 
cline have  not  yet  displayed  themselves  on  the  surface ;  and  no 
country  in  Europe,  at  the  present  day,  probably  none  that  ever 
flourished  at  any  preceding  period  of  ancient  or  of  modern  times, 
ever  exhibited  so  strongly  the  outward  marks  of  general  industry, 
wealth,  and  prosperity.  The  misery  that  exists,  whatever  it  may 
be,  retires  from  public  view;  and  the  traveller  sees  no  traces  of  it 
except  in  the  beggars, — which  are  not  more  numerous  than  they 
are  on  the  Continent, — in  the  courts  of  justice,  and  in  the  news- 
papers. On  the  contrary,  the  impressions  he  receives  from  the 
objects  that  meet  his  view  are  almost  uniformly  agreeable.  He 
is  pleased  with  the  great  attention  paid  to  his  personal  accommo- 
dation as  a  traveller,  with  the  excellent  roads,  and  the  conve- 
niences of  the  public  carriages  and  inns.  The  country  every- 
where exhibits  the  appearance  of  high  cultivation,  or  else  of  wild 
and  picturesque  beauty ;  and  even  the  unimproved  lands  are  dis- 
posed with  taste  and  skill,  so  as  to  embellish  the  landscape  very 
highly,  if  they  do  not  contribute  as  they  might  to  the  substantial 
comfort  of  the  people.  From  every  eminence,  extensive  parks 
and  grounds,  spreading  far  and  wide  over  hill  and  vale,  inter- 
spersed with  dark  woods  and  variegated  with  bright  waters,  un- 
roll themselves  before  the  eye,  like  enchanted  gardens.  And 
while  the  elegant  constructions  of  the  modern  proprietors  fill  the 
mind  with  images  of  ease  and  luxury,  the  mouldering  ruins  that 
remain  of  former  ages,  of  the  castles  and  churches  of  their  feudal 
ancestors,  increase  the  interest  of  the  picture  by  contrast,  and 
associate  with  it  poetical  and  affecting  recollections  of  other  times 
and  manners.  Every  village  seems  to  be  the  chosen  residence  of 
Industry,  and  her  handmaids,  Neatness  and  Comfort;  and,  in  the 
various  parts  of  the  island,  her  operations  present  themselves 
under  the  most  amusing  and  agreeable  variety  of  forms.  Some- 
times her  votaries  are  mounting  to  the  skies  in  manufactories  of 
innumerable  stories  in  height,  and  sometimes  diving  in  mines  into 
the  bowels  of  the  earth,  or  dragging  up  drowned  treasures  from 


1  Read  an  excellent  biographical  sketch  of  Mr.  Everett  in  the  tenth  volume 
of  the  "  Democratic  Review,"  and  an  article  on  his  Essays  in  the  eighteenth 
volume  of  the  same 


346 


ALEXANDER  H.  EVERETT. 


the  bottom  of  the  sea.  At  one  time  the  ornamented  grounds  of  a 
wealthy  proprietor  seem  to  realize  the  fabled  Elysium;  and  again, 
as  you  pass  in  the  evening  through  some  village  engaged  in  the 
iron  manufacture,  where  a  thousand  forges  are  feeding  at  once 
their  dark-red  fires,  and  clouding  the  air  with  their  volumes  of 
smoke,  you  might  think  yourself,  for  a  moment,  a  little  too  near 
some  drearier  residence. 

CLAIMS  OF  LITERATURE  UPON  AMERICA. 

Independence  and  liberty — the  great  political  objects  of  all  com- 
munities— have  been  secured  to  us  hy  our  glorious  ancestors.  In 
these  respects,  we  are  only  required  to  j)rescri'e  and  transmit 
unimpaired  to  our  posterity  the  inheritance  which  our  fathers 
bequeathed  to  us.  To  the  present  and  to  the  following  genera- 
tions is  left  the  easier  task  of  enriching,  with  arts  and  letters,  the 
proud  fabric  of  our  national  glory.  Our  Sparta  is  indeed  a  noble 
one.    Let  us  then  do  our  best  for  it. 

Let  me  not,  however,  be  understood  to  intimate  that  the  pur- 
suits of  literature  or  the  finer  arts  of  life  have  been,  at  any  period 
of  our  history,  foreign  to  the  people  of  this  country.  The 
founders  of  the  colonies,  the  Winthrops,  the  Smiths,  the  Raleighs, 
the  Penns,  the  Oglethorpes,  were  among  the  most  accomplished 
scholars  and  elegant  writers,  as  well  as  the  loftiest  and  purest 
spirits,  of  their  time.  Their  successors  have  constantly  sustained, 
in  this  respect,  the  high  standard  established  by  the  founders. 
Education  and  religion — the  two  great  cares  of  intellectual  and 
civilized  men — were  always  with  them  the  foremost  objects  of 
attention.  The  principal  statesmen  of  the  Revolution  were  per- 
sons of  high  literary  cultivation  :  their  public  documents  were 
declared,  by  Lord  Chatham,  to  be  equal  to  the  finest  specimens 
of  Greek  and  Roman  wisdom.  In  every  generation,  our  country 
has  contributed  its  full  proportion  of  eminent  writers. 

In  this  respect,  then,  our  fathers  did  their  part ;  our  friends  of 
the  present  generation  are  doing  theirs,  and  doing  it  well.  But 
thus  far  the  relative  position  of  England  and  the  United  States 
has  been  such  that  our  proportional  contribution  to  the  common 
literature  was  naturally  a  small  one.  England,  by  her  great  supe- 
riority in  wealth  and  population,  was,  of  course,  the  head-quarters 
of  science  and  learning.  All  this  is  rapidly  changing.  You  are 
already  touching  the  point  when  your  wealth  and  population  will 
equal  those  of  England.  The  superior  rapidity  of  your  progress 
will,  at  no  distant  period,  give  you  the  ascendency.  It  will  then 
belong  to  your  position  to  take  the  lead  in  arts  and  letters,  as  in 
policy,  and  to  give  the  tone  to  the  literature  of  the  language.  Let 
it  be  your  care  and  study  not  to  show  yourselves  unequal  to  thia 


ALEXANDER  H.  EVERETT. 


347 


high  calling, — to  vindicate  the  honor  of  the  New  World  in  this 
generous  and  friendly  competition  with  the  Old.  You  will  per- 
haps be  told  that  literary  pursuits  will  disqualify  you  for  the 
active  business  of  life.  Heed  not  the  idle  assertion.  Reject  it  as 
a  mere  imagination,  inconsistent  with  principle,  unsupported  by 
experience.  Point  out,  to  those  who  make  it,  the  illustrious  cha- 
racters who  have  reaped  in  every  age  the  highest  honors  of  stu- 
dious and  active  exertion.  Show  them  Demosthenes,  forging  by  the 
light  of  the  midnight  lamp  those  thunderbolts  of  eloquence  which 

"Shook  the  arsenal  and  fulmined  over  Greece, — ■ 
To  Macedon  and  Artaxerxes'  throne." 

Ask  them  if  Cicero  would  have  been  hailed  with  rapture  as  the 
father  of  his  country,  if  he  had  not  been  its  pride  and  pattern  in 
philosophy  and  letters.  Inquire  whether  Caesar,  or  Frederick,  or 
Bonaparte,  or  Wellington,  or  Washington,  fought  the  worse  be- 
cause they  knew  how  to  write  their  own  commentaries.  Remind 
them  of  Franklin,  tearing  at  the  same  time  the  lightning  from 
heaven  and  the  sceptre  from  the  hands  of  the  oppressor.  Do  they 
say  to  you  that  study  will  lead  you  to  skepticism  ?  Recall  to  their 
memory  the  venerable  names  of  Bacon,  Milton,  Newton,  and 
Locke.  Would  they  persuade  you  that  devotion  to  learning  will 
withdraw  your  steps  from  the  paths  of  pleasure  ?  Tell  them  they 
are  mistaken.  Tell  them  that  the  only  true  pleasures  are  those 
which  result  from  the  diligent  exercise  of  all  the  faculties  of  body, 
and  mind,  and  heart,  in  pursuit  of  noble  ends  by  noble  means. 
Repeat  to  them  the  ancient  apologue  of  the  youthful  Hercules,  in 
the  pride  of  strength  and  beauty,  giving  up  his  generous  soul  to 
the  worship  of  virtue.  Tell  them  your  choice  is  also  made.  Tell 
them,  with  the  illustrious  Roman  orator,  you  would  rather  be  in 
the  wrong  with  Plato  than  in  the  right  with  Epicurus.  Tell 
them  that  a  mother  in  Sparta  would  have  rather  seen  her  son 
brought  home  from  battle  a  corpse  upon  his  shield,  than  dis- 
honored by  its  loss.  Tell  them  that  your  mother  is  America, 
your  battle  the  warfare  of  life,  your  shield  the  breastplate  of 
religion. 

Though  Mr.  Everett  is  most  known  by  his  vigorous  and  classic  prose,  yet  he 
published  a  volume  of  original  and  translated  Poems,  in  1S45,  which  are  a  credit 
to  our  literature.    From  these  I  select  the  following  spirited  lines  : — ■ 


THE  YOUNG  AMERICAN. 


Scion  of  a  mighty  stock ! 
Hands  of  iron, — hearts  of  oak, — 
Follow  with  unflinching  tread 
Where  the  noble  fathers  led. 


Craft  and  subtle  treachery, 
Gallant  youth  !  are  not  for  thee  ; 
Follow  thou  in  word  and  deeds 
"Where  the  God  within  thee  leads. 


348 


GEORGE  TICK  NOR. 


Honesty  with  steady  eye, 
Truth  and  pure  simplicity, 
Love  that  gently  winnetk  hearts, 
These  shall  be  thy  only  arts. 

Prudent  in  the  council  train, 
Dauntless  on  the  battle  plain, 
Ready  at  thy  country's  need 
For  her  glorious  cause  to  bleed. 

Where  the  dews  of  night  distil 
Upon  Vernon's  holy  hill ; 
Where  above  it,  gleaming  far, 
Freedom  lights  her  guiding  star, — 

Thither  turn  the  steady  eye, 
Flashing  with  a  purpose  high ; 
Thither  with  devotion  meet 
Often  turn  the  pilgrim  feet. 


Let  thy  noble  motto  be 
God, — the  Country, — Liberty  ! 
Planted  on  Religion's  rock, 
Thou  shalt  stand  in  every  shock. 

Laugh  at  danger  far  or  near ; 
Spurn  at  baseness,  spurn  at  fear ; 
Still,  with  persevering  might, 
Speak  the  truth  and  do  the  right. 

So  shall  peace,  a  charming  guest, 
Dovelike  in  thy  bosom  rest ; 
So  shall  honor's  steady  blaze 
Beam  upon  thy  closing  days. 

Happy  if  celestial  favor 
Smile  upon  the  high  endeavor ; 
Happy  if  it  be  thy  call. 
In  the  holy  cause  to  fall. 


GEORGE  TICKNOR. 

George  Tickxor  was  born  in  Boston,  Massachusetts,  August  1,  1791,  and 
graduated  at  Dartmouth  College  in  1807.  After  devoting  three  years  to  ancient 
classics  and  general  literature,  he  entered  upon  the  study  of  the  law,  and  in  1813 
was  admitted  to  the  bar.  But  his  literary  tastes  proved  too  strong  for  his  profes- 
sional, and  in  1815  he  embarked  for  Europe,  where,  in  many  of  her  capitals, 
and  in  Gb'ttingen  University,  he  spent  five  years  in  studying  the  languages  and 
literature  of  Europe,  and  returned  in  1820,  to  enter  upon  the  Professorship  of 
Modern  Languages  and  Literature  in  Harvard  University,  to  which  during  his 
absence  he  had  been  appointed.  The  courses  of  lectures  which  he  delivered,  year 
after  year,  upon  French  and  Spanish  literature;  upon  eminent  Europeans,  as 
Dante  and  Goethe;  on  the  English  poets,  and  other  kindred  topics,  excited  the 
deepest  interest,  and  were  pronounced  by  the  most  competent  judges  to  be  of 
the  very  highest  order,  not  only  from  the  beauty  and  richness  of  their  style,  but 
from  their  stores  of  learning,  and  the  fund  of  valuable  information  they  conveyed. 
Indeed,  the  enthusiasm  they  enkindled  among  the  students  of  Harvard,  formed 
quite  an  era  in  the  history  of  that  venei-able  seat  of  learning. 

After  laboring  fifteen  years,  Professor  Ticknor  resigned  his  professorship,  and, 
with  his  family,  paid  another  visit  to  Europe.  In  1840,  after  his  return  home,  he 
entered  actively  upon  the  composition  of  his  great  work,  The  History  of  Spanish 
Literature,  which  in  1849  made  its  appearance,  in  three  octavo  volumes,  both  in  this 
country  and  in  England.1  It  at  once  arrested  the  attention  of  scholars  on  both 
sides  of  the  Atlantic,  and  received  the  highest  encomiums  from  the  principal 
journals  of  England  and  the  Continent.    It  has  been  translated  into  the  Spanish 


1  In  the  "  Christian  Examiner"  for  January,  1850,  will  be  found  a  most  genial 
and  scholarly  review  of  Mr.  Ticknor's  great  work,  by  George  S.  Hillard. 


GEORGE  TICKNOR. 


U9 


and  German  languages,  which  fact  of  itself  attests  the  worth  of  a  work  on  which 
the  seal  of  an  cver-during  fame  is  already  set. 

Besides  his  great  work,  Mr.  Ticknor  has  given  ns  The  Remains  of  Nathaniel 
Apphton  Haven,  rcith  a  Memoir  of  his  Life,  and  has  contributed  valuable  articles 
to  the  "  North  American  Review,"  one  of  which — the  Life  of  Lafayette — has 
passed  through  several  editions.  He  has  also  taken  a  great  interest  in  the  cause 
of  education,  and  his  noble  library  (perhaps  the  most  valuable  private  collection 
in  the  country)  has  always  been  open  to  the  scholar  in  search  of  any  thing 
which  its  treasures  could  impart. 


DON  QUIXOTE. 

At  the  very  beginning  of  his  great  work,  Cervantes  announces 
it  to  be  his  sole  purpose  to  break  down  the  vogue  and  authority 
of  books  of  chivalry,  and  at  the  end  of  the  whole,  he  declares 
anew,  in  his  own  person,  that  "  he  had  no  other  desire  than  to 
render  abhorred  of  men  the  false  and  absurd  stories  contained  in 
books  of  chivalry;"  exulting  in  his  success,  as  an  achievement  of 
no  small  moment.  And  such,  in  fact,  it  was  j  for  we  have  abundant 
proof  that  the  fanaticism  for  these  romances  was  so  great  in  Spain, 
during  the  sixteenth  century,  as  to  have  become  matter  of  alarm  to 
the  more  judicious.  At  last  they  were  deemed  so  noxious,  that,  in 
1553,  they  were  prohibited  by  law  from  being  printed  or  sold  in 
the  American  colonies,  and  in  1555  the  same  prohibition,  and 
even  the  burning  of  all  copies  of  them  extant  in  Spain  itself,  was 
earnestly  asked  for  by  the  Cortes.  The  evil,  in  fact,  had  become 
formidable,  and  the  wise  began  to  see  it. 

To  destroy  a  passion  that  had  struck  its  roots  so  deeply  in  the 
character  of  all  classes  of  men,  to  break  up  the  only  reading 
which  at  that  time  could  be  considered  widely  popular  and 
fashionable,  was  certainly  a  bold  undertaking,  and  one  that  marks 
any  thing  rather  than  a  scornful  or  broken  spirit,  or  a  want  of  faith 
in  what  is  most  to  be  valued  in  our  common  nature.  The  great 
wonder  is,  that  Cervantes  succeeded.  But  that  he  did  there  is 
no  question.  No  book  of  chivalry  was  written  after  the  appear- 
ance of  Don  Quixote  in  1605;  and  from  the  same  date,  even 
those  already  enjoying  the  greatest  favor  ceased,  with  one  or  two 
unimportant  exceptions,  to  be  reprinted ;  so  that,  from  that  time 
to  the  present,  they  have  been  constantly  disappearing,  until  they 
are  now  among  the  rarest  of  literary  curiosities  ; — a  solitary  in- 
stance of  the  power  of  genius  to  destroy,  by  a  single  well-timed 
blow,  an  entire  department,  and  that,  too,  a  nourishing  and 
favored  one,  in  the  literature  of  a  great  and  proud  nation. 

The  general  plan  Cervantes  adopted  to  accomplish  this  object, 
without,  perhaps,  foreseeing  its  whole  course,  and  still  less  all  its 

30 


350 


GEORGE  TICKNOR. 


results,  was  simple  as  well  as  original.  In  1605,  lie  published 
the  First  Part  of  Don  Quixote,  in  which  a  country  gentleman  of 
La  Mancha — full  of  genuine  Castilian  honor  and  enthusiasm, 
gentle  and  dignified  in  his  character,  trusted  by  his  friends,  and 
loved  by  his  dependants — is  represented  as  so  completely  crazed 
by  long  reading  the  most  famous  books  of  chivalry,  that  he 
believes  them  to  be  true,  and  feels  himself  called  on  to  become 
the  impossible  knight-errant  they  describe, —  nay,  actually  goes 
forth  into  the  world  to  defend  the  oppressed  and  avenge  the 
injured,  like  the  heroes  of  his  romances. 

To  complete  his  chivalrous  equipment, — which  he  had  begun 
by  fitting  up  for  himself  a  suit  of  armor  strange  to  his  century, — 
he  took  an  esquire  out  of  his  neighborhood  j  a  middle-aged  pea- 
sant, ignorant  and  credulous  to  excess,  but  of  great  good-nature  j 
a  glutton  and  a  liar ;  selfish  and  gross,  yet  attached  to  his  master ; 
shrewd  enough  occasionally  to  see  the  folly  of  their  position,  but 
always  amusing,  and  sometimes  mischievous,  in  his  interpretations 
of  it.  These  two  sally  forth  from  their  native  village  in  search 
of  adventures,  of  which  the  excited  imagination  of  the  knight, 
turning  windmills  into  giants,  solitary  inns  into  castles,  and 
galley-slaves  into  oppressed  gentlemen,  finds  abundance  wherever 
he  goes ;  while  the  esquire  translates  them  all  into  the  plain  prose 
of  truth  with  an  admirable  simplicity,  quite  unconscious  of  its 
own  humor,  and  rendered  the  more  striking  by  its  contrast  with 
the  lofty  and  courteous  dignity  and  magnificent  illusions  of  the 
superior  personage.  There  could,  of  course,  be  but  one  con- 
sistent termination  of  adventures  like  these.  The  knight  and  his 
esquire  suffer  a  series  of  ridiculous  discomfitures,  and  are  at  last 
brought  home,  like  madmen,  to  their  native  village,  where  Cer- 
vantes leaves  them,  with  an  intimation  that  the  story  of  their 
adventures  is  by  no  means  ended. 

The  latter  half  of  Don  Quixote  is  a  contradiction  of  the  proverb 
Cervantes  cites  in  it, —  that  second  parts  were  never  yet  good 
for  much.  It  is,  in  fact,  better  than  the  first.  It  shows  more 
freedom  and  vigor;  and,  if  the  caricature  is  sometimes  pushed  to 
the  very  verge  of  what  is  permitted,  the  invention,  the  style  of 
thought,  and,  indeed,  the  materials  throughout,  are  richer,  and 
the  finish  is  more  exact. 

But  throughout  both  parts  Cervantes  shows  the  impulses  and 
instincts  of  an  original  power  with  most  distinctness  in  his  de- 
velopment of  the  characters  of  Don  Quixote  and  Sancho ;  cha- 
racters in  whose  contrast  and  opposition  is  hidden  the  full  spirit 
of  his  peculiar  humor,  and  no  small  part  of  what  is  most  charac- 
teristic of  the  entire  fiction.  They  are  his  prominent  personage. 
He  delights,  therefore,  to  have  them  as  much  as  possible  in  the 
front  of  his  scene.    They  grow  visibly  upon  his  favor  as  he 


GEORGE  TICKXOR. 


351 


advances,  and  the  fondness  of  his  liking  for  them  makes  him  con- 
stantly produce  them  in  lights  and  relations  as  little  foreseen  by 
himself  as  they  are  by  his  readers.  The  knight,  who  seems  to 
have  been  originally  intended  for  a  parody  of  the  Amadis,  becomes 
gradually  a  detached,  separate,  and  wholly  independent  personage, 
into  whom  is  infused  so  much  of  a  generous  and  elevated  nature, 
such  gentleness  and  delicacy,  such  a  pure  sense  of  honor,  and  such 
a  warm  love  for  whatever  is  noble  and  good,  that  we  feel  almost 
the  same  attachment  to  him  that  the  barber  and  the  curate  did, 
and  are  almost  as  ready  as  his  family  was  to  mourn  over  his  death. 

The  case  of  Sancho  is  again  very  similar,  and  perhaps  in  some 
respects  stronger.  At  first,  he  is  introduced  as  the  opposite  of 
Don  Quixote,  and  used  merely  to  bring  out  his  master's  pecu- 
liarities in  a  more  striking  relief.  It  is  not  until  we  have  gone 
through  nearly  half  of  the  First  Part  that  he  utters  one  of  those 
proverbs  which  form  afterwards  the  staple  of  his  conversation  and 
humor;  and  it  is  not  until  the  opening  of  the  Second  Part,  and, 
indeed,  not  till  he  comes  forth,  in  all  his  mingled  shrewdness  and 
credulity,  as  governor  of  Barataria,  that  his  character  is  quite 
developed  and  completed  to  the  full  measure  of  its  grotesque  yet 
congruous  proportions. 

Cervantes,  in  truth,  came  at  last  to  love  these  creations  of  his 
marvellous  power  as  if  they  were  real,  familiar  personages,  and  to 
speak  of  them  and  treat  them  with  an  earnestness  and  interest 
that  tend  much  to  the  illusion  of  his  readers.  Both  Don  Quixote 
and  Sancho  are  thus  brought  before  us,  like  such  living  realities, 
that  at  this  moment  the  figures  of  the  crazed,  gaunt,  dignified 
knight,  and  of  his  round,  selfish,  and  most  amusing  esquire,  dwell 
bodied  forth  in  the  imaginations  of  more,  among  all  conditions  of 
men  throughout  Christendom,  than  any  other  of  the  creations  of 
human  talent.  The  greatest  of  the  great  poets — Homer,  Dante, 
Shakspeare,  Milton — have  no  doubt  risen  to  loftier  heights,  and 
placed  themselves  in  more  imposing  relations  with  the  noblest 
attributes  of  our  nature ;  but  Cervantes — always  writing  under 
the  unchecked  impulse  of  his  own  genius,  and  instinctively  con- 
centrating in  his  fiction  whatever  was  peculiar  to  the  character  of 
his  nation — has  shown  himself  of  kindred  to  all  times  and  all 
lands ;  to  the  humblest  degrees  of  cultivation  as  well  as  to  the 
highest;  and  has  thus,  beyond  all  other  writers,  received  in  re- 
turn a  tribute  of  sympathy  and  admiration  from  the  universal 
spirit  of  humanity  for  one  of  the  most  remarkable  monuments  of 
modern  genius.  But  though  this  may  be  enough  to  fill  the  mea- 
sure of  human  fame  and  glory,  it  is  not  all  to  which  Cervantes  is 
entitled;  for,  if  we  would  do  him  the  justice  that  would  have 
been  dearest  to  his  own  spirit,  and  even  if  we  would  ourselves 
fully  comprehend  and  enjoy  the  whole  of  his  Don  Quixote,  wo 


352  CHARLES  SPRAGUE. 

should,  as  we  read  it,  bear  in  mind  that  this  delightful  romance 
was  not  the  result  of  a  youthful  exuberance  of  feeling,  and  a 
happy  external  condition,  nor  composed  in  his  best  years,  when 
the  spirits  of  its  author  were  light  and  his  hopes  high  •  but  that 
— with  all  its  unquenchable  and  irresistible  humor,  with  its  bright 
views  of  the  world,  and  his  cheerful  trust  in  goodness  and  virtue 
— it  was  written  in  his  old  age,  at  the  conclusion  of  a  life  nearly 
every  step  of  which  had  been  marked  with  disappointed  expecta- 
tions, disheartening  struggles,  and  sore  calamities ;  that  he  began 
it  in  a  prison,  and  that  it  was  finished  when  he  felt  the  hand  of 
death  pressing  heavy  and  cold  upon  his  heart.  If  this  be  remem- 
bered as  we  read,  we  may  feel,  as  we  ought  to  feel,  what  admira- 
tion and  reverence  are  due,  not  only  to  the  living  power  of  Don 
Quixote,  but  to  the  character  and  genius  of  Cervantes;  if  it  be 
forgotten  or  underrated,  we  shall  fail  in  regard  to  both. 


CHARLES  SPRAGUE. 

This  finished  poet  and  graceful  prose-Avritcr  was  born  in  Boston  on  the  26th  of 
October,  1791.  He  was  educated  in  his  native  city,  and  placed  at  an  early  age 
in  a  mercantile  house,  and  at  the  age  of  twenty-one  engaged  in  business  on  his 
own  account.  After  a  few  years,  he  was  elected  cashier  of  the  Globe  Bank,  in 
Boston,  which  office  he  still  holds. 

Mr.  Sprague  is  an  eminent  and  encouraging  example  of  the  union  of  large 
business  capacity  and  exact  business  habits  with  a  love  of  literature  and  signal 
success  in  its  pursuit.  He  was  born  a  poet,  and  no  forms  of  the  counting-house 
or  of  the  bank  could  repress  bis  native  genius.  He  early  published  a  series  of  pro- 
logues, which  attracted  much  attention,  and  in  1823  was  a  successful  competitor 
for  the  Prize  Ode  at  an  exhibition  in  Boston  in  honor  of  Shakspeare.1  On  the  4th 
of  July,  1825,  he  delivered  an  oration  before  the  inhabitants  of  Boston,  which  is 
above  the  ordinary  productions  of  that  character.  In  1827,  he  delivered  an 
admirable  Oration  before  the  Massachusetts  Society  for  the  Siqiprcssion  of  Intem- 
pera7ice;  and  in  1829,  a  poem  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  of  Harvard 
University,  entitled  Curiosity.  This  is  the  longest  of  his  poetical  productions,  and 
has  many  passages  of  signal  beauty.  In  1S30,  he  pronounced  an  ode  at  the 
Centennial  Celebration  of  the  settlement  of  Boston,  which  has,  perhaps,  a  little 
more  finish  than  the  "  Shakspeare  Ode but  it  displays  not  so  much  spirit,  vigor, 


1  With  the  exception  of  Gray's  "Bard"  and  "Progress  of  Poesy,"  and  two  or 
three  of  Collins's  odes,  I  think  this  ode  superior  to  any  thing  of  the  kind  in  our 
language,  not  excepting  Dryden's  celebrated  "Alexander's  Feast."  In  beauty,  in 
vigor,  in  happy  allusions  and  pertinent  illustrations,  it  is  quite  equal  to  Dry- 
den's* while  it  has  none  of  those  gross  associations  which  are  a  sad  blemish  in  its 
great  prototype. 


CHARLES  SPRAGUE. 


353 


or  genius.  Besides  these,  Mr.  Sprague  has  written  many  smaller  pieces,  which 
have  fully  sustained  his  early  reputation.1 

SIIAKSPEARE  ODE. 

God  of  the  glorious  Lyre ! 
Whose  notes  of  old  on  lofty  Pindus  rang. 

While  Jove's  exulting  choir 
Caught  the  glad  echoes  and  responsive  sang, — 
Come !  bless  the  service  and  the  shrine 
We  consecrate  to  thee  and  thine. 

Fierce  from  the  frozen  north, 
When  Havoc  led  his  legions  forth, 
0;er  Learning's  sunny  groves  the  dark  destroyers  spread: 
In  dust  the  sacred  statue  slept, 
Fair  Science  round  her  altars  wept, 
And  Wisdom  cowl'd  his  head. 

At  length,  Olympian  lord  of  morn, 
The  raven  veil  of  night  was  torn, 

When,  through  golden  clouds  descending, 
Thou  didst  hold  thy  radiant  flight, 

O'er  Nature's  lovely  pageant  bending, 
Till  Avon  roll'd,  all  sparkling,  to  thy  sight ! 

There,  on  its  bank,  beneath  the  mulberry's  shade, 
Wrapp'd  in  young  dreams,  a  wild-eyed  minstrel  stray'd. 
Lighting  there,  and  lingering  long, 
Thou  didst  teach  the  bard  his  song  ; 

Thy  fingers  strung  his  sleeping  shell, 
And  round  his  brows  a  garland  curl'd ; 

On  his  lips  thy  spirit  fell, 
And  bade  him  wake  and  warm  the  world. 

Then  Shakspeare  rose ! 
Across  the  trembling  strings 
His  daring  hand  he  flings, 
And  lo  !  a  new  creation  glows  ! 
There,  clustering  round,  submissive  to  his  will, 
Fate's  vassal  train  his  high  commands  fulfil. — 

Madness,  with  his  frightful  scream, 
Vengeance,  leaning  on  his  lance, 
Avarice,  with  his  blade  and  beam, 
Hatred,  blasting  with  a  glance, 
Remorse  that  weeps,  and  Rage  that  roars, 
And  Jealousy  that  dotes,  but  dooms,  and  murders,  yet  adores. 
Mirth,  his  face  with  sunbeams  lit, 
Waking  laughter's  merry  swell, 


1  "Chai'les  Sprague  wrote  for  me  but  little  in  The  Token;  yet  that  was  of  dia- 
mond worth." — Goodrich's  Recollections.  Head  articles  on  his  poetry  in  ''  North 
American  Review,"  xix.  253,  xxxix.  313,  lii.  533.  A  beautiful  edition  of  his 
Poems  and  Prose  Writings  has  been  published  by  Ticknor  &  Fields,  Boscon. 

30* 


| 


354 


CHARLES  SPRAGUE. 


Arm  in  arm  with  fresh-eyed  Wit, 
That  waves  his  tingling  lash,  while  Folly  shakes  his  bell. 

Despair,  that  haunts  the  gurgling  stream, 
Kiss'd  by  the  virgin  moon's  cold  beam, 
"Where  some  lost  maid  wild  chaplets  wreathes, 
And,  swan-like,  there  her  own  dirge  breathes, 
Then,  broken-hearted,  sinks  to  rest, 
Beneath  the  bubbling  wave  that  shrouds  her  maniac  breast. 

Young  Love,  with  eye  of  tender  gloom, 
Now  drooping  o;er  the  hallow'd  tomb 

"Where  his  plighted  victims  lie, — 

AVhere  they  met,  but  met  to  die ; 
And  now,  when  crimson  buds  are  sleeping, 
Through  the  dewy  arbor  peeping, 
Where  Beauty's  child,  the  frowning  world  forgot, 
To  Youth's  devoted  tale  is  listening, 
Rapture  on  her  dark  lash  glistening, 
While  fairies  leave  their  cowslip  cells  and  guard  the  happy  spot. 

Thus  rise  the  phantom  throng, 
Obedient  to  their  Master's  song, 

And  lead  in  willing  chains  the  wondering  soul  along. 
For  other  worlds  war's  Great  One  sigh'd  in  vain, — 
O'er  other  worlds  see  Shakspeare  rove  and  reign ! 
The  rapt  magician  of  his  own  wild  lay, 
Earth  and  her  tribes  his  mystic  wand  obey. 
Old  Ocean  trembles,  Thunder  cracks  the  skies, 
Air  teems  with  shapes,  and  tell-tale  spectres  rise ; 
Night's  paltering  hags  their  fearful  orgies  keep, 
And  faithless  Guilt  unseals  the  lip  of  Sleep  ; 
Time  yields  his  trophies  up,  and  Death  restores 
The  moulder'd  victims  of  his  voiceless  shores. 
The  fireside  legend  and  the  faded  page, 
The  crime  that  cursed,  the  deed  that  bless'd  an  age, 
All,  all  come  forth, — the  good  to  charm  and  cheer, 
To  scourge  bold  Yice,  and  start  the  generous  tear ; 
With  pictured  Folly  gazing  fools  to  shame, 

And  guide  young  Glory's  foot  along  the  path  of  fame. 

Lo  !  hand  in  hand, 
Hell's  juggling  sisters  stand, 
To  greet  their  victim  from  the  fight ; 

Group'd  on  the  blasted  heath, 
They  tempt  him  to  the  work  of  death, 
Then  melt  in  air,  and  mock  his  wondering  sight. 

In  midnight's  hallow'd  hour 

He  seeks  the  fatal  tower, 
AVhere  the  lone  raven,  perch'd  on  high, 

Pours  to  the  sullen  gale 

Her  hoarse,  prophetic  wail, 
And  croaks  the  dreadful  moment  nigh. 
See,  by  the  phantom  dagger  led, 

Pale,  guilty  thing ! 
Slowly  he  steals,  with  silent  tread, 
And  grasps  his  coward  steel  to  smite  his  sleeping  king ! 


CHARLES  SPRAGUE. 


355 


Hark !  'tis  the  signal  bell, 
Struck  by  that  bold  and  unsex'd  one 
Whose  milk  is  gall,  whose  heart  is  stone ; 
His  ear  hath  caught  the  knell, — 
'Tis  done  !  'tis  done  ! 
Behold  him  from  the  chamber  rushing 
Where  his  dead  monarch's  blood  is  gushing ! 
Look  where  he  trembling  stands, 
Sad  gazing  there, 
Life's  smoking  crimson  on  his  hands, 
And  in  his  felon  heart  the  worm  of  wild  despair ! 

Mark  the  sceptred  traitor  slumbering ! 

There  flit  the  slaves  of  conscience  round, 
With  boding  tongue  foul  murders  numbering ; 
Sleep's  leaden  portals  catch  the  sound. 
In  his  dream  of  blood  for  mercy  quaking, 
At  his  own  dull  scream  behold  him  waking ! 
Soon  that  dream  to  fate  shall  turn: 
For  him  the  living  furies  burn  ; 
For  him  the  vulture  sits  on  yonder  misty  peak, 
And  chides  the  lagging  night,  and  whets  her  hungry  beak. 
Hark  !  the  trumpet's  warning  breath 
Echoes  round  the  vale  of  death. 
Unhorsed,  unhelm'd,  disdaining  shield, 
The  panting  tyrant  scours  the  field. 
Vengeance  !  he  meets  thy  dooming  blade  ! 
The  scourge  of  earth,  the  scorn  of  Heaven, 
He  falls  !  unwept  and  unforgiven, 
And  all  his  guilty  glories  fade. 
Like  a  crush'd  reptile  in  the  dust  he  lies, 
And  Hate's  last  lightning  quivers  from  his  eyes ! 

Behold  yon  crownless  king, — 

Yon  white-lock'd,  weeping  sire, — 
Where  heaven's  unpillar'd  chambers  ring, 
And  burst  their  streams  of  flood  and  fire ! 
He  gave  them  all, — the  daughters  of  his  love ; 
That  recreant  pair !  they  drive  him  forth  to  rove, 
In  such  a  night  of  woe, 
The  cubless  regent  of  the  wood 
Forgets  to  bathe  her  fangs  in  blood, 
And  caverns  with  her  foe  ! 
Yet  one  was  ever  kind ; 
AVhy  lingers  she  behind  ? 
0  pity  ! — view  him  by  her  dead  form  kneeling, 
Even  in  wild  frenzy  holy  nature  feeling. 
His  aching  eyeballs  strain 

To  see  those  curtain'd  orbs  unfold, 
That  beauteous  bosom  heave  again  ; 

But  all  is  dark  and  cold. 
In  agony  the  father  shakes  ; 
Grief's  choking  note 
Swells  in  his  throat, 
Each  wither'd  heart-string  tugs  and  breaks ! 


CHARLES  SPRAGUE. 


Round  her  pale  neck  his  dying  arms  he  wreathes, 

And  on  her  marble  lips  his  last,  his  death-kiss  breathes. 

Down,  trembling  wing  ! — shall  insect  weakness  keep 

The  sun-defying  eagle's  sweep? 

A  mortal  strike  celestial  strings, 
And  feebly  echo  what  a  seraph  sings  ? 

■   Who  now  shall  grace  the  glowing  throne 

Where,  all  unrivall'd,  all  alone, 
Bold  Shakspeare  sat,  and  look'd  creation  through, 
The  minstrel  monarch  of  the  worlds  he  drew  ? 

That  throne  is  cold — that  lyre  in  death  unstrung 
On  whose  proud  note  delighted  Wonder  hung. 
Yet  old  Oblivion,  as  in  wrath  he  sweeps, 
One  spot  shall  spare, — the  grave  where  Shakspeare  sleeps, 
llulers  and  ruled  in  common  gloom  may  lie, 
But  Nature's  laureate  bards  shall  never  die. 
Art's  chisell'd  boast  and  Glory's  trophied  shore 
Must  live  in  numbers,  or  can  live  no  more. 
While  sculptured  Jove  some  nameless  waste  may  claim, 
Still  rolls  the  Olympic  car  in  Pindar's  fame  ; 
Troy's  doubtful  walls  in  ashes  pass'd  away, 
Yet  frown  on  Greece  in  Homer's  deathless  lay ; 
Rome,  slowly  sinking  in  her  crumbling  fanes, 
Stands  all  immortal  in  her  Maro's  strains  ; 
So,  too,  yon  giant  empress  of  the  isles, 
On  whose  broad  sway  the  sun  forever  smiles, 
To  Time's  unsparing  rage  one  day  must  bend, 
And  all  her  triumphs  in  her  Shakspeare  end ! 

0  Thou !  to  whose  creative  power 

We  dedicate  the  festal  hour, 
While  Grace  and  Goodness  round  the  altar  stand, 
Learning's  anointed  train,  and  Beauty's  rose-lipp'd  band — 
Realms  yet  unborn,  in  accents  now  unknown, 
Thy  song  shall  learn,  and  bless  it  for  their  own. 

Deep  in  the  West  as  Independence  roves, 
His  banners  planting  round  the  land  he  loves, 
Where  Nature  sleeps  in  Eden's  infant  grace, 
In  Time's  full  hour  shall  spring  a  glorious  race. 
Thy  name,  thy  verse,  thy  language,  shall  they  bear, 
And  deck  for  thee  the  vaulted  temple  there. 

Our  Roman-hearted  fathers  broke 

Thy  parent  empire's  galling  yoke; 
But  thou,  harmonious  master  of  the  mind, 
Around  their  sons  a  gentler  chain  shalt  bind; 
Once  more  in  thee  shall  Albion's  sceptre  wave, 
And  what  her  Monarch  lost  her  Monarch-Bard  shall  save. 

THE  BROTHERS. 

We  are  but  two — the  others  sleep 
Through  Death's  untroubled  night ; 

We  are  but  two — oh,  let  us  keep 
The  link  that  binds  us  bright ! 


CHARLES  SPRAGUE. 


357 


Heart  leaps  to  heart — the  sacred  flood 
That  warms  us  is  the  same  ; 

That  good  old  man — his  honest  blood 
Alike  we  fondly  claim. 

We  in  one  mother's  arms  were  lock'd — 

Long  be  her  love  repaid  ; 
In  the  same  cradle  we  were  rock'd, 

Round  the  same  hearth  we  play'd. 

Our  boyish  sports  were  all  the  same, 

Each  little  joy  and  woe  ; 
Let  manhood  keep  alive  the  flame, 

Lit  up  so  long  ago. 

We  are  but  two — be  that  the  band 

To  hold  us  till  we  die  ; 
Shoulder  to  shoulder  let  us  stand, 

Till  side  by  side  we  lie. 


THE  FAMILY  MEETING.1 

We  are  all  here  ! 

Father,  mother, 

Sister,  brother, 
All  who  hold  each  other  dear. 
Each  chair  is  fill'd — we're  all  at  home; 
To-night  let  no  cold  stranger  come ; 
It  is  not  often  thus  around 
Our  old  familiar  hearth  we're  found. 
Bless,  then,  the  meeting  and  the  spot ; 
For  once  be  every  care  forgot ; 
Let  gentle  Peace  assert  her  power, 
And  kind  Affection  rule  the  hour ; 

We're  all — all  here. 

We're  not  all  here  ! 
Some  are  away, — the  dead  ones  dear 
Who  throng'd  with  us  this  ancient  hearth, 
And  gave  the  hour  to  guiltless  mirth. 
Fate,  with  a  stern,  relentless  hand, 
Look'd  in  and  thinn'd  our  little  band ; 
Some  like  a  night-flash  pass'd  away, 
And  some  sank,  lingering,  day  by  day  : 
The  quiet  graveyard — some  lie  there : 
And  cruel  Ocean  has  his  share — 

We're  not  all  here. 

We  are  all  here  ! 
Even  they — the  dead — though  dead,  so  dear. 


1  These  lines  were  written  on  occasion  of  the  accidental  meeting  of  all  tho 
surviving  members  of  a  family,  the  father  and  mother  of  which,  one  eighty-two, 
the  other  eighty  years  old,  have  lived  in  the  same  house  fifty-three  years. 


358 


CHARLES  SPRAGUE. 


Fond  Memory,  to  her  duty  true, 
Brings  back  their  faded  forms  to  view. 
How  lifelike,  through  the  mist  of  years, 
Each  well-remember'd  face  appears ! 
We  see  them  as  in  times  long  past ; 
From  each  to  each  kind  looks  are  cast; 
We  hear  their  words,  their  smiles  behold, 
They're  round  us  as  they  were  of  old — 
We  are  all  here. 

We  are  all  here  ! 

Father,  mother, 

Sister,  brother, 
You  that  I  love  with  love  so  dear. 
This  may  not  long  of  us  be  said : 
Soon  must  we  join  the  gather' d  dead  ; 
And  by  the  hearth  we  now  sit  round 
Some  other  circle  will  be  found. 
Oh,  then,  that  wisdom  may  we  know 
Which  yields  a  life  of  peace  below  ! 
So,  in  the  world  to  follow  this, 
May  each  repeat,  in  words  of  bliss, 

We're  all — all  here! 


THE  WINGED  WORSHIPPERS. 

ADDRESSED  TO  TWO  SWALLOWS  THAT  FLEW  INTO  CHAUNCE  Y-PLACE  CHURCH 
DURING  DIVINE  SERVICE. 

Gay,  guiltless  pair, 
What  seek  ye  from  the  fields  of  heaven  ? 

Ye  have  no  need  of  prayer, 
Ye  have  no  sins  to  be  forgiven. 

Why  perch  ye  here, 
Where  mortals  to  their  Maker  bend? 

Can  your  pure  spirits  fear 
The  God  ye  never  could  offend  ? 

Ye  never  knew 
The  crimes  for  which  we  come  to  weep: 

Penance  is  not  for  you, 
Bless'd  wanderers  of  the  upper  deep. 

To  you  'tis  given 
To  wake  sweet  Nature's  untaught  lays  ; 

Beneath  the  arch  of  heaven 
To  chirp  away  a  life  of  praise. 

Then  spread  each  wing, 
Far,  far  above,  o'er  lakes  and  lands, 

And  join  the  choirs  that  sing 
In  yon  blue  dome  not  rear'd  with  hands. 

Or,  if  ye  stay, 
To  note  the  consecrated  hour, 

Teach  me  the  airy  way, 
And  let  me  try  your  envied  power. 


CHARLES  SPItAGUE. 


359 


Above  the  crowd, 
On  upward  wings  could  I  but  fly, 
I'd  bathe  in  yon  bright  cloud, 
And  seek  the  stars  that  gem  the  sky. 

'Twere  Heaven  indeed 
Through  fields  of  trackless  light  to  soar, 

On  Nature's  charms  to  feed, 
And  Nature's  own  great  God  adore ! 


I  SEE  THEE  STILL. 

I  rock'd  her  iu  the  cradle, 
And  laid  her  in  the  tomb.    She  was  the  youngest. 
What  fireside  circle  hath  not  felt  the  charm 
Of  that  sweet  tie?    The  youngest  ne'er  grow  old, 
The  fond  endearments  of  our  earlier  days 
We  keep  alive  in  them,  and  when  they  die 
Our  youthful  joys  we  bury  with  them. 

I  see  thee  still ; 
Remembrance,  faithful  to  her  trust, 
Calls  thee  in  beauty  from  the  dust ; 
Thou  comest  in  the  morning  light, 
Thou'rt  with  me  through  the  gloomy  night ; 
In  dreams  I  meet  thee  as  of  old  ; 
Then  thy  soft  arms  my  neck  enfold, 
And  thy  sweet  voice  is  in  my  ear : 
In  every  scene  to  memory  dear, 

I  see  thee  still. 

I  see  thee  still, 
In  every  hallow'd  token  round ; 
This  little  ring  thy  finger  bound, 
This  lock  of  hair  thy  forehead  shaded, 
This  silken  chain  by  thee  was  braided, 
These  flowers,  all  wither'd  now,  like  thee, 
Sweet  Sister,  thou  didst  cull  for  me ; 
This  book  was  thine ;  here  didst  thou  read ; 
This  picture — ah  !  yes,  here  indeed 

I  see  thee  still. 

I  see  thee  still ; 
Here  was  thy  summer  noon's  retreat, 
Here  was  thy  favorite  fireside  seat ; 
This  was  thy  chamber — here,  each  day, 
I  sat  and  watch'd  thy  sad  decay  : 
Here,  on  this  bed,  thou  last  didst  lie  ; 
Here,  on  this  pillow, — thou  didst  die. 
Dark  hour !  once  more  its  woes  unfold : 
As  then  I  saw  thee,  pale  and  cold, 

I  see  thee  still! 

I  see  thee  still ; 
Thou  art  not  in  the  grave  confined — 
Death  cannot  claim  the  immortal  Mind ; 


360 


JOHN  HOWARD  PAYNE. 


Let  Earth  close  o'er  its  sacred  trust, 
But  Goodness  dies  not  in  the  dust ; 
Thee,  0  my  Sister  !  'tis  not  thee 
Beneath  the  coffin's  lid  I  see ; 
Thou  to  a  fairer  land  art  gone ; 
There,  let  me  hope,  my  journey  done, 
To  see  thee  still ! 


JOHN  HOWARD  PAYNE,  1792— 1S52. 

John  Howard  Payne  was  born  in  the  city  of  New  York,  June  9,  1792.  He 
early  showed  great  poetical  taste,  together  with  a  strong  passion  for  the  stage,  on 
which  he  made  his  first  appearance  at  the  Park  Theatre  of  his  native  city,  in  his 
sixteenth  year,  in  the  character  of  Young  Norval.  After  that,  for  some  years, 
he  performed  in  our  chief  cities  with  great  success.  In  1813  he  went  to  England, 
and  established  in  London  a  theatrical  journal,  called  the  Opera-Glaus.  He  re- 
turned home  in  1834,  and  in  1S51  was  appointed  Consul  at  Tunis,  where  he  died 
the  next  year,  at  the  age  of  sixty. 

Payne  wrote  a  number  of  dramas  and  other  poems;  but  he  is  now  only  known 
by  the  favorite  air  of  Home,  Sweet  Home,  which  he  introduced,  when  in  London, 
into  an  opera  called  "Clari;  or,  The  Maid  of  Milan."  No  song  was  evermore 
popular;  and  the  profits  arising  from  it  (which  went  to  the  manager  of  the 
theatre,  Charles  Kemble,  and  not  to  Payne)  are  said  to  have  amounted  to  two 
thousand  guineas  in  two  years.  It  is  known  and  admired  wherever  the  English 
language  is  spoken,  and  richly  deserves  a  place  here. 


HOME,  SWEET  HOME. 

'Mid  pleasures  and  palaces  though  we  may  roam, 
Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's  no  place  like  home ! 
A  charm  from  the  skies  seems  to  hallow  us  there, 
Which,  seek  through  the  world,  is  ne'er  met  with  elsewhere. 

Home  !  home  !  sweet  home  ! 

There's  no  place  like  home  ! 

An  exile  from  home,  splendor  dazzles  in  vain : 
Oh,  give  me  my  lowly  thatch'd  cottage  again ; 
The  birds  singing  gayly  that  came  at  my  call : 
Give  me  these,  and  the  peace  of  mind,  dearer  than  all. 

Home  !  sweet,  sweet  home  ! 

There's  no  place  like  home  ! 


SEBA  SMITH. 


361 


SEBA  SMITH. 

Seba  Smith  was  born  in  Buckfield,  Maine,  September  14,  1792,  and  graduated 
at  Bowdoin  College  in  1818,  the  first  scholar  in  his  class.  After  teaching  school 
a  few  years,  he  purchased  one-half  of  the  "  Eastern  Argus," — then  the  leading 
paper  of  the  State, — edited  it  for  four  years,  and  then  sold  out  his  interest  in  this 
paper  and  established  the  "  Portland  Daily  Courier,"  which  he  conducted  suc- 
cessfully for  seven  years.  It  owed  much  of  its  life  and  fame  to  the  original  Letters 
of  3/ajor  Jack  Downing,  which  probably  had  a  more  extensive  popularity  than 
any  series  of  papers  before  published  in  the  country.  The  object  of  these  Letters 
was  to  portray  the  weaknesses,  or  follies,  or  faults,  of  many  of  the  leading  men 
and  measures  of  the  times,  and  the  work  was  done  with  great  skill  and  infinite 
humor.  In  1839,  he  removed  to  New  York,  where  he  still  resides,  engaged  in 
literary  pursuits.  During  the  last  twenty  years,  he  has  been  a  contributor  to 
many  of  the  leading  periodicals,  and  has  edited  different  magazines.  His  pub- 
lished works  are, — Jfy  Thirty  Years  out  of  the  United  States  Senate,  by  Major  Jack 
Doicning,  illustrated  by  numerous  characteristic  engravings  j  a  volume  of  humorous 
stories,  entitled  '  Way  Down  East;  and  New  Elements  of  Geometry.  A  volume  of 
his  poems,  not  hitherto  published  in  a  collected  form,  is  now  in  preparation  for 
the  press.    From  his  fugitive  pieces  I  select  the  following  touching  lines : — 

THE  MOTHER  IN  THE  SNOW-STORM.1 

The  cold  winds  swept  the  mountain's  height, 

And  pathless  was  the  dreary  wild, 
And  'mid  the  cheerless  hours  of  night 

A  mother  wander'd  with  her  child. 
As  through  the  drifting  snow  she  press'd, 
The  babe  was  sleeping  on  her  breast. 

And  colder  still  the  winds  did  blow, 

And  darker  hours  of  night  came  on, 
And  deeper  grew  the  drifts  of  snow ; 

Her  limbs  were  chill'd,  her  strength  was  gone. 
"O  God!:'  she  cried,  in  accents  wild, 
"  If  I  must  perish,  save  my  child !" 

She  stripp'd  her  mantle  from  her  breast, 

And  bared  her  bosom  to  the  storm, 
And  round  the  child  she  wrapp'd  the  vest, 

And  smiled  to  think  her  babe  was  warm. 
With  one  cold  kiss  one  tear  she  shed, 
And  sunk  upon  a  snowy  bed. 

At  dawn  a  traveller  passed  by, 

And  saw  her  'neath  a  snowy  veil ; 
The  frost  of  death  was  in  her  eye, 

Her  cheek  was  cold,  and  hard,  and  pale, — 
He  moved  the  robe  from  off  the  child, 
The  babe  look'd  up  and  sweetly  smiled. 


Suggested  by  a  real  incident  that  occurred  in  the  Green  Mountains,  Vermont. 

31 


362 


HENRY  WARE,  JR. 


HENRY  WARE,  Jr.,  1793—1843. 

Henry  Ware,  Jr.,  the  son  of  the  Rev.  Henry  Ware,  D.D.,  "  Hollis  Pro- 
fessor of  Divinity"  in  Harvard  College,  was  born  in  Hingham,  Massachusetts,, 
April  21,  1793,  and  graduated  at  Harvard  College  in  1S12.  On  leaving  college, 
he  became  an  assistant  teacher  in  Phillips  Exeter  Academy,  devoting  his  leisure 
time  to  a  preparation  for  the  Christian  ministry,  the  profession  which  had  been 
his  choice  from  his  very  youth.  He  completed  his  theological  studies  in  1S16, 
and  on  the  first  day  of  the  following  year  was  ordained  as  pastor  of  the  "Second 
Church,"  in  Boston.  After  twelve  years  of  labor  in  that  situation,  he  was  dis- 
missed at  his  own  request,  and  travelled  in  Europe  for  a  year,  for  the  improve- 
ment of  his  health,  which  had  been  impaired  by  long-continued  mental  applica- 
tion. On  his  return,  he  was  elected  "  Parkman  Professor  of  Pulpit  Elocpuence 
and  Pastoral  Theology"  in  Harvard  University,  which  chair  he  continued  to  fill 
with  great  acceptance  and  ability  till  the  summer  of  1842,  when  his  declining 
health  obliged  him  to  resign  it ;  and  he  died  on  the  22d  of  September  of  the  next 
year. 

Dr.  Ware's  works,  edited  by  Rev.  Chandler  Robins,  have  been  published  in  Boston, 
by  James  Munroe  &  Co.,  in  four  volumes.  They  consist  of  essays,  sermons,  con- 
troversial tracts  and  memoirs,  all  showing  a  mind  of  chaste,  Christian  scholar- 
ship, and  a  heart  full  of  love  to  God  and  love  to  man,  and  alive  to  every  thing 
that  pertains  to  the  best  good  of  the  great  human  family.  They  also  contain 
selections  from  his  poetry ;  for  Dr.  Ware  had  the  true  poetic  spirit,  and  fully 
appreciated  the  poet's  elevated  and  elevating  mission,  as  is  beautifully  shown  in 
the  following  few  lines  on  the  connection  between 

SCIENCE  AND  POETRY. 

Science  and  Poetry,  recognising,  as  they  do,  the  order  and  the 
beauty  of  the  universe,  are  alike  handmaids  of  devotion.  They 
have  been,  they  may  be,  drawn  away  from  her  altar,  but  in  their 
natural  characters  they  are  co-operators,  and,  like  twin-sisters, 
they  walk  hand  in  hand.  Science  tracks  the  footprints  of  the 
great  creating  power ;  poetry  unveils  the  smile  of  the  all-sus- 
taining love.  Science  adores  as  a  subject;  poetry  worships  as  a 
child.  One  teaches  the  law,  and  the  other  binds  the  soul  to  it 
in  bands  of  beauty  and  love.  They  turn  the  universe  into  a 
temple,  earth  into  an  altar,  the  systems  into  fellow-worshippers, 
and  eternity  into  one  long  day  of  contemplation  and  praise. 

CHOOSING  A  PROFESSION. 

In  answering  the  question,  "  What  is  to  be  considered  a 
living?"  men  immediately  separate  a  thousand  different  ways, 
according  to  their  previous  habits  of  life,  the  society  in  which 
they  have  lived,  their  notions  of  worldly  prosperity,  their  love  of 


HENRY  WARE,  JR. 


3(53 


self-gratification,  their  ambition,  and  the  numbeiless  other  things 
which  go  to  make  a  man's  idea  of  happiness.  If  men  would 
cease  to  take  counsel  of  these — if  they  could  calmly  look  with 
the  eye  of  sober  reason  on  life  and  its  purposes,  on  the  earth  and 
its  means  of  gratification — it  would  be  less  difficult  to  decide  this 
matter,  and  there  would  be  less  clashing  than  there  is  between 
this  first  obligation  to  make  a  worldly  provision,  and  the  subse- 
quent obligations  of  a  higher  nature. 

He  who  accounts  it  necessary,  or  most  desirable,  to  become 
rich,  who  connects  his  ideas  of  happiness  and  honor  with  large 
possessions  and  the  artificial  consideration  which  is  attached  to 
wealth,  errs  in  his  first  purpose,  goes  astray  in  the  very  first  step, 
and  multiplies  the  hazards  of  disappointment  and  chagrin.  Yet 
perhaps  there  is  no  error  more  common — not  the  extravagant 
error  of  aiming  at  great  wealth,  as  the  object  for  which  to  live — • 
but  the  error  of  so  setting  one's  desires  on  a  more  than  compe- 
tence ;  of  so  looking  with  contempt  on  the  prospect  of  a  merely 
comfortable  existence,  that  the  taste  for  simple  and  natural  plea- 
sure is  lost,  and  the  higher  motives  of  virtue,  usefulness,  and 
truth  lose  their  comparative  estimation.  Hence  uneasy  desires, 
restless  discontent,  dissatisfaction,  repining  and  envy  at  the  more 
successful ;  hence,  in  a  word,  icretchedness,  in  a  condition  where 
a  well-ordered  mind  could  be  full  of  gratitude.  In  a  commercial 
community,  like  that  in  which  we  live,  which  is  rushing  onward 
in  a  tide  of  prosperity  that  astonishes  while  we  gaze,  and  infatu- 
ates the  mind  of  those  who  are  engaged  in  the  commotion — in  such 
a  community,  especially,  there  is  danger  that  the  judgment  be 
perverted,  that  the  humbler  but  useful  callings  become  dis- 
tasteful, and  multitudes  of  young  men,  to  the  peril  of  their  inno- 
cence, at  the  risk  of  corruption  and  wretchedness,  press  into  the 
crowded  ranks  of  Mammon,  and  suffer  themselves  to  forget  there 
is  any  good  but  gold.  It  has  been  said  by  one  who  has  long 
watched  the  commercial  world  in  this  country,  that  only  one  in 
seven  of  those  who  enter  this  walk  succeed  in  it ;  that  six  in  every 
seven  fail — a  dreadful  proportion  of  blanks,  considering  the  quan- 
tity of  blasted  hopes  and  blighted  integrity,  of  broken  hearts  and 
ruined  characters,  which  it  involves.  And  yet  into  this  des- 
perate struggle  how  eagerly  are  our  young  men  rushing  !  With 
six  chances  of  ruin  to  one  of  success,  how  many  are  leaving  the 
less  crowded,  the  more  certain,  the  more  quiet  avocations  of  pro- 
fessional life,  for  which  their  higher  education  had  fitted  them — 
and  in  which  competence,  with  cultivated  minds  and  useful  occu- 
pations, would  be  far  happier  in  the  long  run,  and  far  more 
honorable,  than  this  ambition  to  grow  rich  in  business — whilst 
letters  are  forgotten,  philosophy  is  deserted,  the  acquisitions  of 
intellect  are  thrown  away,  and  the  mind,  that  might  have  illu- 


364 


HENRY  WARE,  JR. 


mined  society  by  its  genius,  confines  its  noble  powers  to  the  pitiful 
drudgery  of  barter,  and  the  miserable  cares  of  gain ! 


SEASONS  OF  PRAYER. 

To  prayer !  to  prayer ! — -for  the  morning  breaks, 
And  earth  in  her  Maker's  smile  awakes. 
His  light  is  on  all,  below  and  above — 
The  light  of  gladness,  and  life,  and  love. 
Oh !  then,  on  the  breath  of  this  early  air, 
Send  upward  the  incense  of  grateful  prayer. 

To  prayer  ! — for  the  glorious  sun  is  gone, 
And  the  gathering  darkness  of  night  comes  on. 
Like  a  curtain  from  God's  kind  hand  it  flows, 
To  shade  the  couch  where  his  children  repose. 
Then  kneel,  while  the  watching  stars  are  bright, 
And  give  your  last  thoughts  to  the  Guardian  of  night. 

To  prayer ! — for  the  day  that  God  has  blest 
Comes  tranquilly  on  with  its  welcome  rest. 
It  speaks  of  creation's  early  bloom, 
It  speaks  of  the  Prince  who  burst  the  tomb. 
Then  summon  the  spirit's  exalted  powers, 
And  devote  to  Heaven  the  hallow'd  hours. 

There  are  smiles  and  tears  in  the  mother's  eyes, 

For  her  new-born  infant  beside  her  lies. 

Oh  !  hour  of  bliss  !  when  the  heart  o'erflows 

With  rapture  a  mother  only  knows  : 

Let  it  gush  forth  in  words  of  fervent  prayer ; 

Let  it  swell  up  to  Heaven  for  her  precious  care. 

There  are  smiles  and  tears  in  that  gathering  band, 
Where  the  heart  is  pledged  with  the  trembling  hand: 
What  trying  thoughts  in  her  bosom  swell, 
As  the  bride  bids  parents  and  home  farewell ! 
Kneel  down  by  the  side  of  the  tearful  fair, 
And  strengthen  the  perilous  hour  with  prayer. 

Kneel  down  by  the  dying  sinner's  side, 
And  pray  for  his  soul,  through  Him  who  died. 
Large  drops  of  anguish  are  thick  on  his  brow : 
Oh  !  what  are  earth  and  its  pleasures  now  ? 
And  what  shall  assuage  his  dark  despair 
But  the  penitent  cry  of  humble  prayer  ? 

Kneel  down  at  the  couch  of  departing  faith, 

And  hear  the  last  words  the  believer  saith. 

He  has  bidden  adieu  to  his  earthly  friends ; 

There  is  peace  in  his  eye,  that  upward  bends ; 

There  is  peace  in  his  calm,  confiding  air ; 

For  his  last  thoughts  are  God's — his  last  words,  prayer. 

The  voice  of  prayer  at  the  sable  bier ! 

A  voice  to  sustain,  to  soothe,  and  to  cheer. 


HENRY  C.  CAREY. 


365 


It  commends  the  spirit  to  God  who  gave ; 
It  lifts  the  thoughts  from  the  cold,  dark  grave ; 
It  points  to  the  glory  where  He  shall  reign 
"Who  whisper'd,  "  Thy  brother  shall  rise  again." 

The  voice  of  prayer  in  the  world  of  bliss  ! 
But  gladder,  purer  than  rose  from  this. 
.  The  ransom'd  shout  to  their  glorious  King, 
"Where  no  sorrow  shades  the  soul  as  they  sing ; 
But  a  sinless  and  joyous  song  they  raise, 
And  their  voice  of  prayer  is  eternal  praise. 

Awake  \  awake  !  and  gird  up  thy  strength, 

To  join  that  holy  band  at  length. 

To  Him,  who  unceasing  love  displays, 

Whom  the  powers  of  nature  unceasingly  praise, 

To  Him  thy  heart  and  thy  hours  be  given ; 

For  a  life  of  prayer  is  the  life  of  heaven. 


HEXRY  C.  CAREY. 

This  prolific  and  able  writer  on  political  economy,  whose  praise  is  in  both 
hemispheres,  is  the  son  of  Mathew  Carey,1  and  was  born  in  Philadelphia  in  1793. 
Succeeding  his  father  in  his  extensive  publishing  business  in  1821,  he  continued 
in  this  pursuit,  so  congenial  to  his  literary  tastes,  till  183S.  He  seemed  to 
inherit  a  strong  inclination  to  investigate  subjects  in  connection  with  political 
economy,  and  in  1S36  gave  the  results  of  his  speculations  in  an  Essay  on  the 
Bate  of  Wages,  which  in  1840  was  expanded  into  the  Laics  of  Wealth,  or  Prin- 
ciples of  Political  Economy,  3  vols,  octav  e  The  positions  of  this  work  at  once 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  European  political  economists,  and  from  many 
of  them  elicited  the  warmest  praise.  It  was  published  in  Italian  at  Turin,  and 
in  Swedish  at  Upsal.  In  1848  Mr.  Carey  published  The  Past,  the  Present,  and 
the  Future,  the  design  of  -which  is  to  explain  the  facts  of  history  by  the  aid  of  great 
and  universal  laws,  directly  the  reverse  of  those  taught  by  Ricardo,  Malthus,  and 
other  eminent  political  economists.  This  work  also  has  been  translated  into 
several  of  the  languages  of  Europe. 

For  several  years,  Mr.  Carey  contributed  all  the  leading  articles,  and  others  of 
less  importance,  to  the  periodical  entitled  "  The  Plough,  the  Loom,  and  the 
Anvil."  Many  of  these  were  collected  and  published  in  a  volume,  entitled  The 
Harmony  of  Interests,  Agricultural,  Manufacturing,  and  Commercial ;  and  others 
of  them  in  a  pamphlet  called  The  Prospect,  Agricultural,  Manufacturing,  Commer- 


1  Mathew  Carey  was  born  in  Dublin  in  1760,  and,  coming  over  to  this  country 
early  in  life,  established  himself  in  the  book-publishing  business,  which  for 
nearly  half  a  century  he  carried  on  very  extensively  and  with  great  success. 
He  was  also  distinguished  as  a  philanthropist,  and  up  to  the  very  last  year  of  his 
long  life  he  took  the  lead  in  many  efforts  to  aid  the  deserving  poor,  and  to  ame- 
liorate the  condition  of  the  suffering.    He  died  in  1839. 

31* 


366  HENRY  C.  CAREY. 


cial,  and  Financial,  at  the  Opening  o/lSol.1  In  1853  appeared  The  Slave-Trade. 
Domestic  and  Foreign :  why  it  exists,  and  how  it  may  be  extinguished.  In  the 
latter  part  of  1857  appeared  a  series  of  admirable  Letters  addressed  to  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States  upon  the  depressed  condition  of  the  financial,  commer- 
cial, agricultural,  and  manufacturing  interests  of  our  country,  which  have  been 
warmly  commended  and  widely  copied.  His  last  work,  in  three  volumes 
octavo,  is  entitled  Principles  of  Social  Science,  to  which  nothing  that  has  appeared 
upon  this  subject  in  the  present  century  is  equal,  either  in  fulness  or  practical 
efficiency ;  and  it  will,  we  think,  place  him,  in  the  estimation  of  all  fair  and 
competent  judges,  among  the  very  first  of  political  economists. 


MAN  THE  SUBJECT  OF  SOCIAL  SCIENCE. 

Man,  the  molecule  of  society,  is  the  subject  of  social  science. 
In  common  with  all  other  animals,  he  requires  to  eat,  drink,  and 
sleep )  but  his  greatest  need  is  that  of  association  with  his  fellow- 
men.  Dependent  upon  the  experience  of  himself  and  others  for 
all  his  knowledge,  he  requires  language  to  enable  him  either  to 
record  the  results  of  his  own  observation,  or  to  profit  by  those 
of  others  j  and  of  language  there  can  be  none  without  association. 
Without  language,  he  must  remain  in  ignorance  of  the  existence 
of  powers  granted  to  him  in  lieu  of  the  strength  of  the  ox  and  the. 
horse,  the  speed  of  the  hare,  and  the  sagacity  of  the  elephant,  and 
must  remain  below  the  level  of  the  brute  creation.  To  have  lan- 
guage, there  must  be  association  and  combination  of  men  with 
their  fellow-men ;  and  it  is  on  this  condition  only  that  man  can  be 
man  •  on  this  alone  that  we  can  conceive  of  the  being  to  which  we 
attach  the  idea  of  man.  "  It  is  not  good/'  said  God,  "  that  man 
should  live  alone  5"  nor  do  we  ever  find  him  doing  so, — the  earliest 
records  of  the  world  exhibiting  to  us  beings  living  together  in 
society,  and  using  words  for  the  expression  of  their  ideas.  Lan- 
guage escapes  from  man  at  the  touch  of  nature  herself;2  and  the 
power  of  using  words  is  his  essential  faculty,  enabling  him  to 
maintain  commerce  with  his  fellow-men,  and  fitting  him  for  that 
association  without  which  language  cannot  exist.  The  words 
"  society"  and  "  language"  convey  to  the  mind  separate  and  dis- 
tinct ideas ;  and  yet  by  no  effort  of  the  mind  can  we  conceive  of 
the  existence  of  the  one  without  the  other. 


1  Of  the  Harmony  of  Interests,  "  Blackwood's  Magazine"  thus  remarks  : — "  Mr. 
Carey,  the  well-known  statistical  writer  of  America,  has  supplied  us  with  ample 
materials  for  conducting  such  an  inquiry;  and  we  can  safely  recommend  his 
remarkable  work  to  all  who  wish  to  investigate  the  causes  of  the  progress  or 
decline  of  industrial  communities." 

"Mr.  Carey  has  clearly  substantiated  his  claim  to  be  the  leading  writer  now 
devoted  to  the  study  of  political  economy.  In  his  pregnant  discussions,  he  baa 
not  only  elevated  the  scientific  position  of  his  country,  but  nobly  subserved  the 
cause  of  humanity." — Ar.  Y.  Quarterly.       2  See  remarks  of  Noah  Webster,  p.  142. 


HENRY  C.  CAREY. 


367 


The  subject  of  social  science,  then,  is  man,  the  being  to  whom 
have  been  given  reason  and  the  faculty  of  individualizing  sounds 
so  as  to  give  expression  to  every  variety  of  idea,  and  who  has 
been  placed  in  a  position  to  exercise  that  faculty.  Isolate  him, 
and  with  the  loss  of  the  power  of  speech  he  loses  the  power  to 
reason,  and  with  it  the  distinctive  quality  of  man.  Restore  him 
to  society,  and  with  the  return  of  the  power  of  speech  he  becomes 
again  the  reasoning  man. 

COMMERCE  AND  TRADE. 

The  words  "  commerce"  and  "  trade"  are  commonly  regarded 
as  convertible  terms;  yet  are  the  ideas  they  express  so  widely 
different  as  to  render  it  essential  that  their  difference  be  clearly 
understood.  All  men  are  prompted  to  associate  and  combine  with 
each  other,  to  exchange  ideas  and  services  with  each  other,  and 
thus  to  maintain  commerce.  Some  men  seek  to  perform  ex- 
changes for  other  men,  and  thus  to  maintain  TRADE. 

Commerce  is  the  object  everywhere  desired  and  everywhere 
sought  to  be  accomplished.  Traffic  is  the  instrument  used  by 
commerce  for  its  accomplishment;  and  the  greater  the  necessity 
for  the  instrument,  the  less  is  the  power  of  those  who  require  to 
use  it.  The  nearer  the  consumer  and  the  producer,  and  the  more 
perfect  the  power  of  association,  the  less  is  the  necessity  for  the 
trader's  services,  but  the  greater  are  the  powers  of  those  who 
produce  and  consume,  and  the  desire  to  maintain  commerce.  The 
more  distant  they  are,  the  greater  is  the  need  of  the  trader's  ser- 
vices, and  the  greater  is  his  power ;  but  the  poorer  and  weaker 
become  the  producers  and  the  consumers,  and  the  smaller  is  the 
commerce.  The  men  who  buy  and  sell,  who  traffic  and  transport, 
desire  to  prevent  association,  and  thus  to  preclude  the  mainte- 
nance of  commerce;  and  the  more  perfectly  their  object  is  accom- 
plished, the  larger  is  the  proportion  of  the  commodities  passing 
through  their  hands  retained  by  them,  and  the  smaller  the  pro- 
portion to  be  divided  between  the  producers  and  the  consumers. 

THE  WARRIOR-CHIEF  AND  THE  TRADER. 

The  object  of  the  warrior-chief  being  that  of  preventing  the 
existence  of  any  motion  in  society  except  that  which  centres  in 
himself,  he  monopolizes  land,  and  destroys  the  power  of  voluntary 
association  among  the  men  he  uses  as  his  instruments.  The  sol- 
dier, obeying  the  word  of  command,  is  so  far  from  holding  him- 
self responsible  to  God  or  man  for  the  observance  of  the  rights  of 
person  or  of  property,  that  he  glories  in  the  extent  of  his  rob- 
beries and  in  the  number  of  his  murders.    The  man  of  the  Rocky 


368 


HENRY  C.  CAREY. 


Mountains  adorns  his  person  with  the  scalps  of  his  butchered 
enemies ;  while  the  more  civilized  murderer  contents  himself  with 
adding  a  ribbon  to  the  decoration  of  his  coat ;  but  both  are  savages 
alike.  The  trader — equally  with  the  soldier  seeking  to  prevent 
any  movement  except  that  which  centres  in  himself — also  uses 
irresponsible  machines.  The  sailor  is  among  the  most  brutalized 
of  human  beings,  bound,  like  the  soldier,  to  obey  orders,  at  the 
risk  of  having  his  back  seamed  by  the  application  of  the  whip. 
The  human  machines  used  by  war  and  trade  are  the  only  ones, 
except  the  negro  slave,  who  are  now  flogged. 

The  soldier  desires  labor  to  be  cheap,  that  recruits  may  readily 
be  obtained.  The  great  land-owner  desires  it  may  be  cheap,  that 
he  may  be  enabled  to  appropriate  to  himself  a  large  proportion  of 
the  proceeds  of  his  land ;  and  the  trader  desires  it  to  be  cheap, 
that  he  may  be  enabled  to  dictate  the  terms  upon  which  he  will 
buy  as  well  as  those  upon  which  he  will  sell. 

The  object  of  all  being  thus  identical, — that  of  obtaining  power 
over  their  fellow-men, — it  is  no  matter  of  surprise  that  we  find  the 
trader  and  the  soldier  so  uniformly  helping  and  being  helped  by 
each  other.  The  bankers  of  Rome  were  as  ready  to  furnish  mate- 
rial aid  to  Caesar,  Pompey,  and  Augustus,  as  are  now  those  of 
London,  Paris,  Amsterdam,  and  Vienna  to  grant  it  to  the  Em- 
perors of  France,  Austria,  and  Russia;  and  as  indifierent  as  they 
in  relation  to  the  end  for  whose  attainment  it  was  destined  to  be 
used.  War  and  trade  thus  travel  together,  as  is  shown  by  the 
history  of  the  world.  The  only  difference  between  wars  made  for 
purposes  of  conquest,  and  those  for  the  maintenance  of  monopolies 
of  trade,  being  that  the  virulence  of  the  latter  is  much  greater  than 
is  that  of  the  former.  The  conqueror,  seeking  political  power,  is 
sometimes  moved  by  a  desire  to  improve  the  condition  of  his  fel- 
low-men ;  but  the  trader,  in  pursuit  of  power,  is  animated  by  no 
other  idea  than  that  of  buying  in  the  cheapest  market  and  selling 
in  the  dearest, — cheapening  merchandise  in  the  one,  even  at  the 
cost  of  starving  the  producers,  and  increasing  his  price  in  the 
other,  even  at  the  cost  of  starving  the  consumers.  Both  profit  by 
whatever  tends  to  diminution  in  the  power  of  voluntary  associa- 
tion and  consequent  decline  of  commerce.  The  soldier  forbids 
the  holding  of  meetings  among  his  subjects.  The  slave-owner 
interdicts  his  people  from  assembling  together,  except  at  such 
times  and  in  such  places  as  meet  his  approbation.  The  shipmaster 
rejoices  when  the  men  of  England  separate  from  each  other,  and 
transport  themselves  by  hundreds  of  thousands  to  Canada  and 
Australia,  because  it  enhances  freights;  and  the  trader  rejoices, 
because  the  more  widely  men  are  scattered,  the  more  they  need 
the  service  of  the  middle-man,  and  the  richer  and  more  powerful 
does  he  become  at  their  expense. 


SAMUEL  G.  GOODRICH. 


369 


SAMUEL  G.  GOODRICH. 

If  any  one  could  claim  a  place  in  the  pages  of  this  Compendium  of  American 
Literature  from  the  number  and  popularity  of  his  published  works,  then  Samuel 
G.  Goodrich,  the  renowned  "Peter  Parley,"  has  a  right  here  above  all  others. 
He  was  born  at  Ridgefield,  Connecticut,  on  the  19th  of  August,  1793,  and  in  early 
life  commenced  the  publication  of  historical,  geographical,  and  other  school-books, 
at  Hartford,  in  his  native  State,  and  subsequently  became,  in  the  same  depart- 
ment, a  writer  so  prolific,  that  it  was  no  easy  task  to  compute  the  number  of  his 
published  works.1  In  1824,  on  his  return  from  Europe,  he  published  "The 
Token," — a  collection  of  original  pieces  in  prose  and  poetry,  by  various  contri- 
butors, and  elegantly  illustrated.  It  was  the  first  "Annual,"  we  believe,  that 
appeared  in  our  country,  and  it  became  very  popular.  It  was  continued  for 
fifteen  years,  and  many  of  the  poems  and  tales  in  it  were  written  by  himself. 

Besides  his  almost  numberless  compilations,  Mr.  Goodrich  has  published  the 
following  original  works : — In  1836,  Sketches  from  a  Student's  Window,  being  a 
collection  of  his  contributions  to  "The  Token"  and  various  magazines;  in  1838, 
Fireside  Education ;  in  1841,  The  Outcast,  and  other  Poems;  in  1856,  Recollec- 
tions of  a  Lifetime,  or  Men  and  Things  I  have  Seen,  in  two  volumes.  Fx'om  the 
latter  I  have  made  the  following  prose  selections : — 

TIMOTHY  D WIGHT. 

Dr.  Dwight  was  perhaps  even  more  distinguished  in  conversa- 
tion than  in  the  pulpit.  He  was  indeed  regarded  as  without  a 
rival  in  this  respect;  his  knowledge  was  extensive  and  various, 
and  his  language  eloquent,  rich,  and  flowing.  His  fine  voice  and 
noble  person  gave  great  effect  to  what  he  said.  When  he  spoke, 
others  were  silent.  This  arose  in  part  from  the  superiority  of  his 
powers,  but  in  part  also  from  his  manner,  which  was  somewhat 
authoritative.  Thus  he  engrossed,  not  rudely,  but  with  the  will- 
ing assent  of  those  around  him,  the  lead  in  conversation.  Never- 
theless, I  must  remark  that  in  society  the  imposing  grandeur  of 
his  personal  appearance  in  the  pulpit  was  softened  by  a  general 
blandness  of  expression  and  a  sedulous  courtesy  of  manner,  which 


1  The  number  of  works  that  Mr.  Goodrich  has  published,  either  written,  com- 
piled, or  edited  by  himself,  is  so  great  that  the  very  catalogue  would  fill  two 
pages  of  my  book.  For  a  full  account  of  the  same,  and  also  for  a  list  of  spurious 
works  that  have  been  claimed  to  be  written  by  him,  see  the  appendix  to  the 
second  volume  of  his  Recollections  of  a  Lifetime.  They  may  be  summed  up  as 
folloAvs  : — Miscellaneous  Works,  including  fourteen  volumes  of  "The  Token," 
thirty  volumes:  School-Books,  twenty-seven  volumes;  Tales,  under  the  name 
of  "Peter  Parley,"  thirty-six  volume-s ;  Parley's  Historical  Conyiends,  thirty-six 
volumes;  Parley's  Miscellanies,  seventy  volumes:  in  all,  one  hundred  and 
seventy-seven  volumes.  "Of  all  th  2se,"  he  says,  "about  seven  millions  of 
volumes  have  been  sold;  and  about  three  hundred  thousand  volumes  are  now 
sold  annually." 


870 


SAMUEL  G.  GOODRICH. 


were  always  conciliating,  and  sometimes  really  captivating.  His 
smile  was  irresistible. 

In  reflecting  upon  this  good  and  great  man,  and  reading  his 
works  in  after-time,  I  am  still  impressed  with  his  general  supe- 
riority,— his  manly  intellect,  his  vast  range  of  knowledge,  and  his 
large  heart;  yet  I  am  persuaded  that,  on  account  of  his  noble 
person, — the  perfection  of  the  visible  man, — he  exercised  a  power 
in  his  day  and  generation  somewhat  beyond  the  natural  scope  of 
his  mental  endowments.  Those  who  only  read  his  works  cannot 
fully  realize  the  impression  which  he  made  upon  the  age  in  which 
he  lived.  His  name  is  still  honored ;  many  of  his  works  still 
live.  His  "  Body  of  Divinity"  takes  the  precedence,  not  only 
here,  but  in  England,  over  all  works  of  the  same  kind  and  the 
same  doctrine  j  but  at  the  period  to  which  I  refer,  he  was  re- 
garded with  a  species  of  idolatry  by  those  around  him.  Even  the 
pupils  of  the  college  under  his  presidential  charge — those  who  are 
not  usually  inclined  to  hero-worship — almost  adored  him.  To 
this  day,  those  who  had  the  good  fortune  to  receive  their  educa- 
tion under  his  auspices  look  back  upon  it  as  a  great  era  in 
their  lives. 

There  was  indeed  reason  for  this.  With  all  his  greatness  in 
other  respects,  Dr.  Dwight  seems  to  have  been  more  particularly 
felicitous  as  the  teacher,  the  counsellor,  the  guide,  of  educated 
young  men.  In  the  lecture-room,  all  his  high  and  noble  qualities 
seemed  to  find  their  full  scope.  He  did  not  here  confine  himself 
to  merely  scientific  instruction  :  he  gave  lessons  in  morals  and 
manners,  and  taught,  with  a  wisdom  which  experience  and  com- 
mon sense  only  could  have  furnished,  the  various  ways  to  insure 
success  in  life.  He  gave  lectures  upon  health, — the  art  of  main- 
taining a  vigorous  constitution  with  the  earnest  pursuit  of  pro- 
fessional duties, — citing  his  own  example,  which  consisted  in 
laboring  every  day  in  the  garden,  when  the  season  permitted,  and 
at  other  times  at  some  mechanical  employment.  He  recommended 
that  in  intercourse  with  mankind,  his  pupils  should  always  con- 
verse with  each  individual  upon  that  subject  in  which  he  was 
most  instructed,  observing  that  he  never  met  a  man  of  whom  he 
could  not  learn  something.  He  gave  counsel  suited  to  the  various 
professions :  to  those  who  were  to  become  clergymen,  he  imparted 
the  wisdom  which  he  had  gathered  by  a  life  of  long  and  active 
experience;  he  counselled  those  who  were  to  become  lawyers, 
physicians,  merchants, — and  all  with  a  fulness  of  knowledge  and 
a  felicity  of  illustration  and  application,  as  if  he  had  actually  spent 
a  life  in  each  of  these  vocations.  And  more  than  this  :  he  sought 
to  infuse  into  the  bosom  of  all  that  high  principle  which  served  to 
inspire  his  own  soul, — that  is,  to  be  always  a  gentleman,  taking 
St.  Paul  as  his  model.    He  considered  not  courtesy  only,  but 


SAMUEL  G.  GOODRICH. 


371 


truth,  honor,  manliness  in  all  things,  as  essential  to  this  character. 
Every  kind  of  meanness  he  despised.  Love  of  country  was  the 
constant  theme  of  his  eulogy.  Religion  was  the  soul  of  his  sys- 
tem. God  was  the  centre  of  gravity,  and  man  should  make  the 
moral  law  as  inflexible  as  the  law  of  nature.  Seeking  to  elevate 
all  to  this  sphere,  he  still  made  its  orbit  full  of  light, — the  light 
of  love,  and  honor,  and  patriotism,  and  literature,  and  ambition, — 
all  verging  towards  that  fulness  of  glory  which  earth  only  reflects 
and  heaven  only  can  unfold. 

THE  RURAL  DISTRICTS  OUR  COUNTRY'S  STRENGTH. 

The  importance  of  the  progress  and  improvement  of  the  coun- 
try towns  is  plain,  when  we  consider  that  here,  and  not  in  the 
great  cities, — New  York,  or  Boston,  or  Philadelphia, — are  the  hope, 
strength,  and  glory  of  our  nation.  Here,  in  the  smaller  towns 
and  villages,  are  indeed  the  majority  of  the  people,  and  here  there 
is  a  weight  of  sober  thought,  just  judgment,  and  virtuous  feeling, 
that  will  serve  as  rudder  and  ballast  to  our  country,  whatever 
weather  may  betide. 

As  I  have  so  recently  travelled  through  some  of  the  finest  and 
most  renowned  portions  of  the  European  continent,  I  find  myself 
constantly  comparing  the  towns  and  villages  which  I  see  here 
with  those  foreign  lands.  One  thing  is  clear,  that  there  are  in 
continental  Europe  no  such  country  towns  and  villages  as  those 
of  New  England  and  some  other  portions  of  this  country.  Not 
only  the  exterior  but  the  interior  is  totally  different.  The  villages 
there  resemble  the  squalid  suburbs  of  a  city ;  the  people  are  like 
their  houses, — poor  and  subservient, — narrow  in  intellect,  feeling, 
and  habits  of  thought.  I  know  twenty  towns  in  France,  having 
from  two  to  ten  thousand  inhabitants,  where,  if  you  except  the 
prefects,  mayors,  notaries,  and  a  few  other  persons  in  each  place, 
there  is  scarcely  a  family  that  rises  to  the  least  independence  of 
thought,  or  even  a  moderate  elevation  of  character.  All  the 
power,  all  the  thought,  all  the  genius,  all  the  expanse  of  intellect, 
are  centred  at  Paris.  The  blood  of  the  country  is  drawn  to  this 
seat  and  centre,  leaving  the  limbs  and  members  cold  and  pulseless 
as  those  of  a  corpse. 

How  different  is  it  in  this  country  !  The  life,  vigor,  poAver  of 
these  United  States  are  diffused  through  a  thousand  veins  and 
arteries  over  the  whole  people,  every  limb  nourished,  every  mem- 
ber invigorated  !  New  York,  Philadelphia,  and  Boston  do  not 
give  law  to  this  country ;  that  comes  from  the  people — the 
farmers,  mechanics,  manufacturers,  merchants  —  independent  in 
their  circumstances,  and  sober,  religious,  virtuous  in  their  habits 
of  thought  and  conduct.    I  make  allowance  for  the  sinister 


872 


SAMUEL  G.  GOODRICH. 


influence  of  vice  which  abounds  in  some  places;  for  the  debasing 
effects  of  demagogism  in  our  politicians  ;  for  the  corruption  of 
selfish  and  degrading  interests,  cast  into  the  general  current 
of  public  feeling  and  opinion.  I  admit  that  these  sometimes 
make  the  nation  swerve,  for  a  time,  from  the  path  of  wisdom ;  but 
the  wandering  is  neither  wide  nor  long.  The  preponderating 
national  mind  is  just  and  sound,  and,  if  danger  comes,  it  will 
manifest  its  power  and  avert  it. 

BOSTON  IN  1824. 

In  1824,  Boston  was  notoriously  the  literary  metropolis  of  the 
Union, — the  admitted  Athens  of  America.  Edward  Everett  had 
given  permanency  to  the  u  North  American  Review and  though 
he  had  just  left  the  editorial  chair,  his  spirit  dwelt  in  it,  and  his 
fame  lingered  around  it.  Richard  II.  Dana,  Edward  T.  (man- 
ning, Jared  Sparks,  George  Bancroft,  and  others,  were  among  the 
rising  lights  of  the  literary  horizon.  The  newspaper  press  pre- 
sented the  witty  and  caustic  "  Galaxy,"  edited  by  Buckingham ; 
the  dignified  and  scholarly  "  Daily  Advertiser,"  conducted  by 
Nathan  Hale ;  and  the  frank,  sensible,  manly  "  Centinel,"  under 
the  editorial  patriarch,  Benjamin  Russell.  Channing  was  in  the 
pulpit  and  Webster  at  the  forum.  Society  was  strongly  impressed 
with  literary  tastes;  genius  was  respected  and  cherished;  a  man, 
in  those  days,  who  had  achieved  a  literary  fame,  was  at  least  equal 
to  a  president  of  a  bank,  or  a  treasurer  of  a  manufacturing  com- 
pany. The  pulpit  shone  bright  and  far,  with  the  light  of  scholar- 
ship radiated  from  the  names  of  Beecher,  Greenwood,  Pierpont, 
Lowell,  Palfrey,  Doane,  Stone,  Frothingham,  Gannett :  the  bar 
also  reflected  the  glory  of  letters  through  H.  G.  Otis,  Charles 
Jackson,  William  Prescott,  Benjamin  Gorham,  Willard  Phillips, 
James  T.  Austin,  among  the  older  members,  and  Charles  G. 
Loring,  Charles  P.  Curtis,  Richard  Fletcher,  Theophilus  Parsons, 
Franklin  Dexter,  J.  Quincy,  Jr.,  Edward  G.  Loring,  Benjamin 
R.  Curtis,  among  the  younger.  The  day  had  not  yet  come  when 
it  was  glory  enough  for  a  college  professor  to  marry  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  of  stocks,  or  when  it  was  the  chief  end  of  a 
lawyer  to  become  the  attorney  of  an  insurance  company,  or  a 
bank,  or  a  manufacturing  corporation.  Corporations,  without 
souls,  had  not  yet  become  the  masters  and  moulders  of  the  soul 
of  society.  Books  with  a  Boston  imprint  had  a  prestige  equal 
to  a  certificate  of  good  paper,  good  print,  good  binding,  and 
good  matter.  And  while  such  was  the  state  of  things  at  Boston, 
how  was  it  at  New  York  ?  Why,  all  this  time  the  Harpers,  who 
till  recently  had  been  mere  printers  in  Dover  Street,  had  scarcely 
entered  upon  their  career  as  publishers,  and  the  Appletons,  Put- 


SAMUEL  G.  GOODRICH. 


378 


nam,  Derby,  the  Masons,  and  other  shining  lights  in  the  trade  of 
New  York  at  the  present  time,  were  either  unborn,  or  in  the  nur- 
sery, or  at  school. 

AVhat  a  revolution  do  these  simple  items  suggest, — wrought  in 
the  space  of  thirty  years  !  The  sceptre  has  departed  from  Judah  : 
New  York  is  now  the  acknowledged  metropolis  of  American  lite- 
rature, as  well  as  of  art  and  commerce.  Nevertheless,  if  we  look 
at  Boston  literature  at  the  present  time,  as  reflected  in  the  publish- 
ing lists  of  Messrs.  Little,  Brown  &  Co.,  Ticknor  &  Fields,  Phillips, 
Sampson  &  Co.,  Crocker  &  Brewster,  Gould  &  Lincoln,  we  shall  see 
that  the  light  of  other  days  has  not  degenerated.  Is  it  not  aug- 
mented, indeed  ? — for  since  the  period  I  speak  of,  Prescott,  Long- 
follow,  Hawthorne,  Whipple,  Holmes,  Lowell,  Hillard,  have  joined 
the  Boston  constellation  of  letters  ?* 


1  Philadelphia  will  not  silently  see  herself  thus  ignored  as  a  hook-publishing 
city.  Her  earlier  publishers,  Mathew  Carey,  John  Grigg,  and  others,  did  an 
amount  of  business  second  at  that  time  to  no  other  houses  in  the  country.  In 
1804,  Mr.  Carey  set  up  the  Bible  in  quarto  form,  and  kept  the  type  standing, — the 
first  enterprise  of  that  kind,  it  is  thought,  in  the  world ;  and  of  this,  over  two 
hundred  thousand  impressions  were  published.  And  it  may  here  be  remarked 
that  Philadelphia  continues  to  manufacture  more  Bibles  (outside  of  the  American 
Bible  Society)  than  all  other  cities  in  the  Union  combined. 

In  the  first  quarter  of  the  present  century  there  were  published  in  Philadelphia 
such  works  as  these  : — Dobson's  Encyclopedia,  21  vols. ;  Bees'  Cyclopedia,  46  vols. ; 
Edinburgh  Encyclopedia,  18  vols.  ;  while  the  Encyclopedia  Americana,.  13  vols. 
Svo,  published  more  than  twenty  years  ago  by  Carey  &  Lea,  cost  for  authorship 
alone  about  twenty-five  thousand  dollars.  Nearly  forty  years  ago,  John  Grigg 
first  exhibited  that  ability  and  energy  which  soon  placed  the  house  of  Grigg, 
Elliott  &  Co.  at  the  head  of  the  distributing  houses  of  the  country;  and  their 
successors,  J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Co.,  are  probably  the  largest  book-selling  and 
book-distributing  house  in  the  world.  It  has  recently  been  made  a  matter  of 
boast  that  Chambers  &  Co.,  of  Edinburgh,  had  sent  out  ten  tons  in  a  fortnight; 
whereas  Lippincott  &  Co.  have  sent  out  for  three  weeks  together  tex  tons 

EVERY  DAY  ! 

As  to  Medical  Books,  it  is  said  that  more  than  three-fourths  of  the  whole 
number  issued  in  the  United  States  are  printed  and  published  in  Philadelphia. 
The  three  firms  most  extensively  engaged  in  this  branch  are  Blanchard  &  Lea, 
J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Co.,  and  Lindsay  &  Blakiston.  The  first  of  these  firms  continues 
to  publish  the  "American  Journal  of  Medical  Science,"  whose  reputation  is 
second  to  none  other  in  the  world.  Professor  Wood's  "  Practice  of  Medicine"  is 
used  not  only  in  the  best  medical  colleges  in  this  country,  but  is  a  text-book  in 
some  of  the  highest  rank  in  Great  Britain;  and  Professor  Dunglison's  "Medical 
Dictionary,"  published  by  Blanchard  &  Lea,  is  said  to  be  the  most  comprehensive 
book  of  the  kind  in  our  language. 

In  the  department  of  Voyages  and  Travels,  to  mention  no  other,  we  wouM 
name  the  United  States  Exploring  Expedition,  by  Charles  Wilkes,  in  five  royal 
octavo  volumes,  with  a  volume  of  maps,  published  by  Blanchard  &  Lea;  for  it 
may  well  be  doubted  if  any  other  work  of  travels  has  equalled — certainly  none 
has  excelled — this  in  artistic  and  mechanical  execution. 

In  the  matter  of  School  Books,  the  publications  of  J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Co., 
Cowperthwait  &  Co.,  E.  C.  &  J.  Biddle,  and  E.  II.  Butler  &  Co.,  doubtless  exceed 
those  of  any  other  four  houses  in  the  country.  The  last  house  issues  annually 
nearly  four  hundred  thousand  volumes  of  Mitchell's  series  of  Geographies  alone. 

If  we  now  turn  our  attention  to  books  elegantly  illustrated,  and  printed  and 

32 


374 


CARLOS  WILCOX. 


CARLOS  WILCOX,  1794—1827. 

Carlos  Wilcox  was  born  at  Newport,  New  Hampshire,  October  22,  1794.  He 
graduated  at  Middlebury  College  in  1813,  and  then  entered  the  theological  school 
at  Andover,  Massachusetts.  He  began  to  preach  in  1819;  but  his  health  failed, 
and  he  accepted  an  invitation  from  a  friend  in  Salisbury,  Connecticut,  to  reside 
at  his  house,  where  he  spent  two  years  and  composed  his  Age  of  Benevolence. 
In  1821,  he  was  ordained  as  pastor  of  the  North  Congregational  Church,  Hart- 
ford, and  soon  won  a  high  reputation  for  eloquence;  but  his  health  began  to 
decline  rapidly,  and  after  various  journeys  for  its  restoration,  to  no  purpose,  he 
breathed  his  last  on  the  27th  of  May,  1S27. 

His  Remains,  with  a  Memoir  of  his  Life,  were  published  in  182S.  The  volume 
contains  two  poems,  the  Age  of  Benevolence  ;  The  Religion  of  Taste,  delivered  in 
1821  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  of  Yale  College;  and  fourteen  Sermons. 
Both  of  the  poems  are  incomplete;  but  of  such  merit  are  they  as  fragments,  that 
they  make  us  the  more  sorrowful  for  what  we  have  lost.1 


SEPTEMBER. 

The  sultry  summer  past,  September  comes, 
Soft  twilight  of  the  slow-declining  year  ; — 
All  mildness,  soothing  loneliness  and  peace ; 
The  fading  season  ere  the  falling  come, 
More  sober  than  the  buxom  blooming  May, 
And  therefore  less  the  favorite  of  the  world, 
But  dearest  month  of  all  to  pensive  minds. 
'Tis  now  far  spent  ;  and  the  meridian  sun, 
Most  sweetly  smiling  with  attemper'd  beams, 
Sheds  gently  down  a  mild  and  grateful  warmth. 
Beneath  its  yellow  lustre,  groves  and  woods, 
Checker'd  by  one  night's  frost  with  various  hues, 


bound  in  the  richest  manner,  no  house  in  the  country  surpasses,  if  any  equals, 
that  of  E.  H.  Butler  &  Co.  Their  last  published  work  of  this  kind, — A  Gallery 
of  Famous  Poets,  selected  and  arranged  by  Professor  Henry  Coppee, — as  bound  by 
Pawson  &  Nicholson,*  is  pronounced  by  all  competent  judges  to  be  the  most 
magnificent  book  ever  issued  in  this  country  certainly,  and  quite  equalling  any 
ever  printed  in  England. 

1  "  He  was  a  true  poet,  and  deeply  interesting  in  his  character,  both  as  a  man 
and  a  Christian.  He  resembled  Cowper  in  many  respects, — in  the  gentleness  and 
tenderness  of  his  sensibilities, — in  the  modest  and  retiring  disposition  of  his 
mind,  in  its  fine  culture  and  its  original  poetic  cast, — and  not  a  little  iu  the 
character  of  his  poetry." — George  B.  Cheever. 


*  I  believe  New  York  and  Boston  booksellers  acknowledge  Pawson  &  Nicholson  the  best 
binders  in  this  country,  and  not  surpassed  even  by  Hay  day  of  London.  The  junior  partner. 
James  B.  Nicholson,  has  published  a  work  of  great  practical  value  upon  the  subject,  untitled 
••A  Manual  of  the  Art  of  Bookbinding;  containing  Full  Instructions  in  the  Different 
Branches  of  Forwarding,  Gilding,  and  Finishing;  also"  the  Art  of  Marbling  Book-Edges  and 
Paper.  The  whole  designed  for  the  Practical  Workman,  the  Amateur,  and  the  Book- 
Collector." 


CARLOS  WILCOX. 


While  yet  no  wind  has  swept  a  leaf  away. 

Shine  doubly  rich.    It  were  a  sad  delight 

Down  the  smooth  stream  to  glide,  and  see  it  tinged 

Upon  each  brink  with  all  the  gorgeous  hues, 

The  yellow,  red,  or  purple  of  the  trees, 

That,  singly,  or  in  tufts,  or  forests  thick, 

Adorn  the  shores ;  to  see,  perhaps,  the  side 

Of  some  high  mount  reflected  far  below 

With  its  bright  colors,  intermix'd  with  spots 

Of  darker  green.    Yes,  it  were  sweetly  sad 

To  wander  in  the  open  fields,  and  hear, 

E'en  at  this  hour,  the  noon-day  hardly  past, 

The  lulling  insects  of  the  summer's  night; 

To  hear,  where  lately  buzzing  swarms  were  heard, 

A  lonely  bee  long  roving  here  and  there 

To  find  a  single  flower,  but  all  in  vain ; 

Then,  rising  quick,  and  with  a  louder  hum, 

In  widening  circles  round  and  round  his  head, 

Straight  by  the  listener  flying  clear  away, 

As  if  to  bid  the  fields  a  last  adieu ; 

To  hear,  within  the  woodland's  sunny  side, 

Late  full  of  music,  nothing,  save,  perhaps, 

The  sound  of  nutshells  by  the  squirrel  dropp'd 

From  some  tall  beech,  fast  falling  through  the  leaves. 


FREEDOM. 

All  are  born  free,  and  all  with  equal  rights. 
So  speaks  the  charter  of  a  nation  proud 
Of  her  unequall'd  liberties  and  laws, 
While  in  that  nation — shameful  to  relate — 
One  man  in  five  is  born  and  dies  a  slave. 
Is  this  my  country  ?  this  that  happy  land, 
The  wonder  and  the  envy  of  the  world? 
Oh  for  a  mantle  to  conceal  her  shame ! 
But  why,  when  Patriotism  cannot  hide 
The  ruin  which  her  guilt  will  surely  bring 
If  unrepented  ?  and,  unless  the  God 
Who  pour'd  his  plagues  on  Egypt  till  she  let 
The  oppress'd  go  free,  and  often  pours  his  wrath, 
In  earthquakes  and  tornadoes,  on  the  isles 
Of  Western  India,  laying  waste  their  fields, 
Dashing  their  mercenary  ships  ashore, 
Tossing  the  isles  themselves  like  floating  wrecks, 
And  burying  towns  alive  in  one  wide  grave, 
No  sooner  oped  but  closed,  let  judgment  pass 
For  once  untasted  till  the  general  doom, 
Can  it  go  well  with  us  while  we  retain 
This  cursed  thing  ?    Will  not  untimely  frosts, 
Devouring  insects,  drought,  and  wind  and  hail, 
Destroy  the  fruits  of  ground  long  till'd  in  chains? 
Will  not  some  daring  spirit,  born  to  thoughts 
Above  his  beast-like  state,  find  out  the  truth, 
That  Africans  are  men  ;  and,  catching  fire 


876 


CARLOS  WILCOX. 


From  Freedom's  altar  raised  before  his  eyes 

With  incense  fuming  sweet,  in  others  light 

A  kindred  flame  in  secret,  till  a  train, 

Kindled  at  once,  deal  death  on  eyery  side  ? 

Cease  then,  Columbia,  for  thy  safety  cease, 

And  for  thine  honor,  to  proclaim  the  praise 

Of  thy  fair  shores  of  liberty  and  joy, 

While  thrice  five  hundred  thousand  wretched  slaves,1 

In  thine  own  bosom,  start  at  every  word 

As  meant  to  mock  their  woes,  and  shake  their  chains, 

Thinking  defiance  which  they  dare  not  speak. 

DOING  GOOD,  TRUE  HAPPINESS. 

Wouldst  thou  from  sorrow  find  a  sweet  relief? 

Or  is  thy  heart  oppress'd  with  woes  untold  ? 
Balm  wouldst  thou  gather  for  corroding  grief? 

Pour  blessings  round  thee  like  a  shower  of  gold. 

'Tis  when  the  rose  is  wrapp'd  in  many  a  fold 
Close  to  its  heart,  the  worm  is  wasting  there 

Its  life  and  beauty  ;  not  when,  all  unroll'd, 
Leaf  after  leaf,  its  bosom,  rich  and  fair, 
Breathes  freely  its  perfumes  throughout  the  ambient  air. 

Wake,  thou  that  sleepest  in  enchanted  bowers. 

Lest  these  lost  years  should  haunt  thee  on  the  night 
When  death  is  waiting  for  thy  number'd  hours 

To  take  their  swift  and  everlasting  flight ; 

Wake,  ere  the  earth-born  charm  unnerve  thee  quite, 
And  be  thy  thoughts  to  work  divine  address'd; 

Do  something — do  it  soon — with  all  thy  might ; 
An  angel's  wing  would  droop  if  long  at  rest, 
And  God  himself,  inactive,  were  no  longer  blest. 

Some  high  or  humble  enterprise  of  good 

Contemplate,  till  it  shall  possess  thy  mind, 
Become  thy  study,  pastime,  rest,  and  food, 

And  kindle  in  thy  heart  a  flame  refined. 

Pray  Heaven  for  firmness  thy  whole  soul  to  bind 
To  this  thy  purpose — to  begin,  pursue, 

With  thoughts  all  fix'd,  and  feelings  purely  kind; 
Strength  to  complete,  and  with  delight  review, 
And  grace  to  give  the  praise  where  all  is  ever  due. 

No  good  of  worth  sublime  will  Heaven  permit 
To  light  on  man  as  from  the  passing  air ; 

The  lamp  of  genius,  though  by  nature  lit, 
If  not  protected,  pruned,  and  fed  with  care, 
Soon  dies,  or  runs  to  waste  with  fitful  glare ; 

And  learning  is  a  plant  that  spreads  and  towers 
Slow  as  Columbia's  aloe,  proudly  rare, 

That  'mid  gay  thousands,  with  the  suns  and  showers 
Of  half  a  century,  grows  alone  before  it  flowers. 


1  According  to  the  census  of  1850,  there  are  in  the  land  3,204,317  slaves,— 
about  one  to  every  six  freemen. 


Author  of  tfiz    Corufictrors  Grave, 


Prated  Lv  W.  Pat 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


377 


Has  immortality  of  name  been  given 

To  them  that  idly  worship  hills  and  groves, 

And  burn  sweet  incense  to  the  queen  of  heaven  ? 
Did  Newton  learn  from  fancy,  as  it  roves, 
To  measure  worlds,  and  follow  where  each  moves  ? 

Did  Howard  gain  renown  that  shall  not  cease, 
By  wanderings  wild  that  nature's  pilgrim  loves  ? 

Or  did  Paul  gain  heaven's  glory  and  its  peace 
By  musing  o'er  the  bright  and  tranquil  isles  of  Greece  ? 

Beware  lest  thou,  from  sloth,  that  would  appear 
But  lowliness  of  mind,  with  joy  proclaim 

Thy  want  of  worth, — a  charge  thou  couldst  not  hear  . 
From  other  lips,  without  a  blush  of  shame, 
Or  pride  indignant ;  then  be  thine  the  blame, 

And  make  thyself  of  worth  ;  and  thus  enlist 
The  smiles  of  all  the  good,  the  dear  to  fame ; 

'Tis  infamy  to  die  and  not  be  miss'd, 
Or  let  all  soon  forget  that  thou  didst  e'er  exist. 

Bouse  to  some  work  of  high  and  holy  love, 
And  thou  an  angel's  happiness  shalt  know ; 

Shalt  bless  the  earth  while  in  the  world  above ; 
The  good  begun  by  thee  shall  onward  flow 
In  many  a  branching  stream,  and  wider  grow ; 

The  seed  that,  in  these  few  and  fleeting  hours, 
Thy  hands,  unsparing  and  unwearied,  sow, 

Shall  deck  thy  grave  with  amaranthine  flowers, 
And  yield  thee  fruits  divine  in  heaven's  immortal  bowers. 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 

This  eminent  poet  and  political  philosopher,  the  son  of  Peter  Bryant,  M.D.,  of 
Cummington,  Hampshire  County,  Massachusetts,  was  born  in  that  town  on  the 
3d  of  November,  1794.  When  only  ten  years  of  age,  Mr.  Bryant  produced  several 
small  poems,  which,  though  bearing,  of  course,  the  marks  of  immaturity,  were 
thought  of  sufficient  merit  to  be  published  in  a  neighboring  newspaper, — the 
"  Hampshire  Gazette."  After  going  through  the  usual  preparatory  studies,  he 
entered  the  sophomore  class  of  Williams  College,  in  1810,  and  for  two  years  pur- 
sued his  studies  with  commendable  industry, — being  distinguished  more  espe- 
cially for  his  fondness  of  the  classics.  Anxious,  however,  to  begin  the  profession 
which  he  had  chosen, — the  law, — he  procured  an  honorable  dismission  at  the  end 
of  the  junior  year,  and  in  1815  was  admitted  to  practice  at  the  bar  of  Plymouth. 

But  Mr.  Bryant  did  not,  during  the  period  of  his  professional  studies,  neglect 
the  cultivation  of  his  poetic  talents.  In  1S08,  before  he  entered  college,  he  had 
published,  in  Boston,  a  satirical  poem  which  attracted  so  much  attention  that  a 
second  edition  was  demanded  the  next  year.  But  what  gave  him  his  early, 
enviable  rank  as  a  poet  was  the  publication,  in  the  "  North  American  Review," 

32* 


378 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


in  1817,  of  the  poem  Thanatopsis,  written  four  years  before,  (in  1812.)  That  a 
young  man,  not  yet  nineteen,  should  have  produced  a  poem  so  lofty  in  concep- 
tion and  so  beautiful  in  execution,  so  full  of  chaste  language  and  delicate  and 
striking  imagery,  and,  above  all,  so  pervaded  by  a  noble  and  cheerful  religious 
philosophy,  may  well  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  remarkable  examples  of  early 
maturity  in  literary  history.  Nor  did  this  production  stand  alone :  the  Inscrip- 
tion for  an  Entrance  into  a  Wood  followed  in  1813 ;  and  The  Waterfowl  in  1S16. 
In  1821,  he  wrote  his  longest  poem,  The  Ages,  which  was  delivered  before  the  Phi 
Beta  Kappa  Society  of  Harvard  College,  and  soon  after  published  in  Boston  in 
connection  with  his  other  poems.  The  appearance  of  this  volume  at  once  placed 
Mr.  Bryant  in  the  very  front  rank  of  American  poets. 

In  1822,  Mr.  Bryant  was  married  to  Miss  Fairchild,  of  Great  Barrington, 
Massachusetts,  whither  he  had  removed  to  prosecute  his  profession.  But,  though 
skilful  and  successful  in  it,  he  preferred  to  devote  his  life  to  the  more  congenial 
pursuits  of  literature;  and  in  1825  he  removed  to  New  York,  where  he  edited 
a  monthly  periodical,  "  The  New  York  Review  and  Athenaeum  Magazine,"  in 
which  appeared  many  forcible  and  just  criticisms,  and  some  of  his  best  poems. 
In  1S2G,  he  became  the  editor  of  the  "  Evening  Post," — one  of  the  oldest  and  most 
influential  of  the  daily  gazettes  in  our  country.  At  once  its  columns  evinced  new 
spirit  and  vigor,  and  it  became  the  leading  journal  of  the  so-called  "  Democratic" 
party,  supporting  its  views  in  relation  to  banks,  free  trade,  <tc.  with  signal  ability. 
But  in  later  years,  when  he  thought  that  that  party  had  abandoned  the  principles 
of  its  founders,  and  was  becoming  too  much  the  ally  of  the  slave-power,  he 
divorced  himself  from  it,  and  devoted  his  talents  and  influence  to  the  cause  of 
republican  freedom.1 

Mr.  Bryant  has  visited  Europe  five  times,— in  1831,  1830,  1849,  1852,  and 
1857, — enriching  his  journal  with  his  letters  descriptive  of  the  scenes,  places, 
countries,  and  persons  visited.  In  1850,  he  published  a  collection  of  letters 
written  during  his  travels,  under  the  title  of  Letters  of  a  Traveller,  of  which 
several  editions  have  appeared.  His  letters  written  during  his  last  tour,  mostly 
in  Spain,  have  been  lately  published,  and  form  the  Second  Scries  of  Letters  of  a 
Traveller.  But  notwithstanding  the  ease  and  charm  of  his  descriptive  style,  and 
its  terseness  and  power  in  discussing  political  subjects,  it  is  as  a  poet  that  Mr. 
Bryant  will  ever  be  most  known,  most  loved,  and  most  honored.2 


1  When  the  "  Evening  Post"  completed  its  first  half-centurj',  in  1851,  Mr. 
Bryant  wrote  its  history,  which  appeared  in  a  pamphlet. 

2  For  criticisms  of  Mr.  Bryant's  poetry,  read  articles  in  "Democratic  Review," 
vols.  vii.  and  x. ;  "North  American  Review,"  vols,  xiii.,  xxxiv.,  and  lv. ;  "Chris- 
tian Examiner,"  vols.  xxii.  and  xxxiii. ;  "American  Quarterly  Review,"  vol.  xx. 
In  the  "  Democratic  Review"  for  February,  1845,  is  a  fine  article  on  his  poetry, 
by  H.  T.  Tuckerman.  In  the  "  North  American  Review"  for  January,  1844,  are 
the  following  just  and  well-written  remarks: — 

"  His  poems  are  almost  perfect  of  their  kind.  The  fruits  of  meditation,  rather 
than  of  passion  or  imagination,  and  rarely  startling  with  an  unexpected  image  or 
sudden  outbreak  of  feeling,  they  are  admirable  specimens  of  what  may  be  called 
the  philosophy  of  the  soul.  They  address  the  finer  instincts  of  our  nature  with  a 
voice  so  winning  and  gentle,  they  search  out  with  such  subtle  power  all  in  the 
heart  which  is  true  and  good,  that  their  influence,  though  quiet,  is  resistless. 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


379 


THANATOPSIS. 

To  him  who,  in  the  love  of  Nature,  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language  ;  for  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty,  and  she  glides 
Into  his  darker  musings  with  a  mild 
And  healing  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness,  ere  he  is  aware.    When  thoughts 
Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 
Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 
Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall, 
And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house, 
Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  heart; — ■ 
Go  forth,  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  Nature's  teachings,  while  from  all  around — 
Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air — 
Comes  a  still  voice. — Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course ;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 
Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid,  with  many  tears, 
Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 
Thy  image.    Earth,  that  nourish'd  thee,  shall  claim 
Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again; 
And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 
Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 
To  mix  forever  with  the  elements, 
To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock 
And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  swain 
Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.    The  oak 
Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mould. 
Yet  not  to  thine  eternal  resting-place 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone, — nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.    Thou  shalt  lie  down 
Witli  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world, — with  kings, 
The  powerful  of  the  earth, — the  wise,  the  good, 
Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past, 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.    The  hills 


They  have  consecrated  to  many  minds  things  which  before  it  was  painful  to  con- 
template. Who  can  say  that  his  feelings  and  fears  respecting  death  have  not  re- 
ceived an  insensible  change  since  reading  the  Thanatopsis  ?  Indeed,  we  think 
that  Bryant's  poems  are  valuable  not  only  for  their  intrinsic  excellence,  but  for 
the  vast  influence  their  wide  circulation  is  calculated  to  exercise  on  national  feel- 
ings and  manners.  It  is  impossible  to  read  them  without  being  morally  bene- 
fited:  they  purify  as  well  as  please;  they  develop  or  encourage  all  the  elevated 
and  thoughtful  tendencies  of  the  mind.  In  the  jar  and  bustle  of  our  Americau 
life,  more  favorable  to  quickness  and  acuteness  of  mind  than  to  meditation,  it  is 
well  that  we  have  a  poet  who  can  bring  the  hues  and  odors  of  nature  into  the 
crowded  mart,  and,  by  ennobling  thoughts  of  man  and  his  destiny,  induce  the 
most  worldly  to  give  their  eyes  an  occasional  glance  upward,  and  the  most  selfish 
to  feel  that  the  love  of  God  and  man  is  better  than  the  love  of  mammon." 

An  elegant  edition  of  Mr.  Bryant's  poems,  arranged  by  himself,  and  richly 
illustrated,  has  just  been  published  by  Appleton  &  Co. 


380 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


Rock-ribb'd  and  ancient  as  the  sun, — the  vales 

Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between  ; 

The  venerable  woods, — rivers  that  move 

In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks 

That  make  the  meadows  green:  and,  pourd  round  all, 

Old  ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste, — 

Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 

Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.    The  golden  sun, 

The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven, 

Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death, 

Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.    All  that  tread 

The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 

That  slumber  in  its  bosom.    Take  the  wings 

Of  morning,  traverse  Barca's  desert  sands, 

Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 

Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound 

Save  its  own  dashings, — yet — the  dead  are  there, 

And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 

The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 

In  their  last  sleep, — the  dead  reign  there  alone. 

So  shalt  thou  rest ;  and  what  if  thou  withdraw 

In  silence  from  the  living,  and  no  friend 

Take  note  of  thy  departure  ?    All  that  breathe 

Will  share  thy  destiny.    The  gay  will  laugh 

When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 

Plod  on,  and  each  one,  as  before,  will  chase 

His  favorite  phantom ;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 

Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come 

And  make  their  bed  with  thee.    As  the  long  train 

Of  ages  glides  away,  the  sons  of  men — ■ 

The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 

In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron  and  maid, 

And  the  sweet  babe,  and  the  gray-headed  man — 

Shall,  one  by  one,  be  gather'd  to  thy  side, 

By  those  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them. 

So  live  that,  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan,  which  moves 
To  that  mysterious  realm  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night, 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon;  but,  sustain'd  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 


TO  A  WATERFOWL. 

Whither,  'midst  falling  dew, 
While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last  steps  of  day, 
Far,  through  their  rosy  depths,  dost  thou  pursue 

Thy  solitary  way  ? 

Vainly  the  fowler's  eye 
Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee  wrong, 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


As,  darkly  limn'd  upon  the  crimson  sky, 
Thy  figure  floats  along. 

Seek'st  thou  the  plashy  brink 
Of  weedy  lake,  or  marge  of  river  wide, 
Or  where  the  rocking  billows  rise  and  sink 

On  the  chafed  ocean  side  ? 

There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast, — 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air, — 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 

All  day  thy  wings  have  fann'd, 
At  that  far  height,  the  cold,  thin  atmosphere, 
Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome  land, 

Though  the  dark  night  is  near. 

And  soon  that  toil  shall  end  ; 
Soon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home,  and  rest, 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows  ;  reeds  shall  bend, 

Soon,  o'er  thy  shelter'd  nest. 

Thou'rt  gone ;  the  abyss  of  heaven 
Hath  swallow'd  up  thy  form ;  yet  on  my  heart 
Deeply  hath  sunk  the  lesson  thou  hast  given, 

And  shall  not  soon  depart. 

He  who,  from  zone  to  zone, 
Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight, 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone, 

Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 

THE  CONQUEROR'S  GRAVE. 

Within  this  lowly  grave  a  conqueror  lies  ; 
And  yet  the  monument  proclaims  it  not, 
Nor  round  the  sleeper's  name  hath  chisel  wrought 
The  emblems  of  a  fame  that  never  dies, — 
Ivy  and  amaranth  in  a  graceful  sheaf 
Twined  with  the  laurel's  fair,  imperial  leaf. 
A  simple  name  alone, 
To  the  great  world  unknown, 
Is  graven  here,  and  wild  flowers  rising  round, 
Meek  meadow-sweet  and  violets  of  the  ground. 
Lean  lovingly  against  the  humble  stone. 

Here,  in  the  quiet  earth,  they  laid  apart 
No  man  of  iron  mould  and  bloody  hands, 
Who  sought  to  wreak  upon  the  cowering  lands 

The  passions  that  consumed  his  restless  heart ; 
But  one  of  tender  spirit  and  delicate  frame, 
Gentlest  in  mien  and  mind 
Of  gentle  womankind, 
Timidly  shrinking  from  the  breath  of  blame  ; 

One  in  whose  eyes  the  smile  of  kindness  made 
Its  haunt,  like  flowers  by  sunny  brooks  in  May ; 


382 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


Yet  at  the  thought  of  others'  pain,  a  shade 
Of  sweeter  sadness  chased  the  smile  away. 

Nor  deem  that  when  the  hand  that  moulders  here 
Was  raised  in  menace,  realms  were  chill'd  with  fear, 

And  armies  muster' d  at  the  sign  as  when 
Clouds  rise  on  clouds  before  the  rainy  east, — 

Gray  captains  leading  bands  of  veteran  men 
And  fiery  youths  to  be  the  vultures'  feast. 
Not  thus  were  waged  the  mighty  wars  that  gave 
The  victory  to  her  who  fills  this  grave ; 
Alone  her  task  was  wrought : 
Alone  the  battle  fought ; 
Through  that  long  strife  her  constant  hope  was  stay'd 
On  God  alone,  nor  look'd  for  other  aid. 

She  met  the  hosts  of  sorrow  with  a  look 

That  alter'cl  not  beneath  the  frown  they  wore ; 

And  soon  the  lowering  brood  were  tamed,  and  took 
Meekly  her  gentle  rule,  and  frown'd  no  more. 

Her  soft  hand  put  aside  the  assaults  of  wrath, 
And  calmly  broke  in  twain 
The  fiery  shafts  of  pain, 

And  rent  Hie  nets  of  passion  from  her  path. 
By  that  victorious  hand  despair  was  slain. 

With  love  she  vanquish' d  hate,  and  overcame 

Evil  with  good  in  her  Great  Master's  name. 

Her  glory  is  not  of  this  shadowy  state, 

Glory  that  with  the  fleeting  season  dies ; 
But  when  she  enter'd  at  the  sapphire  gate, 

What  joy  was  radiant  in  celestial  eyes ! 
How  heaven's  bright  depths  with  sounding  welcomes  rung, 
And  flowers  of  heaven  by  shining  hands  were  flung ! 
And  He  who,  long  before, 
Pain,  scorn,  and  sorrow  bore, 
The  mighty  Sufferer,  with  aspect  sweet, 
Smiled  on  the  timid  stranger  from  his  seat ; 
He  who,  returning  glorious  from  the  grave, 
Dragg'd  Death,  disarm' d,  in  chains,  a  crouching  slave. 

See,  as  I  linger  here,  the  sun  grows  low ; 

Cool  airs  are  murmuring  that  the  night  is  near. 
0  gentle  sleeper,  from  thy  grave  I  go 

Consoled,  though  sad,  in  hope,  and  yet  in  fear. 
Brief  is  the  time,  I  know, 
The  warfare  scarce  begun  ; 
Yet  all  may  win  the  triumphs  thou  hast  won ; 
Still  flows  the  fount  whose  waters  strengthen'd  thee. 

The  victors'  names  are  yet  too  few  to  fill 
Heaven's  mighty  roll;  the  glorious  armory 

That  minister'd  to  thee  is  open'd  still. 

THE  PAST. 

Thou  unrelenting  Past ! 
Strong  are  the  barriers  round  thy  dark  domain, 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


383 


And  fetters,  sure  and  fast, 
Hold  all  that  enter  thy  unbreathing  reign. 

Far  in  thy  realm  withdrawn 
Old  empires  sit  in  sullenness  and  gloom, 

And  glorious  ages  gone 
Lie  deep  within  the  shadow  of  thy  womb. 

Childhood,  with  all  its  mirth, 
Youth,  Manhood,  Age  that  draws  us  to  the  ground, 

And,  last,  Man's  Life  on  earth, 
Glide  to  thy  dim  dominions,  and  are  bound. 

Thou  hast  my  better  years, 
Thou  hast  my  earlier  friends — the  good — the  kind, 

Yielded  to  thee  with  tears, — 
The  venerable  form — the  exalted  mind. 

My  spirit  yearns  to  bring 
The  lost  ones  back; — yearns  with  desire  intense, 

And  struggles  hard  to  wring 
Thy  bolts  apart,  and  pluck  thy  captives  thence. 

In  vain  : — thy  gates  deny 
All  passage  save  to  those  who  hence  depart ; 

Nor  to  the  streaming  eye 
Thou  giv'st  them  back, — nor  to  the  broken  heart. 

In  thy  abysses  hide 
Beauty  and  excellence  unknown : — to  thee 

Earth's  wonder  and  her  pride 
Are  gather'd,  as  the  waters  to  the  sea ; 

Labors  of  good  to  man, 
Unpublish'd  charity,  unbroken  faith, — 

Love,  that  midst  grief  began, 
And  grew  with  years,  and  falter'd  not  in  death. 

Full  many  a  mighty  name 
Lurks  in  thy  depths,  unutter'd,  unrevered ; 

With  thee  are  silent  fame, 
Forgotten  arts,  and  wisdom  disappear'd. 

Thine  for  a  space  are  they  : — ■ 
Yet  shalt  thou  yield  thy  treasures  up  at  last ; 

Thy  gates  shall  yet  give  way, 
Thy  bolts  shall  fall,  inexorable  Past ! 

All  that  of  good  and  fair 
Has  gone  into  thy  womb  from  earliest  time, 

Shall  then  come  forth,  to  wear 
The  glory  and  the  beauty  of  its  prime. 

They  have  not  perish'd — no  ! 
Kind  words,  remember'd  voices  once  so  sweet, 

Smiles,  radiant  long  ago, 
And  features,  the  great  soul's  apparent  seat, 

All  shall  come  back  ;  each  tie 
Of  pure  affection  shall  be  knit  again ; 

Alone  shall  Evil  die, 
And  Sorrow  dwell  a  prisoner  in  thy  reign. 


384 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


And  then  shall  I  behold 
Him  by  whose  kind  paternal  side  I  sprung, 

And  her  who,  still  and  cold, 
Fills  the  next  grave, — the  beautiful  and  young.1 


THE  EVENING  WIND. 

Spirit  that  breathest  through  my  lattice,  thou 
That  cool'st  the  twilight  of  the  sultry  day ! 

Gratefully  flows  thy  freshness  round  my  brow  ; 
Thou  hast  been  out  upon  the  deep  at  play, 

Riding  all  day  the  wild  blue  waves  till  now, 

Roughening  their  crests,  and  scattering  high  their  spray, 

And  swelling  the  white  sail.    I  welcome  thee 

To  the  scorch'd  land,  thou  wanderer  of  the  sea! 

Nor  I  alone, — a  thousand  bosoms  round 

Inhale  thee  in  the  fulness  of  delight; 
And  languid  forms  rise  up,  and  pulses  bound 

Livelier,  at  coming  of  the  wind  of  night; 
And  languishing  to  hear  thy  grateful  sound, 

Lies  the  vast  inland,  stretch'd  beyond  the  sight. 
Go  forth,  into  the  gathering  shade;  go  forth, — 
God's  blessing  breathed  upon  the  fainting  earth ! 

Go,  rock  the  little  wood-bird  in  his  nest, 

Curl  the  still  waters,  bright  with  stars,  and  rouse 

The  wide,  old  wood  from  his  majestic  rest, 
Summoning,  from  the  innumerable  boughs, 

The  strange,  deep  harmonies  that  haunt  his  breast : 
Pleasant  shall  be  thy  way  where  meekly  bows 

The  shutting  flower,  and  darkling  waters  pass, 

And  where  the  o'ershadowing  branches  sweep  the  grass. 

The  faint  old  man  shall  lean  his  silver  head 
To  feel  thee  ;  thou  shalt  kiss  the  child  asleep, 

And  dry  the  moisten'd  curls  that  overspread 

His  temples,  while  his  breathing  grows  more  deep ; 

And  they  avIio  stand  about  the  sick  man's  bed 
Shall  joy  to  listen  to  thy  distant  sweep, 

And  softly  part  his  curtains  to  allow 

Thy  visit,  grateful  to  his  burning  broAV. 

Go — but  the  circle  of  eternal  change, 

Which  is  the  life  of  nature,  shall  restore, 
With  sounds  and  scents  from  all  thy  mighty  range, 

Thee  to  thy  birthplace  of  the  deep  once  more ; 
Sweet  odors  in  the  sea-air,  sweet  and  strange, 

Shall  tell  the  home-sick  mariner  of  the  shore  ; 


1  "No  poet  in  our  country — we  might  perhaps  add,  in  any  country — is  so  ex- 
quisite in  rhythm,  so  classically  puro  and  accurate  in  language,  so  appropriate  in 
diction,  phrase,  simile,  metaphor,  as  Bryant.  He  dips  his  pen  in  words  as  av< 
endowed  painter  his  pencil  in  colors.  His  vein  is  deep,  bis  chosen  themes 
serious,  and  generally  tinged  with  a  not  unpleasing  melancholy;  but  pathos  io 
his  pre-eminent  endowment." — Knickerbocker,  i.  318. 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


385 


And,  listening  to  thy  murmur,  he  shall  deem 
He  hears  the  rustling  leaf  and  running  stream. 


THE  BATTLE-FIELD. 

Once  this  soft  turf,  this  rivulet's  sands, 
Were  trampled  by  a  hurrying  crowd, 

And  fiei'y  hearts  and  armed  hands 
Encounter' d  in  the  battle-cloud. 

Ah  !  never  shall  the  land  forget 

How  gush'd  the  life-blood  of  her  brave, — 
Gush'd,  warm  with  hope  and  courage  yet, 

Upon  the  soil  they  fought  to  save. 

Now  all  is  calm,  and  fresh,  and  still, 

Alone  the  chirp  of  flitting  bird, 
And  talk  of  children  on  the  hill, 

And  bell  of  wandering  kine,  are  heard. 

No  solemn  host  goes  trailing  by 

The  black-mouth'd  gun  and  staggering  wain; 
Men  start  not  at  the  battle-cry: 

Oh,  be  it  never  heard  again ! 

Soon  rested  those  who  fought ;  but  thou 
Who  minglest  in  the  harder  strife 

For  truths  which  men  receive  not  now, 
Thy  warfare  only  ends  with  life. 

A  friendless  warfare  !  lingering  long 
Through  weary  day  and  weary  year ; 

A  wild  and  many-weapon'd  throng 

Hang  on  thy  front,  and  flank,  and  rear. 

Yet  nerve  thy  spirit  to  the  proof, 
And  blench  not  at  thy  chosen  lot ; 

The  timid  good  may  stand  aloof, 

The  sage  may  frown — yet  faint  thou  not, 

Nor  heed  the  shaft  too  surely  cast, 
The  foul  and  hissing  bolt  of  scorn ; 

For  with  thy  side  shall  dwell,  at  last, 
The  victory  of  endurance  born. 

Truth,  crush'd  to  earth,  shall  rise  again ; 

The  eternal  years  of  God  are  hers  ; 
But  Error,  wounded,  writhes  in  pain, 

And  dies  among  his  worshippers.1 


i  Of  this  verse  an  English  critic  thus  writes : — "  Mr.  Bryant  has  certainly 
the  rare  merit  of  having  written  a  stanza  which  will  bear  comparison  with  any 
four  lines  in  our  recollection.  It  has  always  read  to  us  as  one  of  the  noblest  in 
the  English  language.  The  thought  is  complete,  the  expression  perfect.  A 
poem  of  a  dozen  such  verses  would  be  like  a  row  of  pearls,  each  above  a  king's 
ransom." 

33 


386 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


Yea.  though  thou  lie  upon  the  dust, 

When  they  who  help'd  thee  flee  in  fear, 

Die  full  of  hope  and  manly  trust, 
Like  those  who  fell  in  battle  here. 

Another  hand  thy  sword  shall  wield, 
Another  hand  the  standard  wave, 

Till  from  the  trumpet's  mouth  is  peal'd 
The  blast  of  triumph  o'er  thy  grave. 


THE  ANTIQUITY  OF  FREEDOM. 

0  Freedom  !  thou  art  not,  as,  poets  dream, 
A  fair  young  girl,  with  light  and  delicate  limbs, 
And  wavy  tresses  gushing  from  the  cap 
With  which  the  Roman  master  crown'd  his  slave 
When  he  took  off  the  gyves.    A  bearded  man, 
Arm'd  to  the  teeth,  art  thou ;  one  mailed  hand 
Grasps  the  broad  shield,  and  one  the  sword;  thy  brow, 
Glorious  in  beauty  though  it  be,  is  scarr'd 
With  tokens  of  old  wars  ;  thy  massive  limbs 
Are  strong  with  struggling.    Power  at  thee  has  launch'd 
His  bolts,  and  with  nis  lightnings  smitten  thee ; 
They  could  not  quench  the  life  thou  hast  from  heaven. 
Merciless  power  has  dug  thy  dungeon  deep, 
And  his  swart  armorers,  by  a  thousand  fires, 
Have  forged  thy  chain ;  yet,  while  he  deems  thee  bound> 
The  links  are  shiver'd,  and  the  prison-walls 
Fall  outward  :  terribly  thou  springest  forth, 
As  springs  the  flame  above  a  burning  pile, 
And  shout  est  to  the  nations,  who  return 
Thy  shoutings,  while  the  pale  oppressor  flies. 

Thy  birthright  was  not  given  by  human  hands : 
Thou  wert  twin-born  with  man.    In  pleasant  fields, 
While  yet  our  race  was  few,  thou  sat'st  with  him, 
To  tend  the  quiet  flock  and  watcli  the  stars, 
And  teach  the  reed  to  utter  simple  airs. 
Thou  by  his  side,  amid  the  tangled  wood, 
Didst  war  upon  the  panther  and  the  wolf, 
His  only  foes  ;  and  thou  with  him  didst  draw 
The  earliest  furrow  on  the  mountain-side, 
Soft  with  the  deluge.    Tyranny  himself, 
Thy  enemy,  although  of  reverend  look, 
Hoary  with  many  years,  and  far  obey'd, 
Is  later  born  than  thou ;  and  as  he  meets 
The  grave  defiance  of  thine  elder  eye, 
The  usurper  trembles  in  his  fastnesses. 

Thou  shalt  wax  stronger  with  the  lapse  of  yeara, 
But  he  shall  fade  into  a  feebler  age ; 
Feebler,  yet  subtler.    He  shall  weave  his  snares, 
And  spring  them  on  thy  careless  steps,  and  clap 
His  wither'd  hands,  and  from  their  ambush  call 
His  hordes  to  fall  upon  thee.    He  shall  send 


JOHN  NEAL. 


387 


Quaint  maskers,  wearing  fair  and  gallant  forms, 

To  catch  thy  gaze,  and  uttering  graceful  woi'ds 

To  charm  thy  ear ;  while  his  sly  imps,  by  stealth, 

Twine  round  thee  threads  of  steel,  light  thread  on  thread 

That  grow  to  fetters  ;  or  bind  down  thy  arms 

With  chains  conceal'd  in  chaplets.    Oh  !  not  yet 

Mayst  thou  unbrace  thy  corslet,  nor  lay  by 

Thy  sword  ;  nor  yet,  0  Freedom  !  close  thy  lids 

In  slumber ;  for  thine  enemy  never  sleeps, 

And  thou  must  watch  and  combat  till  the  day 

Of  the  new  earth  and  heaven. 


JOHN  NEAL. 

John  Neal  was  born  in  Portland,  Maine,  October  25,  1793.  In  1818,  he  went 
to  Baltimore,  and  engaged  in  the  dry-goods  business  with  John  Pierpont;  but, 
being  unsuccessful,  he  turned  his  attention  to  literature,  and  commenced  his 
career  by  writing  for  the  "  Portico"  a  series  of  critical  essays  on  the  works  of 
Byron.  In  1818,  he  published  his  first  novel,  Keep  Cool,  written,  as  he  says,  "chiefly 
for  the  discouragement  of  duelling."  The  Battle  of  Niagara,  with  other  Poems; 
Otho,  a  tragedy  in  five  acts ;  and  Goldau,  the  Maniac  Harper,  successively  followed. 
He  also  wrote  a  large  part  of  "  The  History  of  the  American  Revolution,  by  Paul 
Allen,"  as  Allen  had  announced  it,  received  subscriptions  for  it,  and  was  too  lazy 
to  finish  it.  Four  novels,  Logan,  Randolph,  Errata,  Seventy -Six,  followed  in  rapid 
succession.  Written  in  haste,  and  with  but  little  care,  they  are  now  neglected ; 
though  at  the  time  they  made  so  favorable  an  impression  that  some  of  them 
were  l'epublisbed  in  England.  Tbis  induced  the  writer  to  embark  for  that  coun- 
try, where  he  arrived  in  January,  1821.  He  very  soon  became  a  contributor  to 
various  periodicals,  making  his  first  appearance  in  "  Blackwood's  Magazine," 
for  which  he  wrote  a  series  of  interesting  and  piquant  articles  on  American 
writers.    He  also  published,  while  abroad,  his  novel  Brother  Jonathan. 

After  remaining  three  years  in  Great  Britain,  he  returned  to  his  native  city, 
and  soon  commenced  the  publication  of  a  weekly  newspaper,  called  "  The 
Yankee,"  which,  not  meeting  with  much  encouragement,  was,  in  about  a  year, 
merged  in  "  The  New  England  Galaxy."1  In  1828,  he  published  Rachel  Dyer, 
a  story,  the  subject  of  which  is  "  Salem  Witchcraft."  This  was  followed  by 
Authorship,  by  a  Ncw-Enr/lander  over  the  Sea;  The  Down-Easters ;  and  Ruth 
Elder.  In  all  these  works  there  is  great  power  and  much  originality;  but,  setting 
all  method  and  style  at  defiance,  they  will  not  survive  the  life  of  the  author.2 
Some  of  his  occasional  essays,  however,  as  well  as  a  few  pieces  of  poetry  written 
for  the  magazines,  possess  great  merit,  and  ought  to  be  preserved.    A  volume  of 


1  See  page  225,  Life  of  Joseph  T.  Buckingham. 

2  "John  Neal's  forces  are  multitudinous,  and  fire  briskly  at  every  thing.  They 
occupy  all  the  provinces  of  letters,  and  are  nearly  useless  from  being  spread  over 
too  much  ground." —  Whipple's  Essays. 


388 


JOHN  NEAL. 


selections  from  his  works  might  be  made  that  would  be  a  valuable  contribution  to 
our  literature.    Mr.  Neal  now  (1859)  resides  in  Portland. 


CHILDREN  WHAT  ARE  THEY? 

What  are  children  ?  Step  to  the  window  with  me.  The  street 
is  full  of  them.  Yonder  a  school  is  let  loose,  and  here,  just  within 
reach  of  our  observation,  are  two  or  three  noisy  little  fellows,  and 
there  another  party  mustering  for  play.  Some  are  whispering  to- 
gether, and  plotting  so  loudly  and  so  earnestly  as  to  attract  every- 
body's attention,  while  others  are  holding  themselves  aloof,  with 
their  satchels  gaping  so  as  to  betray  a  part  of  their  plans  for  to- 
morrow afternoon,  or  laying  their  heads  together  in  pairs  for  a 
trip  to  the  islands.  Look  at  them,  weigh  the  question  I  have  put 
to  you,  and  then  answer  it  as  it  deserves  to  be  answered : —  What  are 
children  ? 

To  which  you  reply  at  once,  without  any  sort  of  hesitation,  per- 
haps,— "  Just  as  the  twig  is  bent,  the  tree's  inclined or,  "  Men 
are  but  children  of  a  larger  growth  j"  or,  peradventure,  "  The 
child  is  father  of  the  man/'  And  then  perhaps  you  leave  me, 
perfectly  satisfied  with  yourself  and  with  your  answer,  having 
"  plucked  out  the  heart  of  the  mystery,"  and  uttered,  without 
knowing  it,  a  string  of  glorious  truths.  *  *  * 

Among  the  children  who  are  now  playing  together,  like  birds 
among  the  blossoms  of  earth,  haunting  all  the  green  shadowy 
places  thereof,  and  rejoicing  in  the  bright  air,  happy  and  beauti- 
ful creatures,  and  as  changeable  as  happy,  with  eyes  brimful  of 
joy  and  with  hearts  playing  upon  their  little  faces  like  sunshine 
upon  clear  waters;  among  those  who  are  now  idling  together  on 
that  slope,  or  pursuing  butterflies  together  on  the  edge  of  that 
wood,  a  wilderness  of  roses,  you  would  see  not  only  the  gifted 
and  the  powerful,  the  wise  and  the  eloquent,  the  ambitious  and 
the  renowned,  the  long-lived  and  the  long-to-be-lamented  of  an- 
other age ;  but  the  wicked  and  the  treacherous,  the  liar  and  the 
thief,  the  abandoned  profligate  and  the  faithless  husband,  the 
gambler  and  the  drunkard,  the  robber,  the  burglar,  the  ravisher, 
the  murderer,  and  the  betrayer  of  his  country.  The  child  is 
father  of  the  man. 

Among  them  and  that  other  little  troop  just  appearing,  children 
with  yet  happier  faces  and  pleasanter  eyes,  the  blossoms  of  the 
future, — the  mothers  of  nations, — you  would  see  the  founders  of 
states  and  the  destroyers  of  their  country,  the  steadfast  and  the 
weak,  the  judge  and  the  criminal,  the  murderer  and  the  execu- 
tioner, the  exalted  and  the  lowly,  the  unfaithful  wife  and  the 


JOHN  NEAL. 


389 


broken-hearted  husband,  the  proud  betrayer  and  his  pale  victim, 
the  living  and  breathing  portents  and  prodigies,  the  embodied 
virtues  and  vices  of  another  age  and  another  world,  and  all  play- 
ing together  !    Men  are  but  children  of  a  larger  growth.  *  *  * 

Even  fathers  and  mothers  look  upon  children  with  a  strange 
misapprehension  of  their  dignity.  Even  with  the  poets,  they  are 
only  the  flowers  and  blossoms,  the  dew-drops  or  the  playthings,  of 
earth.  Yet  "  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven/'  The  Kingdom 
of  Heaven!  with  all  its  principalities  and  powers,  its  hierarchies, 
dominations,  thrones  !  The  Saviour  understood  them  better  •  to 
him  their  true  dignity  was  revealed.  Flowers  !  They  are  the 
flowers  of  the  invisible  world  •  indestructible,  self-perpetuating 
flowers,  with  each  a  multitude  of  angels  and  evil  spirits  under- 
neath its  leaves,  toiling  and  wrestling  for  dominion  over  it ! 
Blossoms !  They  are  the  blossoms  of  another  world,  whose  fruit- 
age is  angels  and  archangels.  Or  dew-drops  !  They  are  dew- 
drops  that  have  their  source,  not  in  the  chambers  of  the  earth, 
nor  among  the  vapors  of  the  sky,  which  the  next  breath  of  wind, 
or  the  next  flash  of  sunshine,  may  dry  up  forever,  but  among  the 
everlasting  fountains  and  inexhaustible  reservoirs  of  mercy  and 
love.  Playthings  !  If  the  little  creatures  would  but  appear  to 
us  in  their  true  shape  for  a  moment !  We  should  fall  upon  our 
faces  before  them,  or  grow  pale  with  consternation,  or  fling  them 
otF  with  horror  and  loathing. 

What  would  be  our  feelings  to  see  a  fair  child  start  up  before 
us  a  maniac  or  a  murderer,  armed  to  the  teeth  ?  to  find  a  nest  of 
serpents  on  our  pillow?  a  destroyer,  or  a  traitor,  a  Harry  the 
Eighth,  or  a  Benedict  Arnold,  asleep  in  our  bosom  ?  A  Cathe- 
rine or  a  Peter,  a  Bacon,  a  Galileo,  or  a  Bentham,  a  Napoleon,  or 
a  Voltaire,  clambering  up  our  knees  after  sugar-plums  ?  Cuvier 
laboring  to  distinguish  a  horse-fly  from  a  blue-bottle,  or  dissecting 
a  spider  with  a  rusty  nail  ?  La  Place  trying  to  multiply  his  OAvn 
apples,  or  to  subtract  his  playfellow's  gingerbread  ?  What  should 
we  say  to  find  ourselves  romping  with  Messalina,  Swedenborg, 
and  Madame  de  Stael  ?  or  playing  bo-peep  with  Murat,  Robes- 
pierre, and  Charlotte  Corday  ?  or  puss  puss  in  the  corner  with 
George  Washington,  Jonathan  Wild,  Shakspeare,  Sappho,  Jeremy 
Taylor,  Alfieri,  and  Harriet  Wilson  ?  Yet  stranger  things  have 
happened.  These  were  all  children  but  the  other  day,  and  clam- 
bered about  the  knees,  and  rummaged  in  the  pockets,  and  nestled 
in  the  laps  of  people  no  better  than  we  are.  But  if  they  could 
have  appeared  in  their  true  shape  for  a  single  moment,  while  they 
were  playing  together,  what  a  scampering  there  would  have  been 
among  the  grown  folks  !    How  their  fingers  would  have  tingled  ! 

Now  to  me  there  is  no  study  half  so  delightful  as  that  of  these 
little  creatures,  with  hearts  fresh  from  the  gardens  of  the  sky,  in 

33* 


390 


EDWARD  ROBINSON. 


their  first  and  fairest  and  most  unintentional  disclosures,  while 
they  are  indeed  a  mystery, — a  fragrant,  luminous,  and  beautiful 
mystery ! 

Then  why  not  pursue  the  study  for  yourself?  The  subjects 
are  always  before  you.  No  books  are  needed,  no  costly  drawings, 
no  lectures,  neither  transparencies  nor  illustrations.  Your  speci- 
mens are  all  about  you.  They  come  and  go  at  your  bidding. 
They  are  not  to  be  hunted  for,  along  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  on 
the  borders  of  the  wilderness,  in  the  desert,  nor  by  the  sea-shore. 
They  abound  not  in  the  uninhabited  or  un visited  place,  but  in 
your  very  dwelling-houses,  about  the  steps  of  your  doors,  in  every 
street  of  every  village,  in  every  green  field,  and  every  crowded 
thoroughfare. 


EDWARD  ROBINSON. 

This  renowned  philologist  and  traveller,  the  son  of  Rev.  William  Robinson, 
■who  was  pastor  of  the  Congregational  Church  at  Southington,  Connecticut,  for 
forty-one  years,  was  born  at  that  place  on  the  10th  of  April,  1794.  He  was  des- 
tined for  mercantile  life,  but,  being  on  a  visit  to  his  uncle,  at  Clinton,  Oneida 
County,  New  York,  early  in  1812,  he  concluded  to  enter  Hamilton  College,  which 
had  just  been  chartered.  Accordingly,  in  the  fall,  he  joined  the  first  Freshman 
class,  and  graduated  in  1816,  with  the  highest  honors.  In  October  of  the  next 
year  he  was  appointed  tutor  in  his  Alma  Mater,  where  he  remained  a  year,  teach- 
ing the  mathematics  and  the  Greek  language.  In  the  latter  part  of  the  year  1818, 
he  was  married  to  the  youngest  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Samuel  Kirkland,  and 
sister  of  the  late  President  Kirkland,  of  Harvard  University.  She  died  in  the 
following  July,  and  Mr.  Robinson  remained  in  Clinton,  pursuing  his  studies,  for 
two  years  longer. 

In  December,  1821,  he  went  to  Andover,  Massachusetts,  and  after  being  here 
two  years,  without  having  been  connected  with  the  seminar}',  he  was  appointed 
assistant  instructor,  and  continued  such  till  1826,  translating  in  the  mean  time, 
from  the  Latin,  Wahl's  Clavis  Novi  Testamenti,"  or  Lexicon  of  the  New 
Testament. 

In  the  summer  of  1826,  he  went  to  Europe,  and  spent  four  years  in  travelling, 
combined  with  hard  study,  in  the  mean  time  (1828)  marrying  the  youngest 
daughter  of  Professor  Ludwig  von  Jacob,  of  Halle.  On  his  return  home  in 
1830,  he  was  appointed  Professor  Extraordinary  of  Sacred  Literature  in  the 
Andover  Theological  Seminary.  In  1831,  he  commenced  the  publication  of  the 
''  Biblical  Repository,"  of  which  he  was  the  editor  and  chief  contributor  for  four 
years.  In  1833  appeared  his  translation  of  "Buttman's  Greek  Grammar/'  and 
in  1836,  his  new  Lexicon  of  the  New  Testament,  and  his  translation  of  the 
"  Hebrew  Lexicon  of  Gesenius." 

In  1837,  Dr.  Robinson  was  appointed  Professor  of  Biblical  Literature  in  the 
Union  Theological  Seminary,  in  the  city  of  New  York,  the  position  which  he  still 


EDWARD  ROBINSON. 


391 


holds.  He  accepted  the  appointment  on  condition  that  he  might  be  permitted  to 
carry  out  a  plan  previously  formed,  of  visiting  the  lands  of  the  Bible,  in  con- 
junction with  his  friend,  Rev.  Eli  Smith,  a  missionary  of  the  American  Board. 
This  he  accomplished,  and  then  repaired  to  Berlin,  where  he  devoted  himself  for 
two  years  to  the  preparation  of  his  Biblical  Researches  in  Palestine.  In  1840,  he 
returned  to  New  York,  and  his  great  work  was  published  the  next  year  in  three 
volumes,  at  Boston,  London,  and  Halle.  It  at  once  established  his  fame,  and, 
for  learning,  unwearied  investigation,  and  scrupulous  fidelity,  placed  him  in  the 
very  front  rank  of  travellers  ;  and  the  Royal  Geographical  Society  of  London 
awarded  to  him  one  of  their  gold  medals. 

Notwithstanding  his  many  official  labors  connected  with  the  seminary,  Dr. 
Robinson  projected  and  established,  in  1843,  "  The  Bibliotheca  Sacra,"  which,  for 
critical  theological  learning,  has  not  its  superior  on  either  side  of  the  Atlantic. 
He  also  published,  in  1845,  a  Harmony  of  the  Four  Gospels  in  Greek,  and  the  next 
year  an  English  Harmon}/.  In  1S50  appeared  a  new  edition  of  his  Lexicon  of  the 
New  Testament. 

The  next  year  he  again  set  out  for  Palestine,  to  make  new  researches,  as  well 
as  to  go  over  some  of  the  ground  formerly  explored.  He  returned  in  1852,  and 
made  preparations  for  a  new  volume,  which  appeared  in  1856,  both  in  this  coun- 
try and  England,  and  in  the  German  language  at  Berlin.  This  great  work  is 
now  the  standard  upon  the  geography  of  Palestine,  and  for  accuracy  and  tho- 
roughness leaves  nothing  more  to  be  desired.1 

PLAIN  BEFORE  SINAI. 

As  we  advanced,  the  valley  still  opened  wider  and  wider,  with 
a  gentle  ascent,  and  became  full  of  shrubs  and  tufts  of  herbs,  shut 
in  on  each  side  by  lofty  granite  ridges  with  rugged,  shattered 
peaks  a  thousand  feet  high,  while  the  face  of  Horeb  rose  directly 
before  us.  Both  my  companion  and  myself  involuntarily  ex- 
claimed, "  Here  is  room  enough  for  a  large  encampment  I" 
Reaching  the  top  of  the  ascent,  or  water-shed,  a  fine  broad  plain 
lay  before  us,  sloping  down  gently  towards  the  S.S.E.,  enclosed 
by  rugged  and  venerable  mountains  of  dark  granite,  stern,  naked, 
splintered  peaks  and  ridges  of  indescribable  grandeur,  and  termi- 
nated at  the  distance  of  more  than  a  mile  by  the  bold  and  awful 


1  Palestine,  Past  and  Present:  with.  Biblical,  Literary,  and  Scientific  Notices:  By 
Rev.  Henry  S.  Osborn,  A.M.,  Professor  of  Natural  Science  in  Roanoke  College, 
Salem,  Virginia.  This  is  a  work  of  very  great  merit,  recently  published  by  James 
Challen  &  Son,  Philadelphia, — a  pleasant  and  animated  book  of  travels,  with  per- 
sonal reminiscences,  descriptions  of  scenery,  interspersed  with  occasional  religious 
reflections  and  philosophical  discussions;  and  all  in  a  pure  and  lively  style.  It 
is  illustrated  by  a  series  of  original  engravings  from  the  pencil  of  the  author,  and 
by  a  new  map  of  Palestine,  and  is  altogether  the  most  pleasant  and  readable  work 
upon  this  land  we  have  yet  seen, —  of  no  ephemeral  interest,  but  of  a  living, 
permanent  value. 


392 


EDWARD  ROBINSON. 


front  of  Horeb,  rising  perpendicularly,  in  frowning  majesty,  from 
twelve  to  fifteen  hundred  feet  in  height.  It  was  a  scene  of  solemn 
grandeur,  wholly  unexpected,  and  such  as  we  had  never  seen  j 
and  the  associations  which  at  the  moment  rushed  upon  our  minds 
were  almost  overwhelming.  As  we  went  on,  new  points  of  in- 
terest were  continually  opening  to  our  view.  On  the  left  of 
Horeb,  a  deep  and  narrow  valley  runs  up  S.  S.  E.,  between  lofty 
walls  of  rock,  as  if  in  continuation  of  the  S.  E.  corner  of  the 
plain.  In  this  valley,  at  the  distance  of  near  a  mile  from  the 
plain,  stands  the  convent;  and  the  deep  verdure  of  its  fruit-trees 
and  cypresses  is  seen  as  the  traveller  approaches, — an  oasis  of 
beauty  amid  scenes  of  the  sternest  desolation.  Still  advancing, 
the  front  of  Horeb  rose  like  a  wall  before  us ;  and  one  can  ap- 
proach quite  to  the  foot,  and  touch  the  mount.  As  we  crossed 
the  plain,  our  feelings  were  strongly  affected  at  finding  here,  so 
unexpectedly,  a  spot  so  entirely  adapted  to  the  scriptural  account 
of  the  giving  of  the  law.  No  traveller  has  described  this  plain, 
nor  even  mentioned  it,  except  in  a  slight  and  general  manner, 
probably  because  the  most  have  reached  the  convent  by  another 
route,  without  passing  over  it;  and  perhaps,  too,  because  neither 
the  highest  point  of  Sinai,  (now  called  Jebel  Mtisa,)  nor  the  still 
loftier  summit  of  St.  Catharine,  is  visible  from  any  part  of  it. 

THE  TOP  OF  SINAI,  (SUFSAFEH.) 

The  extreme  difficulty  and  even  danger  of  the  ascent  was  well 
rewarded  by  the  prospect  that  now  opened  before  us.  The  whole 
plain  er-Rahah  lay  spread  out  beneath  our  feet,  with  the  adjacent 
wadys  and  mountains ;  while  Wady  esh-Sheikh  on  the  right,  and 
the  recess  on  the  left,  both  connected  with  and  opening  broadly 
from  er-Rahah,  presented  an  area  which  serves  nearly  to  double 
that  of  the  plain.  Our  conviction  was  strengthened  that  here,  or 
on  some  one  of  the  adjacent  cliffs,  was  the  spot  where  the  Lord 
"descended  in  fire"  and  proclaimed  the  law.  Here  lay  the  plain 
where  the  whole  congregation  might  be  assembled ;  here  was  the 
mount  that  could  be  approached  and  touched,  if  not  forbidden ; 
and  here  the  mountain  brow,  where  alone  the  lightnings  and  the 
thick  cloud  would  be  visible,  and  the  thunders  and  the  voice  of 
the  trump  be  heard,  when  the  Lord  "  came  down  in  the  sight  of  all 
the  people  upon  Mount  Sinai."  We  gave  ourselves  up  to  the  im- 
pressions of  the  awful  scene,  and  read,  with  a  feeling  that  will 
never  be  forgotten,  the  sublime  account  of  the  transaction  and  the 
commandments  there  promulgated,  in  the  original  words  as  re- 
corded by  the  great  Hebrew  legislator.1 


1  Esod.  xix.  9-25 ;  xx.  1-2L 


EDWARD  ROBINSON. 


393 


THE  CEDARS  OF  LEBANON.1 

The  cedars  are  not  less  remarkable  for  their  position  than  foi 
their  age  and  size.  The  amphitheatre  in  which  they  are  situated 
is  of  itself  a  great  temple  of  nature,  the  most  vast  and  magnificent 
of  all  the  recesses  of  Lebanon.  The  lofty  dorsal  ridge  of  the 
mountain,  as  it  approaches  from  the  south,  tends  slightly  towards 
the  east  for  a  time,  and  then,  after  resuming  its  former  direction, 
throws  off  a  spur  of  equal  altitude  towards  the  west,  which  sinks 
down  gradually  into  the  ridge  terminating  at  Ehden.  This  ridge 
sweeps  round  so  as  to  become  nearly  parallel  with  the  main  ridge, 
thus  forming  an  immense  recess  or  amphitheatre,  approaching  to 
the  horseshoe  form,  surrounded  by  the  loftiest  ridges  of  Lebanon, 
which  rise  still  two  or  three  thousand  feet  above  it  and  are  partly 
covered  with  snows.  In  the  midst  of  this  amphitheatre  stand  the 
cedars,  utterly  alone,  with  not  a  tree  besides,  nor  hardly  a  green 
thing  in  sight.  The  amphitheatre  fronts  towards  the  west,  and, 
as  seen  from  the  cedars,  the  snows  extend  round  from  south  to 
north.  The  extremities  of  the  arc,  in  fronfc,  bear  from  the  cedars 
southwest  and  northwest.  High  up  in  the  recess,  the  deep,  pre- 
cipitous chasm  of  the  Kadisha  has  its  beginning, — the  wildest  and 
grandest  of  all  the  gorges  of  Lebanon. 

Besides  the  natural  grace  and  beauty  of  the  cedar  of  Lebanon, 
which  still  appear  in  the  trees  of  middle  age,  though  not  in  the 
more  ancient  patriarchs,  there  is  associated  with  this  grove  a  feel- 
ing of  veneration,  as  the  representative  of  those  forests  of  Lebanon 
so  celebrated  in  the  Hebrew  Scriptures.  To  the  sacred  writers, 
the  cedar  was  the  noblest  of  trees,  the  monarch  of  the  vegetable 
kingdom.  Solomon  "  spake  of  trees,  from  the  cedar-tree  that  is  in 
Lebanon  even  unto  the  hyssop  that  springeth  out  of  the  wall."2 
To  the  prophets  it  was  the  favorite  emblem  for  greatness,  splendor, 
and  majesty  :  hence  kings  and  nobles — the  pillars  of  society — are 
everywhere  cedars  of  Lebanon.3  Especially  is  this  the  case  in  the 
splendid  description,  by  Ezekiel,  of  the  Assyrian  power  and 
glory.4  Hence,  too,  in  connection  with  its  durability  and  fra- 
grance, it  was  regarded  as  the  most  precious  of  all  wood,  and  was 
employed  in  costly  buildings,  for  ornament  and  luxury.  In  Solo- 
mon's temple,  the  beams  of  the  roof,  as  also  the  boards  and  the 
ornamental  work,  were  of  the  cedar  of  Lebanon  f  and  it  was  like- 
wise used  in  the  later  temple  of  Zerubbabel.6    David's  palace  was 

1  The  elevation  of  the  cedars  above  the  sea  is  given  by  Russegger  and  Sehnbert 
at  six  thousand  Paris  feet, — equivalent  to  six  thousand  four  hundred  English  feet. 
The  peaks  of  Lebanon  above  rise  nearly  three  thousand  feet  higher. 

2  1  Kings  iv.  33;  comp.  Judges  ix.  15;  2  Kings  xiv.  9;  Ps.  xxix.  5;  eiv.  16. 

3  Isa.  ii.  13;  xiv.  8;  xxxvii.  21;  Jer.  xxii.  23;  Ezek.  xvii.  22;  Zech.  xi.  1,  &e. 

4  Ezek.  xxxi.  3-9.— 5  1  Kings  vi.  9,  10  ;  comp.  v.  6,  8,  10 ;  1  Chron.  xxii.  4. 
6  Ezra  iii.  7. 


394  EDWARD  EVERETT. 


built  with  cedar  j1  and  so  lavishly  was  this  costly  wood  employed 
in  one  of  Solomon's  palaces,  that  it  is  called  "  the  house  of  the 
forest  of  Lebanon."2  As  a  matter  of  luxury,  also,  the  cedar  was 
sometimes  used  for  idols,3  and  for  the  masts  of  ships.4  In  like 
manner,  the  cedar  was  highly  prized  among  heathen  nations.  It 
was  employed  in  the  construction  of  their  temples,  as  at  Tyre  and 
Ephesus;  and  also  in  their  palaces,  as  at  Persepolis. 


EDWARD  EVERETT. 

Edward  Everett,  the  son  of  Rev.  Oliver  Everett,  and  a  younger  brother 
of  Alexander  II.  Everett,  -was  born  in  Dorchester,  Massachusetts,  on  the  11th 
of  April,  1794.  After  the  usual  preparatory  studies  at  Exeter  Academy,  Xew 
Hampshire,  under  the  venerable  Dr.  Abbot,  he  entered  Harvard  College  at  the 
early  age  of  thirteen,  and  took  his  degree,  in  course,  in  1811,  -with  a  high  reputa- 
tion as  a  scholar.  The  ne#t  year  he  was  appointed  a  tutor  in  the  College,  and 
held  the  situation  for  two  years,  when  he  entered  the  theological  school  at  Cam- 
bridge, and  in  1814,  when  but  twenty  years  of  age,  succeeded  the  eloquent 
Buckminster  as  pastor  of  Brattle  Street  Church,  Boston.  The  next  year  he  was 
elected  Professor  of  the  Greek  Language  and  Literature  in  Harvard  College,  with 
the  privilege  of  further  qualifying  himself  for  its  duties  by  a  visit  to  Europe. 
He  accepted  the  appointment,  and  immediately  embarked  for  England,  whence 
he  went  to  Gb'ttingen  University,  where  he  remained  more  than  two  years, 
devoting  his  time  to  Greek  literature  and  the  German  language,  and  receiving 
the  degree  of  P.  D.,  or  Doctor  of  Philosophy.  He  returned  home  in  1S19,  and 
entered  at  once  upon  the  duties  of  his  professorship.  In  1820,  he  became  editor 
of  the  "  Xortk  American  Review,"  infusing  new  spirit  into  that  journal,  to  which 
in  the  next  four  years  he  contributed  about  fifty  papers,  and  above  sixty  more 
subsequently,  when  the  Review  was  edited  by  his  brother  Alexander,  and  those 
who  succeeded  him.  In  1821,  he  delivered  an  oration  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa 
Society,  upon  The  Circumstances  favorable  to  the  Progress  of  Literature  in  America, 
closing  it  with  a  beautiful  apostrophe  to  General  Lafayette,  who  was  present  on 
the  occasion.  In  1S25,  he  took  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Representatives  of  the 
United  States,  from  Middlesex  County,  and  kept  the  same  for  ten  years,  bearing 
a  prominent  part  in  many  of  the  debates.5  In  1835,  he  retired  from  Congress, 
and  for  four  years  successively  he  was  elected  Governor  of  Massachusetts ;  but  in 


1  2  Sam.  v.  11:  vii.  2;  comp.  Jer.  xxii.  14,  15. — 21  Kings  vii.  2;  x.  17. — 
3  Isa.  xliv.  14;  Plin.  H.  X.  xiii.  11. — 4  Ezek.  xxvii.  5:  where  the  description 
evidently  refers  to  splendid  pleasure-vessels. 

D  His  Congressional  career  did  not,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  add  much  to  his  reputa- 
tion. In  bis  maiden  speech,  March  9,  ]S26,  he  went  out  of  his  way  to  apolo- 
gize for  slavery  and  to  defend  it  from  the  Xew  Testament.  For  this  he  was 
rebuked  with  great  force  by  Ichabod  Bartlett,  of  Portsmouth,  Xew  Hampshire, 
by  Churchill  C.  Cambreleng,  of  Xew  York,  and  with  withering  sarcasm  by  John 
Randolph,  of  Virginia. 


> 


EDWARD  EVERETT.  395 

1839,  lie  lost  his  election  by  one  single  vote.  In  1841,  he  was  appointed  Minister 
Plenipotentiary  to  the  Court  of  St.  James,  for  which  post  he  was  peculiarly  well 
qualified  by  his  great  learning,  his  elegance  of  manners,  and  his  familiarity  with 
most  of  the  European  languages.  On  his  return  home  in  1846,  he  was  elected 
President  of  Harvard  College,  a  position  which  he  held  till  1849.  In  November, 
1852,  he  again  entered  political  life,  succeeding  Daniel  Webster  as  Secretary  of 
State,  under  the  administration  of  Millard  Fillmore,  and  in  1853  he  succeeded 
John  Davis,  of  Massachusetts,  in  the  United  States  Senate.1 

Mr.  Everett  now  resides  in  Boston,  occupied,  it  is  said,  in  the  preparation  of  a 
systematic  treatise  on  the  modern  Law  of  Nations.  His  published  works  are 
A  Defence  of  Christianity.  1  vol. ;  Miscellaneous  Writings,  2  vols.  8vo  ;  Orations 
and  Sjieeches,  2  vols.  Svo.  These  four  last  volumes  contain  eighty-one  articles  on 
literature,  science,  the  arts,  political  economy,  education,  including  his  various 
orations  and  addresses  before  literary,  scientific,  and  agricultural  societies.2 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  MAYFLOWER. 

Methinks  I  see  it  now,  that  one  solitary,  adventurous  vessel, 
the  Mayflower,  of  a  forlorn  hope,  freighted  with  the  prospects 
of  a  future  state,  and  bound  across  the  unknown  sea.  I  behold  it 
pursuing,  with  a  thousand  misgivings,  the  uncertain,  the  tedious 
voyage.  Suns  rise  and  set,  and  weeks  and  months  pass,  and 
winter  surprises  them  on  the  deep,  but  brings  them  not  the  sight 
of  the  wished-for  shore.  I  see  them  now,  scantily  supplied  with 
provisions,  crowded  almost  to  suffocation  in  their  ill-stored  prison, 
delayed  by  calms,  pursuing  a  circuitous  route,  and  now  driven  in 
fury  before  the  raging  tempest,  on  the  high  and  giddy  waves. 
The  awful  voice  of  the  storm  howls  through  the  rigging.  The 


1  On  the  14th  of  March,  1854,  in  the  United  States  Senate,  he  presented  a  huge 
petition,  signed  by  three  thousand  and  fifty  clergymen  of  New  England,  against 
the  "Nebraska  Bill."  The  object  of  the  petition  was  immediately  attacked,  and 
the  petitioners  themselves  foully  (though  characteristically)  assailed,  by  Senators 
Douglas,  of  Illinois,  and  Mason,  of  Virginia;  while  Senators  Houston,  of  Texas, 
and  Seward,  of  New  York,  warmly  and  eloquently  defended  both.  Mr.  Everett 
also  spoke;  but  his  remarks  were  so  tame  and  apologetical,  that  it  would  have 
been  better  for  the  cause  of  freedom  had  he  been  silent. 

2  "  As  a  mau  of  letters,  in  every  branch  of  public  service,  and  in  society  aud 
private  life,  Mr.  Everett  has  combined  the  useful  with  the  ornamental,  with  a 
tact,  a  universality,  and  a  faithfulness,  almost  unprecedented.  At  Windsor 
Castle,  we  find  him  fluently  conversing  with  each  member  of  the  diplomatic  corps 
in  their  vernacular  tongue ;  in  Florence,  addressing  the  Scientific  Congress  with 
characteristic  grace  and  wisdom;  in  London,  entertaining  the  most  gifted  and 
wisely-chosen  party  of  artists,  authors,  and  men  of  rank  or  state,  in  a  mamier 
which  elicits  their  best  social  sentiments  ;  at  home,  in  the  professor's  chair,  in  the 
popular  assembly,  in  the  lyceum-hall,  or  to  celebrate  an  historical  occasion, 
giving  expression  to  high  sentiment,  or  memorable  fact,  with  the  finished 
style  and  thrilling  emphasis  of  the  accomplished  orator." — Homes  of  American 
Authors, 


396 


EDWARD  EVERETT. 


laboring  masts  seem  straining  from  their  base ;  the  dismal  sound 
of  the  pumps  is  heard;  the  ship  leaps,  as  it  were,  madly  from 
billow  to  billow;  the  ocean  breaks,  and  settles  with  engulfing 
floods  over  the  floating  deck,  and  beats  with  deadening  weight 
against  the  staggered  vessel.  I  see  them,  escaped  from  these 
perils,  pursuing  their  all-but  desperate  undertaking,  and  landed 
at  last,  after  a  five  months'  passage,  on  the  ice-clad  rocks  of  Ply- 
mouth j  weak  and  weary  from  the  voyage,  poorly  armed,  scantily 
provisioned,  depending  on  the  charity  of  their  shipmaster  for  a 
draught  of  beer  on  board,  drinking  nothing  but  water  on 
shore,  without  shelter,  without  means,  surrounded  by  hostile 
tribes.  Shut  now  the  volume  of  history,  and  tell  me,  on  any 
principle  of  human  probability,  what  shall  be  the  fate  of  this 
handful  of  adventurers  ?  Tell  me,  man  of  military  science,  in 
how  many  months  were  they  all  swept  otf  by  the  thirty  savage 
tribes,  enumerated  within  the  early  limits  of  New  England  ? 
Tell  me,  politician,  how  long  did  this  shadow  of  a  colony,  on 
which  your  conventions  and  treaties  had  not  smiled,  languish  on 
the  distant  coast  ?  Student  of  history,  compare  for  me  the  baf- 
fled projects,  the  deserted  settlements,  the  abandoned  adventures, 
of  other  times,  and  find  the  parallel  of  this  !  Was  it  the  winter's 
storm,  beating  upon  the  houseless  heads  of  women  and  children  ? 
Was  it  hard  labor  and  spare  meals  ?  Was  it  disease  ?  Was  it  the 
tomahawk  ?  Was  it  the  deep  malady  of  a  blighted  hope,  a  ruined 
enterprise,  and  a  broken  heart,  aching  in  its  last  moments  at  the 
recollection  of  the  loved  and  left,  beyond  the  sea  ?  Was  it  some, 
or  all  of  these  united,  that  hurried  this  forsaken  company  to  their 
melancholy  fate  ?  And  is  it  possible  that  neither  of  these  causes 
— that  not  all  combined — were  able  to  blast  this  bud  of  hope  ? 
Is  it  possible  that,  from  a  beginning  so  feeble,  so  frail,  so  worthy, 
(not  so  much  of  admiration  as  of  pity,)  there  has  gone  forth  a 
progress  so  steady,  a  growth  so  wonderful,  a  reality  so  important, 
a  promise,  yet  to  be  fulfilled,  so  glorious  ? 


PAMPERING  THE  BODY  AND  STARVING  THE  SOUL. 

What,  sir,  feed  a  child's  body,  and  let  his  soul  hunger !  pamper 
his  limbs,  and  starve  his  faculties  !  Plant  the  earth,  cover  a  thou- 
sand hills  with  your  droves  of  cattle,  pursue  the  fish  to  their 
hiding-places  in  the  sea,  and  spread  out  your  wheat-fields  across 
the  plain,  in  order  to  supply  the  wants  of  that  body  which  will 
soon  be  as  cold  and  as  senseless  as  the  poorest  clod,  and  let  the 
pure  spiritual  essence  within  you,  with  all  its  glorious  capacities 
for  improvement,  languish  and  pine  !  What !  build  factories, 
turn  in  rivers  upon  the  water-wheels,  unchain  the  imprisoned 
spirits  of  steam,  to  weave  a  garment  for  the  body,  and  let  the 


EDWARD  EVERETT. 


397 


soul  remain  unadorned  and  naked  !  What !  send  out  your  ves- 
sels to  the  furthest  ocean,  and  make  battle  with  the  monsters  of 
the  deep,  in  order  to  obtain  the  means  of  lighting  up  your  dwell- 
ings and  workshops,  and  prolonging  the  hours  of  labor  for  the 
meat  that  perisheth,  and  permit  that  vital  spark,  which  God  has 
kindled,  which  he  has  intrusted  to  our  care,  to  be  fanned  into  a 
bright  and  heavenly  flame, — permit  it,  I  say,  to  languish  and  go 
out !  What  considerate  man  can  enter  a  school,  and  not  reflect, 
with  awe,  that  it  is  a  seminary  where  immortal  minds  are  train- 
ing for  eternity  ?  What  parent  but  is,  at  times,  weighed  down 
with  the  thought,  that  there  must  be  laid  the  foundations  of  a 
building  which  will  stand,  when  not  merely  temple  and  palace, 
but  the  perpetual  hills  and  adamantine  rocks  on  which  they 
rest,  have  melted  away ! — that  a  light  may  there  be  kindled 
which  will  shine,  not  merely  when  every  artificial  beam  is  ex- 
tinguished, but  when  the  affrighted  sun  has  fled  away  from  the 
heavens  ? 

THE  ETERNAL  CLOCKWORK  OF  THE  SKIES. 

We  derive  from  the  observations  of  the  heavenly  bodies  which 
are  made  at  an  observatory  our  only  adequate  measures  of  time, 
and  our  only  means  of  comparing  the  time  of  one  place  with  the 
time  of  another.  Our  artificial  timekeepers, — clocks,  watches, 
and  chronometers, — however  ingeniously  contrived  and  admirably 
fabricated,  are  but  a  transcript,  so  to  say,  of  the  celestial  motions, 
and  would  be  of  no  value  without  the  means  of  regulating  them 
by  observation.  It  is  impossible  for  them,  under  any  circum- 
stances, to  escape  the  imperfection  of  all  machinery,  the  work  of 
human  hands ;  and  the  moment  we  remove  with  our  timekeeper 
east  or  west,  it  fails  us.  It  will  keep  home-time  alone,  like  the 
fond  traveller  who  leaves  his  heart  behind  him.  The  artificial 
instrument  is  of  incalculable  utility,  but  must  itself  be  regulated 
by  the  eternal  clockwork  of  the  skies. 

This  single  consideration  is  sufficient  to  show  how  completely 
the  daily  business  of  life  is  affected  and  controlled  by  the  heavenly 
bodies.  It  is  they  and  not  our  main-springs,  our  expansion- 
balances,  and  our  compensation-pendulums,  which  give  us  our 
time.    To  reverse  the  line  of  Pope, — 

'Tis  with  our  watches  as  our  judgments  :  none 
Go  just  alike,  but  each  believes  his  own. 

But  for  all  the  kindreds  and  tribes  and  tongues  of  men, — each 
upon  their  own  meridian, — from  the  Arctic  pole  to  the  equator, 
from  the  equator  to  the  Antarctic  pole,  the  eternal  sun  strikes 
twelve  at  noon,  and  the  glorious  constellations,  far  up  in  the  ever- 

34 


398 


EDWARD  EVERETT. 


lasting  belfries  of  the  skies,  chime  twelve  at  midnight — twelve 
for  the  pale  student  over  his  nickering  lamp — twelve  amid  the 
flaming  wonders  of  Orion's  belt,  if  he  crosses  the  meridian  at  that 
fated  hour — twelve  by  the  weary  couch  of  languishing  humanity, 
twelve  in  the  star-paved  courts  of  the  Empyrean — twelve  for  the 
heaving  tides  of  the  ocean ;  twelve  for  the  weary  arm  of  labor  j 
twelve  for  the  toiling  brain;  twelve  for  the  watching,  waking, 
broken  heart  j  twelve  for  the  meteor  which  blazes  for  a  moment 
and  expires  j  twelve  for  the  comet  whose  period  is  measured  by 
centuries  j  twelve  for  every  substantial,  for  every  imaginary  thing, 
which  exists  in  the  sense,  the  intellect,  or  the  fancy,  and  which 
the  speech  or  thought  of  man,  at  the  given  meridian,  refers  to 
the  lapse  of  time. 

Discourse  at  Albany,  1856. 
THE  HEAVENS  BEFORE  AND  AFTER  DAWN. 

I  had  occasion,  a  few  weeks  since,  to  take  the  early  train  from 
Providence  to  Boston,  and  for  this  purpose  rose  at  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  Every  thing  around  was  wrapt  in  darkness  and 
hushed  in  silence,  broken  only  by  what  seemed  at  that  hour  the 
unearthly  clank  and  rush  of  the  train.  It  was  a  mild,  serene 
midsummer's  night :  the  sky  was  without  a  cloud,  the  winds 
were  whist.  The  moon,  then  in  the  last  quarter,  had  just  risen, 
and  the  stars  shone  with  a  spectral  lustre  but  little  affected  by  her 
presence.  Jupiter,  two  hours  high,  was  the  herald  of  the  day; 
the  Pleiades  just  above  the  horizon  shed  their  sweet  influence  in 
the  east ;  Lyra  sparkled  near  the  zenith ;  Andromeda  veiled  her 
newly-discovered  glories  from  the  naked  eye  in  the  south ;  the 
steady  pointers  far  beneath  the  pole  looked  meekly  up  from  the 
depths  of  the  north  to  their  sovereign. 

Such  was  the  glorious  spectacle  as  I  entered  the  train.  As  we 
proceeded,  the  timid  approach  of  twilight  became  more  percep- 
tible ;  the  intense  blue  of  the  sky  began  to  soften ;  the  smaller 
stars,  like  little  children,  went  first  to  rest;  the  sister-beams  of 
the  Pleiades  soon  melted  together  ;  but  the  bright  constellations  of 
the  west  and  north  remained  unchanged.  Steadily  the  wondrous 
transfiguration  went  on.  Hands  of  angels  hidden  from  mortal 
eyes  shifted  the  scenery  of  the  heavens ;  the  glories  of  night  dis- 
solved into  the  glories  of  the  dawn.  The  blue  sky  now  turned 
more  softly  gray  ;  the  great  watch-stars  shut  up  their  holy  eyes ; 
the  east  began  tc  kindle.  Faint  streaks  of  purple  soon  bluslio.l 
along  the  sky;  the  whole  celestial  concave  was  filled  with  the  in- 
flowing tides  of  the  morning  light,  which  came  pouring  down 
from  above  in  one  great  ocean  of  radiance;  till  at  length,  as  we 
reached  the  Blue  Hills,  a  flash  of  purple  fire  blazed  out  from 


EDWARD  EVERETT. 


399 


above  the  horizon,  and  turned  the  dewy  tear-drops  of  flower  and 
leaf  into  rubies  and  diamonds.  In  a  few  seconds,  the  everlasting 
gates  of  the  morning  were  thrown  wide  open,  and  the  lord  of  day, 
arrayed  in  glories  too  severe  for  the  gaze  of  man,  began  his  state. 

Ibid. 

THE  UNIVERSAL  BOUNTIES  OF  PROVIDENCE. 

A  celebrated  skeptical  philosopher  of  the  last  century — the  his- 
torian, Hume — thought  to  demolish  the  credibility  of  the  Chris- 
tian revelation,  by  the  concise  argument, — "  It  is  contrary  to 
experience  that  a  miracle  should  be  true,  but  not  contrary  to  ex- 
perience that  testimony  should  be  false.'"'  Contrary  to  experience 
that  phenomena  should  exist  which  we  cannot  trace  to  causes  per- 
ceptible to  the  human  sense,  or  conceivable  by  human  thought ! 
It  would  be  much  nearer  the  truth  to  say  that  within  the  hus- 
bandman's experience  there  are  no  phenomena  which  can  be 
rationally  traced  to  any  thing  but  the  instant  energy  of  creative 
power. 

Did  this  philosopher  ever  contemplate  the  landscape  at  the 
close  of  the  year,  when  seeds,  and  grains,  and  fruits  have  ripened, 
and  stalks  have  withered,  and  leaves  have  fallen,  and  winter  has 
forced  her  icy  curb  even  into  the  roaring  jaws  of  Niagara,  and 
sheeted  half  a  continent  in  her  glittering  shroud,  and  all  this 
teeming  vegetation  and  organized  life  are  locked  in  cold  and 
marble  obstructions,  and  after  week  upon  week,  and  month  upon 
month,  have  swept,  with  sleet,  and  chilly  rain,  and  howling 
storm,  over  the  earth,  and  riveted  their  crystal  bolts  upon  the 
door  of  nature's  sepulchre, — when  the  sun  at  length  begins  to 
wheel  in  higher  circles  through  the  sky,  and  softer  winds  to 
breathe  over  melting  snows, — did  he  ever  behold  the  long-hidden 
earth  at  length  appear,  and  soon  the  timid  grass  peep  forth ;  and 
anon  the  autumnal  wheat  begin  to  paint  the  field,  and  velvet 
leaflets  to  burst  from  purple  buds,  throughout  the  reviving  forest, 
and  then  the  mellow  soil  to  open  its  fruitful  bosom  to  every  grain 
and  seed  dropped  from  the  planter's  hand, — buried,  but  to  spring 
up  again,  clothed  with  a  new,  mysterious  being;  and  then,  as 
more  fervid  suns  inflame  the  air,  and  softer  showers  distil  from 
the  clouds,  and  gentler  dews  string  their  pearls  on  twig  and 
tendril,  did  he  ever  watch  the  ripening  grain  and  fruit,  pendent 
from  stalk,  and  vine,  and  tree;  the  meadow,  the  field,  the  pas- 
ture, the  grove,  each  after  his  kind,  arrayed  in  myriad-tinted 
garments,  instinct  with  circulating  life  j  seven  millions  of  counted 
leaves  on  a  single  tree,  each  of  which  is  a  system  whose  exquisite 
complication  puts  to  shame  the  shrewdest  cunning  of  the  human 
hand  j  every  planted  seed  and  grain,  which  had  been  loaned  to 


400 


JOSEPH  RODMAN  DRAKE. 


the  earth,  compounding  its  pious  usury  thirty,  sixty,  a  hundred 
fold, — all  harmoniously  adapted  to  the  sustenance  of  living  nature, 
the  bread  of  a  hungry  world ;  here,  a  tilled  corn-field,  whose  yel- 
low blades  are  nodding  with  the  food  of  man;  there,  an  implanted 
wilderness, — the  great  Father's  farm, — where  He  "  who  hears  the 
raven's  cry"  has  cultivated,  with  his  own  hand,  his  merciful  crop 
of  berries,  and  nuts,  and  acorns,  and  seeds,  for  the  humbler  fami- 
lies of  animated  nature ;  the  solemn  elephant,  the  browsing  deer, 
the  wild  pigeon  whose  fluttering  caravan  darkens  the  sky,  the 
merry  squirrel,  who  bounds  from  branch  to  branch,  in  the  joy  of 
his  little  life, — has  he  seen  all  this  ?  Does  he  see  it  every  year, 
and  month,  and  day  ?  Does  he  live,  and  move,  and  breathe,  and 
think,  in  this  atmosphere  of  wonder, — himself  the  greatest  wonder 
of  all,  whose  smallest  fibre  and  faintest  pulsation  is  as  much  a 
mystery  as  the  blazing  glories  of  Orion's  belt?  And  does  he  still 
maintain  that  a  miracle  is  contrary  to  experience  ?  If  he  has, 
and  if  he  does,  then  let  him  go,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  and  say 
that  it  is  contrary  to  experience  that  the  august  Power  which 
turns  the  clods  of  the  earth  into  the  daily  bread  of  a  thousand 
million  souls  could  feed  five  thousand  in  the  wilderness. 

Address  before  the  New  York  Agricultural  Society.  October  9,  1857. 


JOSEPH  RODMAN  DRAKE,  1795—1820. 


Green  be  the  turf  above  thee, 

Friend  of  my  better  days ! 
None  knew  thee  but  to  love  thee, 

Nor  named  thee  but  to  praise. 

Tears  fell,  when  thou  wert  dying, 
From  eyes  unused  to  weep; 

And  long,  where  thou  art  lying, 
Will  tears  the  cold  turf  steep. 

When  hearts,  whose  truth  was  proven, 
Like  thine,  are  laid  in  earth, 

There  should  a  wreath  be  woven, 
To  tell  the  world  their  worth;— 


And  I,  who  woke  each  morrow 
To  clasp  thy  hand  in  mine. 

Who  shared  thy  joy  and  sorrow, 
Whose  weal  and  woe  were  thine, — 

It  should  be  mine  to  braid  it 

Around  thy  faded  brow; 
But  I've  in  vain  essay  d  it, 

And  feel  I  cannot  now. 

While  memory  bids  me  weep  thee, 
Nor  thoughts  nor  words  are  free; 

The  grief  is  tix'd  too  deeply 
That  mourns  a  man  like  thee. 

Fitz-Greene  IIalleck. 


Joseph  Rodman  Drake  was  born  in  the  city  of  New  York,  August  7,  1795. 
After  a  suitable  preparatory  education,  he  entered  upon  the  study  of  medicine, 
obtained  his  degree  in  October,  1S1C,  and  soon  after  was  married  to  a  daughter 
of  Henry  Eckford,  a  wealthy  merchant,  and  was  thus  placed  above  the  necessity 
of  laboring  in  his  profession.  It  was  well  that  it  was  so;  for  his  health,  always 
delicate,  began  to  decline,  and,  in  the  winter  of  1819,  he  went  to  New  Orleans, 
in  the  hope  that  its  milder  climate  would  be  of  service  to  him.  But  he  returned 
in  the  spring  of  1S20,  not  in  the  least  improved,  lingered  through  the  summer, 
and  died  on  the  21st  of  September,  1820. 

Drake  began  to  write  verses  when  he  was  very  young,  and,  before  he  was  six- 
teen, contributed,  anonymously,  to  two  or  three  newspapers.    Some  humorous 


JOSEPH  RODMAN  DRAKE. 


401 


and  satirical  odes,  called  the  Croaker  Pieces,  were  written  by  him  for  the  "  Even- 
ing Post,"  in  March,  1819;  and  soon  after,  his  friend  Halleck,  the  poet,  united 
with  him,  and  the  pieces  were  signed  "Croaker  &  Go."  The  last  one,  written  by 
Drake,  was  that  spirited  ode,  The  American  Flag.  But 

THE  CULPRIT  FAY 

is  that  on  which  the  fame  of  Drake  chiefly  l-ests,  and  an  ever-enduring  foundation 
will  it  prove  to  be ;  for  a  poem  of  more  exquisite  fancy — as  happily  conceived  as 
it  is  artistically  executed — we  have  hardly  had  since  the  days  of  Milton's 
"  Comus."  It  opens  with  the  gathering — "in  the  middle  watch  of  a  summer's 
night" — of  countless  spirits  of  earth  from  their  various  homes. 

IV. 

They  come  from  beds  of  lichen  green, 
They  creep  from  the  mullen's  velvet  screen ; 

Some  on  the  backs  of  beetles  fly 
From  the  silver  tops  of  moon-touch'd  trees, 

Where  they  swung  in  their  cobweb  hammocks  high, 
And  rock'd  about  in  the  evening  breeze ; 

Some  from  the  hum-bird's  downy  nest, — 
They  had  driven  him  out  by  elfin  power, 

And,  pillow'd  on  plumes  of  his  rainbow  breast, 
Had  slumber'd  there  till  the  charmed  hour; 

Some  had  lain  in  the  scoop  of  the  rock, 
With  glittering  ising-stars  inlaid  ; 

And  some  had  open'd  the  four-orclock, 
And  stole  within  its  purple  shade. 

And  now  they  throng  the  moonlight  glade, 
Above — below — on  every  side, 

Their  little  minim  forms  array'd 
In  the  tricksy  pomp  of  fairy  pride ! 

They  assemble  for  the  following  purpose  : — 

v. 

For  an  Ouphe  has  broken  his  vestal  vow ; 
He  has  loved  an  earthly  maid, 
And  left  for  her  his  woodland  shade ; 
He  has  lain  upon  her  lip  of  dew, 
And  sunn'd  him  in  her  eye  of  blue, 
Fann'd  her  cheek  with  his  wing  of  air, 
Play'd  in  the  ringlets  of  her  hair, 
And,  nestling  on  her  snowy  breast, 
Forgot  the  lily-king's  behest. 
For  this  the  shadowy  tribes  of  air 

To  the  elfin  court  must  haste  away : — 
And  now  they  stand  expectant  there, 

To  hear  the  doom  of  the  culprit  Fay. 

The  hapless  creature  is  thus  condemned  : — 

VIII. 

"  Thou  shalt  seek  the  beach  of  sand 
Where  the  water  bounds  the  elfin  land ; 

31* 


402 


JOSEPH  RODMAN  DRAKE. 


Thou  shalt  watch  the  oozy  brine 

Till  the  sturgeon  leaps  in  the  bright  moonshine, 

Then  dart  the  glistening  arch  below, 

And  catch  a  drop  from  his  silver  bow. 

The  water-sprites  will  wield  their  arms 

And  dash  around,  with  roar  and  rave, 
And  vain  are  the  woodland  spirits'  charms, 

They  are  the  imps  that  rule  the  wave. 
Yet  trust  thee  in  thy  single  might  : 
If  thy  heart  be  pure  and  thy  spirit  right, 
Thou  shalt  win  the  warlock  fight. 

IX. 

"  If  the  spray-bead  gem  be  won, 

The  stain  of  thy  wing  is  wash'd  away : 
But  another  errand  must  be  done 

Ere  thy  crime  be  lost  for  aye  ; 
Thy  flame-wood  lamp  is  quench'd  and  dark, 
Thou  must  reillume  its  spark. 
Mount  thy  steed  and  spur  him  high 
To  the  heavens'  blue  canopy ; 
And  when  thou  seest  a  shooting  star, 
Follow  it  fast,  and  follow  it  far, — 
The  last  faint  spark  of  its  burning  train 
Shall  light  the  elfin  lamp  again. 
Thou  hast  heard  our  sentence,  Fay  ; 
Hence!  to  the  water-side,  away!" 

The  following  description  of  his  armor  is  one  of  surpassing  delicacy  and 
beauty : — 

XXV. 

He  put  his  acorn  helmet  on  ; 

It  was  plumed  of  the  silk  of  the  thistle-down : 

The  corslet  plate  that  guarded  his  breast 

Was  once  the  wild  bee's  golden  vest ; 

His  cloak,  of  a  thousand  mingled  dyes, 

Was  form'd  of  the  wings  of  butterflies  ; 

His  shield  was  the  shell  of  a  lady-bug  queen, 

Studs  of  gold  on  a  ground  of  green ; 

And  the  quivering  lance  which  he  brandish'd  bright, 

Was  the  sting  of  a  wasp  he  had  slain  in  fight. 

Swift  he  bestrode  his  fire-fly  steed ; 

He  bared  his  blade  of  the  bent  grass  blue ; 
He  drove  his  spurs  of  the  cockle-seed, 

And  away  like  a  glance  of  thought  he  flew, 
To  skim  the  heavens,  and  follow  far 
The  fiery  trail  of  the  rocket-star. 

Then  away  he  goes, 

XXVII. 

Up  to  the  vaulted  firmament 

His  path  the  fire-fly  courser  bent, 

And  at  every  gallop  on  the  wind, 

He  flung  a  glittering  spark  behind  ; 

He  flies  like  a  feather  in  the  blast 

Till  the  first  light  cloud  in  heaven  is  past. 


JOSEPH  RODMAN  DRAKE. 


403 


XXIX. 

Up  to  the  cope  careering  swift, 

In  breathless  motion  fast, 
Fleet  as  the  swallow  cuts  the  drift, 

Or  the  sea-roc  rides  the  blast, 
The  sapphire  sheet  of  eve  is  shot, 

The  sphered  moon  is  past, 
The  earth  but  seems  a  tiny  blot 

On  a  sheet  of  azure  cast. 
Oh  !  it  was  sweet,  in  the  clear  moonlight, 

To  tread  the  starry  plain  of  even, 
To  meet  the  thousand  eyes  of  night, 

And  feel  the  cooling  breath  of  heaven ! 
But  the  Elfin  made  no  stop  or  stay 
Till  he  came  to  the  bank  of  the  milky  way, 
Then  he  check'd  his  courser's  foot, 
And  watch'd  for  the  glimpse  of  the  planet-shoot. 

****** 

He  is  successful  in  his  mission,  and,  on  his  return,  the  myriad  joyous  and 
dancing  sprites  —  his  merry  companions  —  thus  welcome  him,  and  then  all 
vanish : — 

Ouphe  and  Goblin  !  Imp  and  Sprite  ! 

Elf  of  eve  !  and  starry  Fay  ! 
Ye  that  love  the  moon's  soft  light, 

Hither — hither  wend  your  way  ; 
Twine  ye  in  a  jocund  ring, 

Sing  and  trip  it  merrily, 
Hand  to  hand,  and  wing  to  wing, 

Round  the  wild  witch-hazel  tree. 

Hail  the  wanderer  again 

With  dance  and  song,  and  lute  and  lyre, 
Pure  his  wing  and  strong  his  chain, 

And  doubly  bright  his  fairy  fire. 
Twine  ye  in  an  airy  round, 

Brush  the  dew  and  print  the  lea ; 
Skip  and  gambol,  hop  and  bound, 

Round  the  wild  witch-hazel  tree. 

The  beetle  guards  our  holy  ground, 

He  flies  about  the  haunted  place, 
And  if  mortal  there  be  found, 

He  hums  in  his  ears  and  flaps  his  face ; 
The  leaf-harp  sounds  our  roundelay, 

The  owlet's  eyes  our  lanterns  be ; 
Thus  we  sing,  and  dance,  and  play. 

Round  the  wild  witch-hazel  tree. 

But,  hark!  from  tower  on  tree-top  high, 

The  sentry-elf  his  call  has  made : 
A  streak  is  in  the  eastern  sky, 

Shapes  of  moonlight !  flit  and  fade  ! 
The  hill-tops  gleam  in  morning's  spring, 
The  skylark  shakes  his  dappled  wing, 
The  day-glimpse  glimmers  on  the  lawn, 
The  cock  has  crow'd, — and  the  Fays  are  gon 


404  JOSEPH  RODMAN  DRAKE. 

Thus  ends  The  Culprit  Fay,  of  the  beauty  of  which  but  a  faint  idea  can  be  given 
by  any  extracts;  for,  to  be  fully  enjoyed,  it  must  be  read  and  re-read  as  a  whole. 
It  is  a  poem  remarkable  not  only  as  the  richest  creation  of  pure  fancy  in  our 
literature,  but  for  its  great  power  and  absorbing  interest;  for,  though  it  is  divested 
of  every  human  element,  it  interests  us  as  deeply  as  if  its  characters  were  real 
flesh  and  blood. 


THE  AMERICAN  FLAG. 


I. 

When  Freedom  from  her  mountain  height 
Unfurl' d  her  standard  to  the  air, 

She  tore  the  azure  robe  of  night, 
And  set  the  stars  of  glory  there. 

She  mingled  with  its  gorgeous  dyes 

The  milky  baldric  of  the  skies, 

And  striped  its  pure,  celestial  white, 

With  streamings  of  the  morning  light; 

Then  from  his  mansion  in  the  sun 

She  call'd  her  eagle  bearer  down, 

And  gave  into  his  mighty  hand 

The  symbol  of  her  chosen  land. 

ii. 

Majestic  monarch  of  the  cloud, 

Who  rear'st  aloft  thy  regal  form, 
To  hear  the  tempest-trumpings  loud, 
And  see  the  lightning  lances  driven, 

When  strive  the  warriors  of  the  storm, 
And  rolls  the  thunder-drum  of  heaven, 
Child  of  the  sun!  to  thee  'tis  given 

To  guard  the  banner  of  the  free, 
To  hover  in  the  sulphur  smoke, 
To  ward  away  the  battle-stroke, 
And  bid  its  blendings  shine  afar, 
Like  rainbows  on  the  cloud  of  war, 

The  harbingers  of  victory  ! 

in. 

Flag  of  the  brave !  thy  folds  shall  fly, 

The  sign  of  hope  and  triumph  high, 
When  speaks  the  signal  trumpet  tone, 

And  the  long  line  comes  gleaming  on. 
Ere  yet  the  life-blood,  warm  and  wet, 

Has  dimm'd  the  glistening  bayonet, 
Each  soldier  eye  shall  brightly  turn 

To  where  thy  sky-born  glories  burn  ; 
And  as  his  springing  steps  advance, 
Catch  war  and  vengeance  from  the  glance. 
And  when  the  cannon-mouthings  loud 

Heave  in  wild  wreaths  the  battle-shroud, 
And  gory  sabres  rise  and  fall 
"Like  shoots  of  flame  on  midnight's  pall; 


WILLIAM  B.  TAPPAN. 


405 


Then  shall  thy  meteor  glances  glow, 
And  cowering  foes  shall  sink  beneath 

Each  gallant  arm  that  strikes  below 
That  lovely  messenger  of  death. 

IV. 

Flag  of  the  seas  !  on  ocean  wave 

Thy  stars  shall  glitter  o"er  the  brave ; 
When  death,  careering  on  the  gale, 

Sweeps  darkly  round  the  bellied  sail, 
And  frighted  waves  rush  wildly  back 

Before  the  broadside's  reeling  rack, 
Each  dying  wanderer  of  the  sea 

Shall  look  at  once  to  heaven  and  thee, 
And  smile  to  see  thy  splendors  fly 
In  triumph  o'er  his  closing  eye. 

v. 

Flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home ! 

By  angel  hands  to  valor  given ; 
Thy  stars  have  lit  the  welkin  dome, 

And  all  thy  hues  were  born  in  heaven. 
Forever  float  that  standard  sheet ! 

Where  breathes  the  foe  but  falls  before  us, 
With  Freedom's  soil  beneath  our  feet, 

And  Freedom's  banner  streaming  o'er  us ! 


WILLIAM  B.  TAPPAN,  1795—1849. 

William  Bingham  Tappan,  the  son  of  Samuel  Tappan,  a  teacher  in  Beverly, 
Massachusetts,  was  born  in  that  town  in  1795.  At  the  age  of  ten,  he  had  written 
several  pieces,  which  gave  promise  of  future  excellence.  Losing  his  father  when 
but  twelve  years  old,  he  was  soon  after  apprenticed  to  a  clockmaker  in  Boston. 
In  1816,  he  removed  to  Philadelphia,  and  established  himself  in  business  there ; 
but  he  soon  found  that  this  was  not  his  sphere,  and  determined  to  devote  himself 
to  a  literary  life.  In  1819,  he  published  a  small  volume  of  poems,  entitled  New 
England,  and  other  Poems,  which  was  well  received.  In  1822,  he  was  married  to 
Miss  Amelia  Colton,  daughter  of  Major  Luther  Colton,  of  Longmeadow,  Massa- 
chusetts, and  soon  after  this  he  entered,  as  salesman,  into  the  Depository  of  the 
American  Sunday-School  Union,  to  which  cause  he  devoted  the  rest  of  his  life, 
with  great  enthusiasm  and  energy.  In  1829,  he  was  transferred  to  Cincinnati,  to 
take  charge  of  the  Depository  in  that  city,  but  returned  to  Philadelphia  in  1834 ; 
and  in  1838  he  went  to  Boston  to  superintend  the  affairs  of  the  "  S.  S.  Union" 
operations  in  New  England.  In  1841,  he  was  licensed  to  preach,  that  he  might 
with  more  effect  present  the  cause  of  the  Sunday-school  to  the  churches. 

At  this  time,  he  had  published  two  or  three  volumes  of  poetry.  In  1845  ap- 
peared Poetry  of  the  Heart ;  in  1846,  Sacred  and  Miscellaneous  Poems ;  in  1847, 


406 


WILLIAM  B.  TAPPAN. 


Poetry  of  Life ;  in  1S48,  The  Sunday -School,  and  other  Poems ;  and  in  1849,  Late 
and  Early  Poems.  While  engaged  in  the  preparation  of  a  new  volume,  he  fell  a 
victim  to  the  epidemic  then  prevailing  in  Boston, — the  cholera, — on  the  19th  of 
June,  1S49.  His  death  was  deeply  and  widely  lamented;  for  it  was  felt  that  a 
good  man,  who  was  devoting  to  the  cause  of  sacred  literature  the  high  gift  God 
had  given  him,  had  been  taken  away  in  the  midst  of  his  usefulness.  "With  the 
simplicity  of  a  child,  he  combined  the  polish  and  dignity  of  the  Christian  gentle- 
man; with  the  glowing  fancy  of  the  poet,  the  lowly  spirit  of  the  saint;  with 
the  severest  scrutiny  of  his  own  heart,  the  largest  charity  for  others." 

The  following  pieces  will  give  some  idea  of  the  pure  and  elevated  Christian 
feeling  that  pervades  his  poetry. 

THERE  IS  AN  HOUR  OF  PEACEFUL  REST. 

There  is  an  hour  of  peaceful  rest, 

To  mourning  wanderers  given; 
There  is  a  joy  for  souls  distress'd, 
A  balm  for  every  wounded  breast — 

'Tis  found  above,  in  heaven. 

There  is  a  soft,  a  downy  bed, 

Far  from  these  shades  of  even ; 
A  couch  for  weary  mortals  spread, 
Where  they  may  rest  the  aching  head, 

And  find  repose  in  heaven. 

There  is  a  home  for  weary  souls, 

By  sin  and  sorrow  driven , 
When  toss'd  on  life's  tempestuous  shoals, 
Where  storms  arise  and  ocean  rolls, 

And  all  is  drear — 'tis  heaven. 

There  Faith  lifts  up  her  cheerful  eye, 

The  heart  no  longer  riven  ; 
And  views  the  tempest  passing  by, 
The  evening  shadows  quickly  fly, 

And  all  serene  in  heaven. 

There  fragrant  flowers,  immortal,  bloom, 

And  joys  supreme  are  given: 
There  rays  divine  disperse  the  gloom, — 
Beyond  the  confines  of  the  tomb 

Appears  the  dawn  of  heaven. 

GETHSEMANE. 

'Tis  midnight,  and  on  Olive's  brow 
The  star  is  dimm'd  that  lately  shone ; 

'Tis  midnight;  in  the  garden  now, 
The  suffering  Saviour  prays  alone. 

'Tis  midnight,  and,  from  all  removed, 
Immanuel  wrestles,  lone,  with  fears  ; 

E'en  the  disciple  that  he  loved, 

Heeds  not  his  Master's  grief  and  tears. 


FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK. 


407 


'Tis  midnight,  and  for  others'  guilt 
The  Man  of  Sorrows  weeps  in  blood ; 

Yet  he  that  hath  in  anguish  knelt, 
Is  not  forsaken  by  his  God. 

'Tis  midnight,  from  the  heavenly  plains 
Is  borne  the  song  that  angels  know ; 

Unheard  by  mortals  are  the  strains 
That  sweetly  soothe  the  Saviour's  woe. 


WHY  SHOULD  WE  SIGH  ? 

Why  should  we  sigh,  when  Fancy's  dream, — 

The  ray  that  shone  'mid  youthful  tears, — 
Departing,  leaves  no  kindly  gleam, 

To  cheer  the  lonely  waste  of  years  ? 
Why  should  we  sigh  ? — The  fairy  charm 

That  bound  each  sense  in  folly's  chain 
Is  broke,  and  Reason,  clear  and  calm, 

Resumes  her  holy  rights  again. 

Why  should  we  sigh  that  earth  no  more 

Claims  the  devotion  once  approved  ? 
That  joys  endear'd,  with  us  are  o'er, 

And  gone  are  those  these  hearts  have  loved  ? 
Why  should  we  sigh  ? — Unfading  bliss 

Survives  the  narrow  grasp  of  time ; 
And  those  that  ask'd  our  tears  in  this, 

Shall  render  smiles  in  yonder  clime. 


FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK. 

This  well-known  poet  was  born  at  Guilford,  Connecticut,  in  August,  1795.  In 
1813,  he  entered  a  banking-bouse  in  New  York,  and  remained  in  that  city  en- 
gaged in  mercantile  pursuits  till  1849,  when  he  returned  to  Connecticut,  where  he 
now  resides.  At  an  early  age  he  showed  a  taste  for  poetry ;  but  he  first  attracted 
public  attention  by  a  series  of  humorous  and  satirical  odes  published  in  the 
"Evening  Post,"  in  1819,  and  written  in  conjunction  with  his  friend  Drake,  with 
the  signature  of  "  Croaker."  Towards  the  close  of  the  same  year,  he  published 
Fanny,  the  longest  of  his  satirical  poems,  which  passed  through  several  edi- 
tions. In  1823,  he  went  to  Europe,  and  after  his  return,  in  1827,  he  published  a 
small  volume  containing,  among  other  pieces,  Alnwick  Castle,  and  that  spirited, 
finished,  and  justly-admired  ode,  Marco  Bozzaris, — the  corner-stone  of  his  glory. 
In  1847,  Appleton  &  Co.  published  a  beautifully-illustrated  edition  of  all  he  had 
then  written ;  and  in  1852  a  volume  containing  additional  poems  was  published 


408 


FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK. 


by  Redfleld.1  It  has  always  been  regretted  by  the  public  that  one  who  writes  so 
well  should  have  written  so  little.2 


MARCO  BOZZARIS.3 

At  midnight,  in  his  guarded  tent, 

The  Turk  was  dreaming  of  the  hour 
When  Greece,  her  knee  in  suppliance  bent, 

Should  tremble  at  his  power : 
In  dreams,  through  camp  and  court  he  bore 
The  trophies  of  a  conqueror; 

In  dreams,  his  song  of  triumph  heard ; 
Then  wore  his  monarch's  signet  ring : 
Then  pressed  that  monarch's  throne — a  king ; 
As  wild  his  thoughts,  and  gay  of  wing, 

As  Eden's  garden  bird. 

At  midnight,  in  the  forest  shades, 

Bozzaris  ranged  his  Suliote  band,. 
True  as  the  steel  of  their  tried  blades, 

Heroes  in  heart  and  hand. 
There  had  the  Persian's  thousands  stood, 
There  had  the  glad  earth  drunk  their  blood 

On  old  Platasa's  day  ; 
And  now  there  breathed  that  haunted  air 
The  sons  of  sires  who  conquer'd  there, 
"With  arm  to  strike,  and  soul  to  dare, 

As  quick,  as  far  as  they. 

An  hour  pass'd  on — the  Turk  awoke  ; 
That  bright  dream  was  his  last ; 


1  This  year  (1859)  has  appeared  a  new  edition  of  his  poems,  in  one  small 
volume,  in  blue  and  gold,  published  by  Appleton  &  Co. 

2  "  Mr.  Halleck  has  written  very  little,  but  that  little  is  of  great  excellence.  His 
poeti-y  is  polished  and  graceful,  and  finished  with  great  care  under  the  guidance 
of  a  fastidious  taste.  A  vein  of  sweet  and  delicate  sentiment  runs  through  all 
his  serious  productions,  and  he  combines  with  this  a  power  of  humor  of  the  most 
refined  and  exquisite  cast.  He  has  the  art  of  passing  from  grave  to  gay,  or  the 
reverse,  by  the  most  skilful  and  happily-managed  transitions." — G.  S.  Hillard. 

"  The  poems  of  Fitz-Greene  Halleck,  although  limited  in  quantity,  are  perhaps 
the  best  known  and  most  cherished,  especially  in  the  latitude  of  New  York,  of  all 
American  verses.  All  his  verses  have  a  vital  meaning,  and  the  clear  ring  of  pure 
metal.  They  are  few,  but  memorable.  The  school-boy  and  the  old  '  Knicker- 
bockei*'  both  know  them  by  heart.  Burns,  and  the  Lines  on  the  Death  of  Drake  * 
have  the  beautiful  impressiveness  of  the  highest  elegiac  verse.  Marco  Bozzaris  is 
perhaps  the  best  martial  lyric  in  the  language,  Red  Jacket  the  most  effective 
Indian  portrait,  and  Twilight  an  apt  piece  of  contemplative  verse;  while  Aln- 
tcick  Castle  combines  his  grave  and  gay  style  with  inimitable  art  and  admirable 
effect.  As  a  versifier,  he  is  an  adept  in  that  relation  of  sound  to  sense  which  em- 
balms thought  in  deathless  melody." — Henry  T.  Tucxerman. 

3  He  fell  in  an  attack  upon  the  Turkish  camp  at  Lapsi,  the  site  of  the  ancient 
Plataea,  August  20,  1823,  and  expired  in  the  moment  of  victory.  The  modern 
Greeks,  like  the  Italians,  pronounce  a  as  in  father,  and  zz  like  tz.  This  hero's 
name,  therefore,  is  pronounced  Bot-zah'ri.  *  See  p.  400. 


FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK. 


He  woke  to  hear  his  sentries  shriek, 
"  To  arms !  they  come!  the  Greek!  the  Greek!" 
He  woke — to  die  midst  flame,  and  smoke, 
And  shout,  and  groan,  and  sabre-stroke, 

And  death-shots  falling  thick  and  fast 
As  lightnings  from  the  mountain-cloud  ; 
And  heard,  with  voice  as  trumpet  loud, 

Bozzakis  cheer  his  band  : 
"  Strike — till  the  last  arm'd  foe  expires  ; 
Strike — for  your  altars  and  your  fires  ; 
Strike — for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires : 

God,  and  your  native  land  !" 

They  fought, — like  brave  men,  long  and  well ; 

They  piled  that  ground  with  Moslem  slain ; 
They  conquer'd — but  Bozzaris  fell, 

Bleeding  at  every  vein. 
His  few  surviving  comrades  saw 
His  smile  when  rang  their  proud  hurrah, 

And  the  red  field  was  won : 
Then  saw  in  death  his  eyelids  close 
Calmly,  as  to  a  night's  repose, 

Like  flowers  at  set  of  sun. 

Come  to  the  bridal  chamber,  Death  ! 

Come  to  the  mother's,  when  she  feels, 
For  the  first  time,  her  first-born's  breath ; 

Come  when  the  blessed  seals 
That  close  the  pestilence  are  broke, 
And  crowded  cities  wail  its  stroke ; 
Come  in  Consumption's  ghastly  form, 
The  earthquake  shock,  the  ocean  storm ; 
Come  when  the  heart  beats  high  and  warm, 

With  banquet-song,  and  dance,  and  wine  ; 
And  thou  art  terrible — the  tear, 
The  groan,  the  knell,  the  pall,  the  bier, 
And  all  we  know,  or  dream,  or  fear, 

Of  agony,  are  thine. 

But  to  the  hero,  when  his  sword 

Has  won  the  battle  for  the  free, 
Thy  voice  sounds  like  a  prophet's  word ; 
And  in  its  hollow  tones  are  heard 

The  thanks  of  millions  yet  to  be. 
Come,  when  his  task  of  fame  is  wrought— 
Come,  with  her  laurel-leaf,  blood-bought — 

Come,  in  her  crowning  hour — and  then 
Thy  sunken  eye's  unearthly  light 
To  him  is  welcome  as  the  sight 

Of  sky  and  stars  to  prison'd  men : 
Thy  grasp  is  welcome  as  the  hand 
Of  brother  in  a  foreign  land ; 
Thy  summons  welcome  as  the  cry 
That  told  the  Indian  isles  were  nigh 
35 


410 


FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK. 


To  the  world-seeking  Genoese, 
When  the  land-wind,  from  woods  of  palm, 
And  orange-groves,  and  fields  of  balm, 

Blew  o'er  the  Haytien  seas. 

Bozzaris  !  with  the  storied  brave, 

Greece  nurtured  in  her  glory's  time, 
Rest  thee — there  is  no  prouder  grave, 

Even  in  her  own  proud  clime. 
She  wore  no  funeral  weeds  for  thee, 

Nor  bade  the  dark  hearse  wave  its  plume, 
Like  torn  branch  from  death's  leafless  tree, 
In  sorrow's  pomp  and  pageantry, 

The  heartless  luxury  of  the  tomb  : 
But  she  remembers  thee  as  one 
Long  loved  and  for  a  season  gone. 
For  thee  her  poets'  lyre  is  wreathed, 
Her  mai^ble  wrought,  her  music  breathed : 
For  thee  she  rings  the  birthday  bells ; 
Of  thee  her  babes'  first  lisping  tells : 
For  thine  her  evening  prayer  is  said 
At  palace  couch,  and  cottage  bed ; 
Her  soldier,  closing  with  the  foe, 
Gives  for  thy  sake  a  deadlier  blow ; 
His  plighted  maiden,  when  she  fears 
For  him,  the  joy  of  her  young  years, 
Thinks  of  thy  fate,  and  checks  her  tears. 

And  she,  the  mother  of  thy  boys, 
Though  in  her  eye  and  faded  cheek 
Is  read  the  grief  she  will  not  speak, 

The  memory  of  her  buried  joys, 
And  even  she  who  gave  thee  birth, 
Will,  by  their  pilgrim-circled  hearth, 

Talk  of  thy  doom  without  a  sigh : 
For  thou  art  Freedom's  now,  and  Fame's, 
One  of  the  few,  the  immortal  names 

That  were  not  born  to  die. 


BURNS. 

TO  A  ROSE,  BROUGHT    FROM    NEAR    ALLOWAY  KIRK,  IX    AYRSHIRE,  IN  THE 
AUTUMN  OP  1822. 

Wild  Rose  of  Alloway !  my  thanks : 
Thou  'mindst  me  of  that  autumn  noon 

When  first  we  met  upon  "the  banks 
And  braes  o'  bonny  Doon." 

Like  thine,  beneath  the  thorn-tree's  bough, 

My  sunny  hour  was  glad  and  brief, 
We've  cross'd  the  winter  sea,  and  thou 

Art  wither'd — flower  and  leaf. 

And  will  not  thy  death-doom  be  mine — 
The  doom  of  all  things  wrought  of  clay — 

And  wither'd  my  life's  leaf  like  thine, 
Wild  rose  of  Alloway  ! 


FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK. 


Not  so  his  memory,  for  whose  sake 
My  bosom  bore  thee  far  and  long, 

His — who  a  humbler  flower  could  make 
Immortal  as  his  song. 

There  have  been  loftier  themes  than  his, 
And  longer  scrolls,  and  louder  lyres, 

And  lays  lit  up  with  Poesy's 
Purer  and  holier  fires  : 

Yet  read  the  names  that  know  not  death ; 

Few  nobler  ones  than  Burns  are  there ; 
And  few  have  won  a  greener  wreath 

Than  that  which  binds  his  hair. 

His  is  that  language  of  the  heart 

In  which  the  answering  heart  would  speak, 
Thought,  word,  that  bids  the  warm  tear  start, 

Or  the  smile  light  the  cheek ; 

And  his  that  music,  to  whose  tone 

The  common  pulse  of  man  keeps  time, 

In  cot  or  castle's  mirth  or  moan, 
In  cold  or(  sunny  clime. 

And  who  hath  heard  his  song,  nor  knelt 
Before  its  spell  with  willing  knee, 

And  listen'd,  and  believed,  and  felt 
The  Poet's  mastery? 

O'er  the  mind's  sea,  in  calm  and  storm, 
O'er  the  heart's  sunshine  and  its  showers, 

O'er  Passion's  moments,  bright  and  warm, 
O'er  Reason's  dark,  cold  hours  ; 

On  fields  where  brave  men  "die  or  do," 
In  halls  where  rings  the  banquet's  mirth, 

Where  mourners  weep,  where  lovers  woo, 
From  throne  to  cottage  hearth  ? 

What  sweet  tears  dim  the  eyes  unshed, 
What  wild  vows  falter  on  the  tongue, 

When'  "  Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled," 
Or  "  Auld  Lang  Syne,"  is  sung! 

Pure  hopes,  that  lift  the  soul  above, 

Come  with  his  Cotter's  hymn  of  praise, 

And  dreams  of  youth,  and  truth,  and  love, 
With  "Logan's"  banks  and  braes. 

And  when  he  breathes  his  master-lay 
Of  Alloway's  witch-haunt  ed  wall, 

All  passions  in  our  frames  of  clay 
Come  thronging  at  his  call. 

Imagination's  world  of  air, 

And- our  own  world,  its  gloom  and  glee, 
Wit,  pathos,  poetry,  are  there, 

And  death's  sublimity. 


412 


FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK. 


And  Burns — though  brief  the  race  he  ran. 
Though  rough  and  dark  the  path  he  trod — 

Lived — died — in  form  and  soul  a  Man, 
The  image  of  his  God. 

Through  care,  and  pain,  and  want,  and  woe, 
With  wounds  that  only  death  could  heal, 

Tortures — the  poor  alone  can  know, 
The  proud  alone  can  feel ; 

He  kept  his  honesty  and  truth, 

His  independent  tongue  and  pen, 
And  moved,  in  manhood  as  in  youth, 

Pride  of  his  fellow-men. 

Praise  to  the  bard !  his  words  are  driven, 
Like  flower-seeds  by  the  far  winds  sown, 

Where'er,  beneath  the  sky  of  heaven, 
The  birds  of  fame  have  flown. 

Praise  to  the  man !  a  nation  stood 

Beside  his  coffin  with  wet  eyes, 
Her  brave,  her  beautiful,  her  good, 

As  when  a  loved  one  dies. 

Such  graves  as  his  are  pilgrim-shrines, 
Shrines  to  no  code  or  creed  confined — 

The  Delphian  vales,  the  Palestines, 
The  Meccas,  of  the  mind. 

Sages,  with  Wisdom's  garland  wreathed, 

Crown'd  kings,  and  mitred  priests  of  power, 

And  warriors  with  their  bright  swords  sheathed, 
The  mightiest  of  the  hour ; 

And  lowlier  names,  whose  humble  home 

Is  lit  by  Fortune's  dimmer  star, 
Are  there — o'er  wave  and  mountain  come, 

From  countries  near  and  far ; 

Pilgrims,  whose  wandering  feet  have  press'd 
The  Switzer's  snow,  the  Arab's  sand, 

Or  trod  the  piled  leaves  of  the  West, 
My  own  green  forest-land. 

All  ask  the  cottage  of  his  birth, 

Gaze  on  the  scenes  he  loved  and  sung, 

And  gather  feelings  not  of  earth 
His  fields  and  streams  among. 

They  linger  by  the  Doon's  low  trees, 
And  pastoral  Nith,  and  wooded  Ayr, 

And  round  thy  sepulchres,  Dumfries  ! 
The  Poet's  tomb  is  there. 

But  what  to  them  the  sculptor's  art, 

His  funeral  columns,  wreaths,  and  urns  ? 

Wear  they  not  graven  on  the  heart 
The  name  of  Robert  Burns  ? 


JAMES  GATES  PERCIVAL. 


413 


THE  WORLD  IS  BRIGHT  BEFORE  THEE. 
T0    *    *    *  *. 

The  -world  is  bright  before  thee ; 

Its  summer  flowers  are  thine  ; 
Its  calm,  blue  sky  is  o'er  thee, 

Thy  bosom  pleasure's  shrine : 
And  thine  the  sunbeam  given 

To  nature's  morning  hour, 
Pure,  warm,  as  when  from  heaven 

It  burst  on  Eden's  bower. 

There  is  a  song  of  sorrow, 

The  death-dirge  of  the  gay, 
That  tells,  ere  dawn  of  morrow, 

These  charms  may  melt  away, — 
That  sun's  bright  beam  be  shaded, 

That  sky  be  blue  no  more, 
The  summer  flowers  be  faded, 

And  youth's  warm  promise  o'er. 

Believe  it  not ;  though  lonely 

Thy  evening  home  may  be  ; 
Though  beauty's  bark  can  only 

Float  on  a  summer  sea, 
Though  Time  thy  bloom  is  stealing, 

There's  still,  beyond  his  art, 
The  wild-flower  wreath  of  feeling, 

The  sunbeam  of  the  heart. 


JAMES  GATES  PERCIVAL,  1795—1856. 

Tins  eminent  scholar  and  classic  poet  was  born  at  Berlin,  Connecticut,  Septem- 
ber 15,  1795,  and  graduated  at  Yale  College  in  1815,  with  high  honor.  After 
leaving  college,  he  entered  the  medical  school  connected  with  the  same,  and 
received  the  degree  of  M.D.  He  did  not,  however,  engage  in  practice,  but  de- 
voted himself  chiefly  to  the  cultivation  of  his  poetical  powers  and  to  the  pursuits 
of  science  and  literature.  He  first  appeared  before  the  public  as  an  author  in 
1821,  when  he  published  a  volume  containing  some  minor  poems,  and  the  first 
part  of  his  Prometheus,  which  was  very  favorably  noticed  in  the  "  North  American 
Review."  In  1822,  he  published  two  volumes  of  miscellaneous  poems  and  prose 
writings,  and  the  second  part  of  Prometheus,  a  poem  in  the  Spenserian  measure. 
In  1824,  he  was  for  a  short  time  in  the  service  of  the  United  States,  as  Professor 
of  Chemistry  in  the  Military  Academy  at  West  Point,  and  subsequently  as  a  sur- 
geon connected  with  the  recruiting-station  at  Boston.  But  his  tastes  lay  in  a 
different  direction,  and  he  gave  himself  to  the  Muses,  and  to  historical,  philo- 
logical, and  scientific  pursuits.   In  1827,  he  was  employed  to  revise  the  manuscript 

35* 


414  JAMES  GATES  PERCIVAL. 


of  Dr.  Webster's  large  Dictionary,  and  not  long  after  this  he  published  a  cor- 
rected translation  of  Malte-Brun's  Geography.  In  1835,  he  was  appointed,  in 
connection  with  Professor  C.  U.  Shepard,  to  make  a  survey  of  the  geological  and 
mineralogical  resources  of  the  State  of  Connecticut.  Dr.  Percival  took  charge  of 
the  geological  part,  and  his  report  thereon  was  published  in  1842.  In  1843  ap- 
peared, at  New  Haven,  his  last  published  volume  of  miscellaneous  poetry,  entitled 
The  Dream  of  Day,  and  other  Poems.  In  1854,  he  was  appointed  State  Geologist 
of  Wisconsin,  and  his  first  report  on  that  survey  was  published  in  January,  1855. 
The  larger  part  of  this  year  he  spent  in  the  field.  While  preparing  his  second 
report,  his  health  gave  way,  and,  after  a  gentle  decline,  he  expired  on  the  2d  of 
May,  1856,  at  Hazel  Green,  Wisconsin. 

However  much  distinguished  Mr.  Percival  may  be  for  his  classical  learning, 
and  for  his  varied  attainments  in  philology  and  general  science,  he  will  be  chiefly 
known  to  posterity  as  one  of  the  most  eminent  of  our  poets,  for  the  richness  of  his 
fancy,  the  copiousness  and  beauty  of  his  language,  his  life-like  descriptions,  his 
sweet  and  touching  pathos,  as  well  as,  at  times,  his  spirited  and  soul-stirring 


ODE.  LIBERTY  TO  ATHENS. 

The  flag  of  freedom  floats  once  more 

Around  the  lofty  Parthenon  ; 
It  waves,  as  waved  the  palm  of  yore 

In  days  departed  long  and  gone  ; 
As  bright  a  glory,  from  the  skies, 

Pours  down  its  light  around  those  towers, 
And  once  again  the  Greeks  arise, 

As  in  their  country's  noblest  hours  ; 
Their  swords  are  girt  in  virtue's  cause, 

Minerva's  sacred  hill  is  free, — 
Oh,  may  she  keep  her  equal  laws, 

While  man  shall  live,  and  time  shall  be. 

The  pride  of  all  her  shrines  went  down ; 

The  Goth,  the  Frank,  the  Turk,  had  reft 
The  laurel  from  her  civic  crown ; 

Her  helm  by  many  a  sword  was  cleft : 
She  lay  among  her  ruins  low, — 

Where  grew  the  palm,  the  cypress  rose, 


1  "  The  vein  of  his  poetry  is  often  as  rich  as  any  we  have  ever  known.  The 
pieces  are  not  few  in  number  in  which  the  soul  of  the  author,  rising  as  he  pro- 
ceeds, involves  itself  and  the  reader  in  a  cloud  of  delicious  enchantment.  .  .  . 
We  are  most  pleased  with  his  intimate  familiarity  with  classical  literature :  he 
has  caught  from  the  study  of  Greek  models  a  certain  Attic  psrity  and  severity  of 
style  conspicuous  in  some  of  his  best-wrought  pieces." — Contributions  to  Lite- 
rature, by  Samuel  Gilman.  For  a  very  just  view  of  Dr.  Percival's  character  as  a 
man,  read  Goodrich's  Recollections,  vol.  ii.  pp.  139  and  140  :  also  in  the  New 
Englander,  May,  1859,  an  admirable  article  on  Percival's  scholarship  and  cha- 
racter, by  Ed.  W.  Robbins.  The  Life  in  Kettell's  Specimens  was  written  by  Rev. 
Royal  Robbin3,  of  Berlin,  Connecticut. 

2  "  In  this  crowded,  classical,  and  animated  picture,  the  occasional  resemblance 
to  Lord  Byron  ought  not  to  be  called  an  imitation  so  much  as  a  successful  attempt 
at  rivalry."  Read  articles  on  his  poetry,  in  the  14th,  16th,  and  22d  volumes  of 
the  "  North  American  Review,"  and  2d  of  the  "  American  Quarterly  Review." 


JAMES  GATES  PERCIVAL. 


415 


And,  crush'd  and  bruised  by  many  a  blow, 
She  cower'd  beneath  her  savage  foes : 

But  now  again  she  springs  from  earth, 
Her  loud,  awakening  trumpet  speaks  ; 

She  rises  in  a  brighter  birth, 

And  sounds  redemption  to  the  Greeks. 

It  is  the  classic  jubilee, — 

Their  servile  years  have  roll'd  away ; 
The  clouds  that  hover'd  o'er  them  flee, 

They  hail  the  dawn  of  freedom's  day ; 
From  heaven  the  golden  light  descends, 

The  times  of  old  are  on  the  wing, 
And  glory  there  her  pinion  bends, 

And  beauty  wakes  a  fairer  spring ; 
The  hills  of  Greece,  her  rocks,  her  waves, 

Are  all  in  triumph's  pomp  array'd ; 
A  light  that  points  their  tyrants'  graves 

Plays  round  each  bold  Athenian's  blade. 

The  Parthenon,  the  sacred  shrine, 

Where  wisdom  held  her  pure  abode : 
The  hill  of  Mars,  where  light  divine 

Proclaim'd  the  true  but  unknown  God ; 
Where  justice  held  unyielding  sway, 

And  trampled  all  corruption  down, 
And  onward  took  her  lofty  way 

To  reach  at  truth's  unfading  crown  : 
The  rock,  where  liberty  was  full, 

Where  eloquence  her  torrents  roll'd, 
And  loud,  against  the  despot's  rule, 

A  knell  the  patriot's  fury  toll'd: 
The  stage,  whereon  the  drama  spake 

In  tones  that  seem'd  the  words  of  Heaven, 
Which  made  the  wretch  in  terror  shake, 

As  by  avenging  furies  driven : 
The  groves  and  gardens,  where  the  fire 

Of  wisdom,  as  a  fountain,  burn'd, 
And  every  eye,  that  dared  aspire 

To  truth,  has  long  in  worship  turn'd : 
The  halls  and  porticos,  where  trod 

The  moral  sage,  severe,  unstain'd, 
And  where  the  intellectual  God 

In  all  the  light  of  science  reign'd : 
The  schools,  where  rose  in  symmetry 

The  simple,  but  majestic  pile, 
Where  marble  threw  its  roughness  by, 

To  glow,  to  frown,  to  weep,  to  smile, 
Where  colors  made  the  canvas  live, 

Where  music  roll'd  her  flood  along, 
And  all  the  charms  that  art  can  give, 

Were  blent  with  beauty,  love,  and  song : 
The  port,  from  whose  capacious  womb 

Her  navies  took  their  conquering  road : 
The  heralds  of  an  awful  doom 

To  all  who  would  not  kiss  her  rod 


416 


JAMES  GATES  PERCIVAL. 


On  these  a  dawn  of  glory  springs, 

These  trophies  of  her  brightest  fame ; 
Away  the  long-chain'd  city  flings 

Her  weeds,  her  shackles,  and  her  shame ; 
Again  her  ancient  souls  awake, 

Harmodius  bears  anew  his  sword ; 
Her  sons  in  wrath  their  fetters  break, 

And  freedom  is  their  only  lord. 


CONSUMPTION. 

There  is  a  sweetness  in  woman's  decay, 
When  the  light  of  beauty  is  fading  away, 
When  the  bright  enchantment  of  youth  is  gone, 
And  the  tint  that  glow'd,  and  the  eye  that  shone, 
•  And  darted  around  its  glance  of  power, 
And  the  lip  that  vied  with  the  sweetest  flower 
That  ever  in  Psestum's1  garden  blew, 
Or  ever  was  steep'd  in  fragrant  dew, 
When  all  that  was  bright  and  fair  is  fled, 
But  the  loveliness  lingering  round  the  dead. 

Oh,  there  is  a  sweetness  in  beauty's  close, 
Like  the  perfume  scenting  the  wither'd  rose ; 
For  a  nameless  charm  around  her  plays, 
And  her  eyes  are  kindled  with  hallow'd  rays, 
And  a  veil  of  spotless  purity 
Has  mantled  her  cheek  with  its  heavenly  dye ; 
Like  a  cloud  whereon  the  queen  of  night 
Has  pour'd  her  softest  tint  of  light ; 
And  there  is  a  blending  of  white  and  blue, 
Where  the  purple  blood  is  melting  through 
The  snow  of  her  pale  and  tender  cheek  ; 
And  there  are  tones,  that  sweetly  speak 
Of  a  spirit  who  longs  for  a  purer  day, 
And  is  ready  to  wing  her  flight  away. 

In  the  flush  of  youth  and  the  spring  of  feeling, 
When  life,  like  a  sunny  stream,  is  stealing 
Its  silent  steps  through  a  flowery  path, 
And  all  the  endearments,  that  pleasure  hath, 
Are  pour'd  from  her  full,  o'erflowing  horn. 
When  the  rose  of  enjoyment  conceals  no  thorn, 
In  her  lightness  of  heart,  to  the  cheery  song 
The  maiden  nuiy  trip  in  the  dance  along, 
And  think  of  the  passing  moment,  that  lies, 
Like  a  fairy  dream,  in  her  dazzled  eyes, 
And  yield  to  the  present,  that  charms  around 
With  all  that  is  lovely  in  sight  and  sound, 
Where  a  thousand  pleasing  phantoms  flit, 
With  the  voice  of  mirth,  and  the  burst  of  wit, 
And  the  music  that  steals  to  the  bosom's  core, 
And  the  heart  in  its  fulness  flowing  o'er 


Biferique  rosaria  Pwsti. — Virgil,  Geor.  iv.  119. 


JAMES  GATES  PERCIVAL. 


With  a  few  big  drops,  that  are  soon  repress'd, 

For  short  is  the  stay  of  grief  in  her  breast: 

In  this  enliven'd  and  gladsome  hour 

The  spirit  may  burn  with  a  brighter  power ; 

But  dearer  the  calm  and  quiet  day, 

When  the  heaven-sick  soul  is  stealing  away. 

And  when  her  sun  is  low  declining, 

And  life  wears  out  with  no  repining, 

And  the  whisper,  that  tells  of  early  death, 

Is  soft  as  the  west  wind's  balmy  breath, 

When  it  comes  at  the  hour  of  still  repose, 

To  sleep  in  the  breast  of  the  wooing  rose ; 

And  the  lip,  that  swell'd  with  a  living  glow, 

Is  pale  as  a  curl  of  new-fallen  snow ; 

And  her  cheek,  like  the  Parian  stone,  is  fair,— 

But  the  hectic  spot  that  flushes  there, 

WThen  the  tide  of  life,  from  its  secret  dwelling, 

In  a  sudden  gush  is  deeply  swelling, 

And  giving  a  tinge  to  her  icy  lips, 

Like  the  crimson  rose's  brightest  tips, 

As  richly  red,  and  as  transient  too, 

As  the  clouds  in  autumn's  sky  of  blue, 

That  seem  like  a  host  of  glory  met 

To  honor  the  sun  at  his  golden  set  : 

Oh,  then,  when  the  spirit  is  taking  wing, 

How  fondly  her  thoughts  to  her  dear  one  cling, 

As  if  she  would  blend  her  soul  with  his 

In  a  deep  and  long  imprinted  kiss ! 

So  fondly  the  panting  camel  flies, 

Where  the  glassy  vapor  cheats  his  eyes, 

And  the  dove  from  the  falcon  seeks  her  nest, 

And  the  infant  shrinks  to  its  mother's  breast. 

And  though  her  dying  voice  be  mute, 

Or  faint  as  the  tones  of  an  unstrung  lute, 

And  though  the  glow  from  her  cheek  be  fled, 

And  her  pale  lips  cold  as  the  marble  dead, 

Her  eye  still  beams  unwonted  fires 

With  a  woman's  love  and  a  saint's  desires, 

And  her  last  fond,  lingering  look  is  given 

To  the  love  she  leaves,  and  then  to  heaven ; 

As  if  she  would  bear  that  love  away 

To  a  purer  world  and  a  brighter  day. 


NIGHT. 

Am  I  not  all  alone  ? — The  world  is  still 

In  passionless  slumber, — not  a  tree  but  feels 
The  far-pervading  hush,  and  softer  steals 
The  misty  river  by. — Yon  broad  bare  hill 
Looks  coldly  up  to  heaven,  and  all  the  stars 
Seem  eyes  deep  fix'd  in  silence,  as  if  bound 
By  some  unearthly  spell, — no  other  sound 
But  the  owl's  unfrequent  moan. — Their  airy  car 
The  winds  have  station'd  on  the  mo  ...ntain-peaks. 


418  JAMES  GATES  PERCIYAL. 

Am  I  not  all  alone  ? — A  spirit  speaks 

From  the  abyss  of  night,  "Not  all  alone, — 
Nature  is  round  thee  with  her  banded  powers, 
•And  ancient  genius  haunts  thee  in  these  hours, — 
Mind  and  its  kingdom  now  are  all  thy  own." 

LOVE  OF  STUDY.1 

And  wherefore  does  the  student  trim  his  lamp, 
And  watch  his  lonely  taper,  when  the  stars 
Are  holding  their  high  festival  in  heaven, 
And  worshipping  around  the  midnight  throne  ? 
And  wherefore  does  he  spend  so  patiently, 
In  deep  and  voiceless  thought,  the  blooming  hours 
Of  youth  and  joyance,  when  the  blood  is  warm, 
And  the  heart  full  of  buoyancy  and  fire  ? 

He  has  his  pleasures, — he  has  his  reward  : 
For  there  is  in  the  company  of  books, 
The  living  souls  of  the  departed  sage, 
And  bard  and  hero  ;  there  is  in  the  roll 
Of  eloquence  and  history,  which  speak 
The  deeds  of  early  and  of  better  days  ; 
In  these  and  in  the  visions  that  arise 
Sublime  in  midnight  musings,  and  array 
Conceptions  of  the  mighty  and  the  good, 
There  is  an  elevating  influence, 
That  snatches  us  a  while  from  earth,  and  lifts 
The  spirit  in  its  strong  aspirings,  where 
Superior  beings  fill  the  court  of  heaven. 
And  thus  his  fancy  wanders,  and  has  talk 
"With  high  imaginings,  and  pictures  out 
Communion  with  the  worthies  of  old  time. 

*  -:'r  *  -k-  * 

With  eye  upturn'd,  watching  the  many  stars, 
And  ear  in  deep  attention  fix;d,  he  sits, 
Communing  with  himself,  and  with  the  world, 
The  universe  around  him,  and  with  all 
The  beings  of  his  memory  and  his  hopes ; 
Till  past  becomes  reality,  and  joys, 
That  beckon  in  the  future,  nearer  draw, 
And  ask  fruition, — oh,  there  is  a  pure, 
A  hallow'd  feeling  in  these  midnight  dreams  ! 
They  have  the  light  of  heaven  around  them,  breathe 
The  odor  of  its  sanctity,  and  are 
Those  moments  taken  from  the  sands  of  life, 
"Where  guilt  makes  no  intrusion,  but  they  bloom 
Like  islands  flowering  on  Arabia's  wild. 
And  there  is  pleasure  in  the  utterance 
Of  pleasant  images  in  pleasant  words, 


1  "  There  are  many  youths,  and  some  men,  who  most  earnestly  devote  them- 
selves to  solitary  studies,  from  the  mere  love  of  the  pursuit.  I  have  here 
attempted  to  give  some  of  the  causes  of  a  devotion  which  appears  so  unaccount- 
able to  the  stirring  world." 


JAMES  GATES  PERCIVAL. 


419 


Melting  like  melody  into  the  ear, 
And  stealing  on  in  one  continual  flow 
Unruffled  and  unbroken.    It  is  joy 
Ineffable  to  dwell  upon  the  lines 
That  register  our  feelings,  and  portray, 
In  colors  always  fresh  and  ever  new, 
Emotions  that  were  sanctified,  and  loved, 
As  something  far  too  tender,  and  too  pure, 
For  forms  so  frail  and  fading. 


EXTRACT  FROM  PROMETHEUS. 

Our  thoughts  are  boundless,  though  our  frames  are  frail, 

Our  souls  immortal,  though  our  limbs  decay  ; 
Though  darken'd  in  this  poor  life  by  a  veil 

Of  suffering,  dying  matter,  we  shall  play 

In  truth's  eternal  sunbeams ;  on  the  way 
To  heaven's  high  capitol  our  cars  shall  roll; 

The  temple  of  the  Power  whom  all  obey, 
That  is  the  mark  we  tend  to,  for  the  soul 
Can  take  no  lower  flight,  and  seek  no  meaner  goal. 

I  feel  it, — though  the  flesh  is  weak,  I  feel 

The  spirit  has  its  energies  untamed 
By  all  its  fatal  wanderings ;  time  may  heal 

The  wounds  which  it  has  suffer  d ;  folly  claim'd 

Too  large  a  portion  of  its  youth  ;  ashamed 
Of  those  low  pleasures,  it  would  leap  and  fly, 

And  soar  on  wings  of  lightning,  like  the  famed 
Elijah,  when  the  chariot,  rushing  by, 
Bore  him  with  steeds  of  fire  triumphant  to  the  sky. 

We  are  as  barks  afloat,  upon  the  sea, 

Helmless  and  oarless,  when  the  light  has  fled 

The  spirit,  whose  strong  influence  can  free 
The  drowsy  soul,  that  slumbers  in  the  dead 
Cold  night  of  mortal  darkness  ;  from  the  bed 

Of  sloth  he  rouses  at  her  sacred  call, 

And,  kindling  in  the  blaze  around  him  shed, 

Rends  with  strong  effort  sin's  debasing  thrall, 

And  gives  to  God  his  strength,  his  heart,  his  mind,  his  all. 

Our  home  is  not  on  earth ;  although  we  sleep, 

And  sink  in  seeming  death  a  while,  yet,  then, 
The  awakening  voice  speaks  loudly,  and  we  leap 

To  life,  and  energy,  and  light,  again  ; 

We  cannot  slumber  always  in  the  den 
Of  sense  and  selfishness ;  the  day  will  break, 

Ere  we  forever  leave  the  haunts  of  men  ; 
Even  at  the  parting  hour  the  soul  will  wake, 
Nor,  like  a  senseless  brule,  its  unknown  journey  take. 

How  awful  is  that  hour,  when  conscience  stings 
The  hoary  wretch,  win  on  his  death-bed  hears, 

Deep  in  his  soul,  the  thundering  voice  that  rings, 
In  one  dark,  damning  moment,  crimes  of  years ; 


420 


MARIA  BROOKS. 


And,  screaming  like  a  vulture  in  his  ears, 

Tells,  one  by  one,  his  thoughts  and  deeds  of  shame, 

How  wild  the  fury  of  his  soul  careers ! 
His  swart  eye  flashes  with  intensest  flame, 
And  like  the  torture's  rack  the  wrestling  of  his  frame. 


MARIA  BROOKS,  1795— 1S15. 

Maria  Gowen  (known  by  the  name  of  "Maria  del  Occidente,"  given  to  her  by 
the  poet  Southey)  was  descended  from  a  Welsh  family,  and  born  in  Medford  in 
1795.  She  early  displayed  uncommon  powers  of  mind,  which  were  judiciously 
cultivated  and  directed  by  an  intelligent  and  educated  father.  She  was  married 
very  early  in  life  to  Mr.  John  Brooks,  a  merchant-tailor  of  Boston,  who,  a  few 
years  after  their  marriage,  lost  the  greater  part  of  his  property,  when  Mrs.  Brooks 
resorted  to  poetry  for  her  amusement  and  consolation.  In  1S20,  she  gave  to  the 
public  a  small  volume,  entitled  Judith,  Esther,  and  other  Poems,  by  a  Lover  of  the 
Fine  Arts.  It  contained  much  that  was  beautiful,  and  gave  promise  of  far 
higher  excellence.  In  1S23,  Mr.  Brooks  died,  and  she  went  to  reside  with  a  pater- 
nal uncle  in  Cuba,  where,  in  1821,  she  completed  her  first  canto  of  Zophiel,  or  The 
Bride  of  Seven,  which  she  had  planned  and  nearly  written  before  leaving  Boston. 
It  was  published  in  Boston  in  1825  :  other  cantos  were  written  from  time  to  time, 
and  the  sixth  was  published  in  1829. 

Mrs.  Brooks's  uncle  having  died,  leaving  her  an  ample  income,  she  returned 
soon  after  to  the  United  States,  and  in  1831  visited  England,  where  she  was 
cordially  welcomed  by  the  poet  Southey,  who  pronounced  her  "  the  most  impas- 
sioned and  most  imaginative  of  all  poetesses."  "When  she  left  England,  she  in- 
trusted to  his  care  her  completed  work,  which  he  carried  through  the  press,  in 
London,  in  1833.  After  returning  home,  she  had  printed,  for  private  circulation, 
Idomcn,  or  the  Vale  of  the  Yumtiri,  being  simply  her  own  history,  under  a  different 
name.  In  1813,  she  sailed  for  Matanzas,  in  Cuba,  where  she  died  on  the  11th  of 
November,  1815. 

Zophiel,  or  The  Bride  of  Seven,  Mrs.  Brooks's  chief  poem,  is  a  beautiful  tale 
of  an  exiled  Jewish  maiden  in  Media,  and  is  evidently  suggested  by  the  Book 
of  Tobit  in  the  Apocrypha.  Sara,  the  heroine  in  Tobit,  is  married  to  seven  hus- 
bands successively,  who  all  die  on  entering  the  bridal  chamber,  being  killed  by 
Asmodeus,  the  evil  spirit.  At  last  Tobias,  the  son  of  Tobit,  being  instructed  by 
the  angel  Raphael  how  to  overcome  the  evil  spirit,  marries  Sara,  and  drives  off 
Asmodeus  by  means  of  "  a  smoke"  made  of  "the  liver  and  heart  of  a  fish."  In 
Mrs.  Brooks's  poem,  The  Bride  of  Seven,  Zophiel  is  Asmodeus,  and  Egla  is  Sara, 
a  maiden  of  exquisite  beauty,  grace,  and  tenderness ;  but  though  the  poem  shows 
much  artistic  skill  and  has  many  passages  of  great  beauty  and  power,  it  is  defi- 
cient in  simplicity  and  true  human  feeling,  and  receives  rather  the  homage  of  the 
intellect  than  of  the  heart.  Hence,  while  it  commands  the  warm  approbation  of 
the  few,  it  will  never  please  or  interest  the  many.  Some  of  Mrs.  Brooks's  minor 
poems,  however,  have  all  the  finish  of  Zophiel,  and  at  the  same  time  interest  our 
feelings. 


MARIA  BROOKS. 


421 


MORNING. 

How  beauteous  art  thou,  0  thou  morning  sun! — 
The  old  man,  feebly  tottering  forth,  admires 

As  much  thy  beauty,  now  life's  dx^eam  is  done, 
As  when  he  moved  exulting  in  his  fires. 

The  infant  strains  his  little  arms  to  catch 
The  rays  that  glance  about  his  silken  hair ; 

And  Luxury  hangs  her  amber  lamps,  to  match 

Thy  face,  when  turn'd  away  from  bower  and  palace  fair. 

Sweet  to  the  lip  the  draught,  the  blushing  fruit ; 

Music  and  perfumes  mingle  with  the  soul ; 
How  thrills  the  kiss,  when  feeling's  voice  is  mute ! 

And  light  and  beauty's  tints  enhance  the  whole. 

Yet  each  keen  sense  were  dulness  but  for  thee : 
Thy  ray  to  joy,  love,  virtue,  genius,  warms; 

Thou  never  weariest ;  no  inconstancy 

But  comes  to  pay  new  homage  to  thy  charms. 

How  many  lips  have  sung  thy  praise,  how  long ! 

Yet,  when  his  slumbering  harp  he  feels  thee  woo, 
The  pleasured  bard  pours  forth  another  song, 

And  finds  in  thee,  like  love,  a  theme  forever  new. 

Thy  dark-eyed  daughters  come  in  beauty  forth, 

In  thy  near  realms  ;  and,  like  their  snow-wreaths  fair, 

The  bright-hair'd  youths  and  maidens  of  the  north 
Smile  in  thy  colors  when  thou  art  not  there. 

'Tis  there  thou  bidst  a  deeper  ardor  glow, 

And  higher,  purer  reveries  completest ; 
As  drops  that  farthest  form  the  ocean  flow, 

Refining  all  the  way,  form  springs  the  sweetest. 

Haply,  sometimes,  spent  with  the  sleepless  night, 

Some  wretch,  impassion'd,  from  sweet  morning's  breath 

Turns  his  hot  brow,  and  sickens  at  thy  light ; 

But  Nature,  ever  kind,  soon  heals  or  gives  him  death. 


CONFIDING  LOVE. 

What  bliss  for  her  who  lives  her  little  day, 

In  blest  obedience,  like  to  those  divine, 
Who  to  her  loved,  her  earthly  lord,  can  say, 

"  God  is  thy  law,  most  just,  and  thou  art  mine." 
To  every  blast  she  bends  in  beauty  meek : 

Let  the  storm  beat — his  arms  her  shelter  kind — 
And  feels  no  need  to  blanch  her  rosy  cheek 

With  thoughts  befitting  his  superior  mind. 
Who  only  sorrows  when  she  sees  him  pain'd, 

Then  knows  to  pluck  away  Pain's  keenest  dart ; 
Or  bid  Love  catch  it  ere  its  goal  be  gain'd, 

And  steal  its  venom  ere  it  reach  his  heart. 


422 


MARIA  BROOKS. 


"lis  the  soul's  food:  the  fervid  must  adore. — 

For  this  tne  heathen,  unsufficcd  with  thought, 
Moulds  him  an  idol  of  the  glittering  ore, 

And  shrines  his  smiling  goddess,  marble- wrought. 
"What  bliss  for  her,  even  in  this  world  of  woe, 

0  Sire!  who  mak'st  yon  orb  strewn  arch  thy  throne; 
That  sees  thee  in  thy  noblest  work  below 

Shine  undefaced,  adored,  and  all  her  own ! 
This  I  had  hoped,  but  hope,  too  dear,  too  great, 

Go  to  thy  grave! — I  feel  thee  blasted,  now. 
Give  me.  Fate's  sovereign,  well  to  bear  the  fate 

Thy  pleasure  sends :  this,  my  sole  prayer,  allow ! 


MARRIAGE. 

The  bard  has  sung,  God  never  form'd  a  soul 

Without  its  own  peculiar  mate,  to  meet 
Its  wandering  half,  Avhen  ripe  to  crown  the  whole 

Bright  plan  of  bliss,  most  heavenly,  most  complete ! 

But  thousand  evil  things  there  are  that  hate 

To  look  on  happiness :  these  hurt,  iurpede, 
And,  leagued  with  time,  space,  circumstance,  and  fate, 

Keep  kindred  heart  from  heart,  to  pine,  and  pant,  and  bleed 

And  as  the  dove  to  far  Palmyra  flying 

From  where  her  native  founts  of  Antioch  beam, 

Weary,  exhausted,  longing,  panting,  sighing, 
Lights  sadly  at  the  desert's  bitter  stream; 

So  many  a  soul,  o'er  life's  drear  desert  faring, 
Love's  pure  congenial  spring  unfound,  unquafPd, 

Sutfers,  recoils,  then,  thirsty,  and  despairing 

Of  what  it  would,  descends  and  sips  the  nearest  draught. 

SONG. 

Day,  in  melting  purple  dying, 
Blossoms,  all  around  me  sighing, 
Fragrance,  from  the  lilies  straying, 
Zephyr,  with  my  ringlets  playing, 

Ye  but  waken  my  distress ; 

I  am  sick  of  loneliness. 

Thou,  to  whom  I  love  to  hearken, 
Come,  ere  night  around  me  darken; 
Though  thy  softness  but  deceive  me, 
Say  thou'rt  true,  and  I'll  believe  thee ; 

Veil,  if  ill,  thy  soul's  intent, — 

Let  me  think  it  innocent ! 

Save  thy  toiling,  spare  thy  treasure: 
All  I  ask  is  friendship's  pleasure  ; 
Let  the  shining  ore  lie  darkling, 
Bring  no  gem  in  lustre  sparkling : 


WILLIAM  li.  SPRAGUE. 


423 


Gifts  and  gold  are  naught  to  me ; 
I  would  only  look  on  thee ! 

Tell  to  thee  the  high-wrought  feeling, 

Ecstasy  but  in  revealing ; 

Paint  to  thee  the  deep  sensation, 

Rapture  in  participation, 

Yet  but  torture,  if  comprest 
In  a  lone,  unfriended  breast. 

Absent  still !    Ah  !  come  and  bless  me  ! 

Let  these  eyes  again  caress  thee ; 

Once,  in  caution,  I  could  fly  thee  : 

Now,  I  nothing  could  deny  thee ; 
In  a  look  if  death  there  be, 
Come,  and  I  will  gaze  on  thee ! 


WILLIAM  B.  SPRAGUE. 

The  life  of  Dr.  Sprague,  like  the  lives  of  most  literary  men,  has  been  but 
little  fertile  in  incidents.  He  was  born  in  Andover,  Connecticut,  on  the  16th  of 
October,  179.%  his  paternal  ancestor  having  originally  settled  in  Duxbury,  Massa- 
chusetts. Fo  was  fitted  for  college  chiefly  under  the  Rev.  Abiel  Abbot,  of 
Coventry,  and  entered  Yale  College  in  1811.  After  receiving  his  degree,  he 
entered  the  Theological  Seminary  at  Princeton,  and  -when  he  had  completed  his 
course  ther-,  he  was  invited  to  become  a  colleague  with  the  Rev.  Dr.  Joseph 
Lathrop,  »*■  West  Springfield,  Massachusetts,  where  he  was  settled  August  25, 
1819.  D>  July,  1829,  he  resigned  his  charge  there,  and  on  the  26th  of  the  next 
month  v,-o,s  installed  pastor  of  the  Second  Presbyterian  Church,  Albany,  New 
York,  n-here  he  has  continued  to  this  clay,  in  a  life  of  constant  employment  and 
most  extended  usefulness. 

Dr-  Sprague's  published  works  have  been  very  numerous,  and  all  of  them  are 
excellent  in  their  kind.  The  following,  we  believe,  are  the  chief  of  them  : — 
Letters  to  a  Daughter,  1822 ;  Letters  from  Europe,  1828 ;  Lectures  to  Young  People, 
1831;  Lectures  on  Revivals,  1832 ;  Hints  on  Christian  Intercourse,  1834;  Contrast 
hehceen  True  and  False  Religion,  1837;  Life  of  Rev.  Edward  Dorr  Grij/in,  1838; 
Life  of  President  Dicight,  (in  Sparks's  American  Biography,)  1815;  Aids  to  Early 
Religion,  1847;  Words  to  a  Young  Man's  Conscience,  1818;  Letters  to  Young 
Men,  founded  on  the  Life  of  Joseph,  1851, — of  which  eight  editions  have  been 
issued;  European  Celebrities,  1855.  In  1856  appeared,  in  large  octavo  form,  the 
first  two  volumes  of  the  great  work  on  which  his  fame  will  chiefly  rest,  Annals 
of  the  American  Pulpit.  These  comprise  the  lives  of  deceased  clergymen  of  the 
orthodox  Congregational  Church.  They  were  followed  in  1S58  by  two  more 
volumes,  of  the  same  size,  upon  the  Presbyterian  Church,  and  in  1859  by  another 
volume,  upon  the  Episcopal  Church;  anl  will,  if  his  life  and  health  permit,  be 


424 


WILLIAM  B.  SPRAGUE. 


succeeded  by  volumes  upon  the  clergymen  of  other  denominations — the  whole 
forming  the  most  valuable  and  authentic  books  of  reference  of  the  kind  in  our 
language. 

VOLTAIRE  AND  WILBERFORCE. 

Let  me  now,  for  a  moment,  show  you  what  the  two  systems 
Atheism  and  Christianity — can  do,  have  done,  for  individual 
character  ;  and  I  can  think  of  no  two  names  to  which  I  may 
refer  with  more  confidence,  in  the  way  of  illustration,  than 
Voltaire  and  Wilhcrforce ;  both  of  them  names  which  stand  out 
with  prominence  upon  the  world's  history,  and  each,  in  its  own 
way,  imperishable. 

Voltaire  was  perhaps  the  master-spirit  in  the  school  of  French 
Atheism  j1  and  though  he  was  not  alive  to  participate  in  the  hor- 
rors of  the  revolution,  probably  he  did  more  by  his  writings  to 
combine  the  elements  for  that  tremendous  tempest  than  any  other 
man.  And  now  I  undertake  to  say  that  you  may  draw  a  charac- 
ter in  which  there  shall  be  as  much  of  the  blackness  of  moral  tur- 
pitude as  your  imagination  can  supply,  and  yet  you  shall  not  have 
exceeded  the  reality  as  it  was  found  in  the  character  of  this  apos- 
tle of  Atheism.  You  may  throw  into  it  the  darkest  shades  of  self- 
ishness, making  the  man  a  perfect  idolater  of  himself ;  you  may 
paint  the  serpent  in  his  most  wily  form  to  represent  deceit  and 
cunning;  you  may  let  sensuality  stand  forth  in  all  the  loathsome- 
ness of  a  beast  in  the  mire ;  you  may  bring  out  envy,  and  malice, 
and  all  the  baser  and  all  the  darker  passions,  drawing  nutriment 
from  the  pit;  and  when  you  have  done  this,  you  may  contemplate 
the  character  of  Voltaire,  and  exclaim,  "  Here  is  the  monstrous 
original  I"  The  fires  of  his  genius  kindled  only  to  wither  and 
consume;  he  stood,  for  almost  a  century,  a  great  tree  of  poison, 
not  only  cumbering  the  ground,  but  infusing  death  into  the  atmo- 
sphere j  and  though  its  foliage  has  long  since  dropped  off,  and  its 
branches  have  withered,  and  its  trunk  fallen,  under  the  hand 
of  time,  its  deadly  root  still  remains ;  and  the  very  earth  that 
nourishes  it  is  cursed  for  its  sake. 

And  now  I  will  speak  of  Wilberforce ;  and  I  do  it  with  grati- 
tude and  triumph, — gratitude  to  the  God  who  made  him  what  he 
was ;  triumph  that  there  is  that  in  his  very  name  which  ought  to 


1  I  am  not  aware  that  Voltaire  ever  formally  professed  himself  an  Atheist;  and 
I  well  know  that  his  writings  contain  some  things  which  would  seem  inconsistent 
with  atheistical  opinions.  But  not  only  are  many  of  his  works  deeply  pervaded 
by  the  spirit  of  Atheism,  but  there  is  scarcely  a  doctrine  of  natural  religion  which 
he  has  nyt  somewhere  directly  and  bitterly  assailed ;  so  that  I  cannot  doubt  that 
he  falls  fairly  into  the  ranks  of  those  who  say,  "  There  is  no  God." 


WILLIAM  B.  SPRAGUE. 


425 


make  Atheism  turn  pale.  Wilberforce  was  the  friend  of  man. 
Wilberforce  was  the  friend  of  enslaved  and  wretched  man.  Wil- 
berforce (for  I  love  to  repeat  his  name)  consecrated  the  energies 
of  his  whole  life  to  one  of  the  noblest  objects  of  benevolence  j  it 
was  in  the  cause  of  injured  Africa  that  he  often  passed  the  night 
in  intense  and  wakeful  thought;  that  he  counselled  with  the 
wise,  and  reasoned  with  the  unbelieving,  and  expostulated  with 
the  unmerciful;  that  his  heart  burst  forthwith  all  its  melting 
tenderness,  and  his  genius  with  all  its  electric  fire;  that  he 
turned  the  most  accidental  meeting  into  a  conference  for  the 
relief  of  human  woe,  and  converted  even  the  Senate-House  into  ••< 
a  theatre  of  benevolent  action.  Though  his  zeal  had  at  one  time 
almost  eaten  him  up,  and  the  vigor  of  his  frame  was  so  far  gone 
that  he  stooped  over  and  looked  into  his  own  grave,  yet  his  faith 
failed  not ;  his  fortitude  failed  not ;  and,  blessed  be  God,  the  vital 
spark  was  kindled  up  anew,  and  he  kept  on  laboring  through  a 
long  succession  of  years;  and  at  length,  just  as  his  friends  were 
gathering  around  him  to  receive  his  last  whisper,  and  the  angels 
were  gathering  around  to  receive  his  departing  spirit,  the  news, 
worthy  to  be  borne  by  angels,  was  brought  to  him,  that  the  great 
object  to  which  his  life  had  been  given  was  gained;  and  then, 
Simeon-like,  he  clasped  his  hands  to  die,  and  went  off  to  heaven 
with  the  sound  of  deliverance  to  the  captive  vibrating  sweetly 
upon  his  ear. 

Both  Voltaire  and  Wilberforce  are  dead ;  but  each  of  them 
lives  in  the  character  he  has  left  behind  him.  And  now  who 
does  not  delight  to  honor  the  character  of  the  one  ?  who  does  not 
shudder  to  contemplate  the  character  of  the  other  ? 

Contrast  between  True  and  False  Religion. 

VIRTUE  CROWNED  WITH  USEFULNESS. 

What  a  noble  example  of  usefulness  was  Joseph  in  every  rela- 
tion which  he  sustained — in  every  condition  in  which  he  was 
placed !  Of  what  he  was  to  the  Midianitish  merchants,  previous 
to  his  being  sold  to  Potiphar,  we  have  no  account ;  but,  from  that 
period  to  the  close  of  his  life,  the  monuments  of  his  benevolent 
activity  are  continually  rising  before  us.  And  what  was  true  of 
Joseph  is  true  of  every  other  good  man, — his  life  is  crowned 
with  usefulness.  For  the  truth  of  this  remark,  I  refer  you  to 
your  own  observation,  and  will  ask  your  attention  to  a  few 
thoughts  only,  illustrative  of  the  manner  in  which  virtue  operates 
to  secure  this  end. 

In  the  first  place,  virtue  renders  its  possessor  useful,  by 
securing  to  his  faculties  their  right  direction  and  their  legitimate 
exercise.    But,  while  virtue  keeps  the  faculties  appropriately  em- 

36* 


42G 


WILLIAM  B.  SPRAGUE. 


ployed,  she  makes  the  most  of  all  those  opportunities  for  doing 
good  which  grow  out  of  the  various  relations  and  conditions  in 
life.  Place  her  where  you  will,  and  she  finds  means  of  useful- 
ness, which  she  diligently  and  scrupulously  improves.  In  the 
various  occupations  and  professions  in  which  the  mass  of  men 
look  for  nothing  beyond  their  own  aggrandizement,  the  truly 
good  man  finds  channels  innumerable  through  which  to  send  forth 
a  healthful  and  quickening  influence  on  the  neighborhood,  the 
community,  the  world.  Suppose  that  he  is  so  obscure  that, 
though  he  is  in  your  immediate  neighborhood,  you  never  hear 
of  him — yet  there  are  those  who  do  know  him,  and  to  whom 
he  has  access  in  daily  intercourse.  These  he  can  influence  by  his 
example,  his  conversation,  perhaps  by  his  prayers ;  and  it  is  by  no 
means  improbable  that  some  will  dwell  in  heaven  forever,  because 
they  have  dwelt  on  earth  within  the  circle  of  his  influence.  Or 
suppose  that  he  is  left  to  linger  out  years  upon  a  sick-bed,  and  is 
thereby  cut  off  from  all  intercourse,  except  with  those  who  come 
to  sympathize  in  his  affliction,  or  minister  to  his  wants — even 
there  he  may  be  an  eminently  useful  man.  By  his  faith  in  God, 
his  cheerful  submission,  his  elevated  devotion,  he  may  leave  an 
indelible  impression  for  good  on  those  who  are  about  his  bedside ; 
and  the  story  of  what  passes  there  may  penetrate  some  other 
hearts  to  which  it  may  be  communicated ;  and  the  prayers  which 
he  offers  up  may  be  the  medium  through  which  the  richest  bless- 
ings shall  be  conveyed  to  multitudes  whom  he  has  never  seen.  I 
repeat,  it  is  the  privilege  of  the  good  man  to  be  useful  always — 
he  may  be  sick  and  poor,  he  may  be  unknown  and  forgotten,  he 
may  even  be  imprisoned  and  manacled,  and  yet,  so  long  as  he  has 
lips  that  can  move  in  prayer,  or  a  heart  that  can  beat  to  the  spi- 
ritual miseries  of  the  world,  you  may  not  say  that  he  is  a  cum- 
berer  of  the  ground. 

What  a  delightful  employment  to  reflect  on  a  useful  life,  when 
life  is  drawing  to  a  close !  How  transported  must  have  been  the 
apostle  when  he  could  say,  "  I  have  fought  a  good  fight,  I  have 
finished  my  course,  I  have  kept  the  faith !"  You,  my  young 
friends,  will  soon  be  in  his  circumstances,  in  respect  to  the  open- 
ing of  another  world  upon  your  spirits.  Murmur  not,  though 
God  place  you  in  the  humblest  circumstances  here ;  but  be  thank- 
ful that,  even  in  these  circumstances,  your  consciences  may  at 
least  bear  testimony  to  a  useful  life.  Let  this  blessed  result  be 
accomplished  in  your  experience,  and,  be  your  condition  on  earth 
what  it  may,  you  need  not  envy  the  rich  man  his  wealth,  nor  the 
statesman  his  laurels,  nor  the  monarch  his  crown. 


SARAH  JOSEPHA  HALE. 


427 


SARAH  JOSEPHA  HALE. 

Sarah  Josepha  Buell,  was  born  in  Newport,  New  Hampshire,  in  the  year 
1795,  whither  her  parents  had  removed  soon  after  the  close  of  the  Revolution, 
from  Saybrook,  Connecticut.  Her  mother  was  a  woman  of  a  highly  cultivated 
mind,  and  attended  carefully  to  the  education  of  her  children ;  and  our  authoress 
had  also  the  advantage  of  the  instruction  of  a  brother  who  graduated  at  Dart- 
mouth College  in  1809.  In  1814,  she  was  married  to  Mr.  David  Hale,  a  lawyer 
of  distinguished  abilities  and  great  excellence  of  character,  but  who  died  in  1822, 
leaving  her  with  five  children,  the  eldest  but  seven  years  old.  To  train,  support, 
and  educate  these,  she  engaged  in  literature  as  a  profession.  Her  first  publica- 
tion was  The  Genius  of  Oblivion,  and  other  Original  Poems,  printed  at  Concord,  in 
1823.  Her  next  work  was  Northwood,  a  Tale  of  JVeio  England,  in  two  volumes, 
published  in  Boston,  in  1827,  in  which  is  happily  illustrated  common  life  among 
the  descendants  of  the  Puritans.  In  1828,  she  removed  to  Boston,  and  became 
the  editor  of  "  The  Ladies'  Magazine,"  the  first  periodical,  exclusively  devoted  to 
her  sex,  which  appeared  in  America.  She  continued  to  edit  this  until  1837,  when 
it  was  united  with  "  The  Lady's  Book,"  in  Philadelphia,  of  the  literary  depart- 
ment of  which  she  has  ever  since  had  charge.1  However,  as  her  sons  were  in 
Harvard  College,  she  continued  to  reside  in  Boston,  till  1811,  when  she  removed 
to  Philadelphia,  where  she  now  resides. 

Mrs.  Hale  has  been  a  most  industrious,  as  well  as  instructive,  writer.  Her 
other  publications  are,  Sketches  of  American  Character;  Floras  Interpreter  ; 
(republished  in  London  ;)  The  Ladies'  Wreath,  a  selection  from  the  Female  Poets 
of  England  and  America;  The  Way  to  Live  Well,  and  to  be  Well  while  we  Live ; 
Grosvenor,  a  Tragedy;  Alice  Bay,  a  Romance  in  Rhyme ;  Harry  Gray,  the  Widow's 
Son,  a  Story  of  the  Sea;  Three  Hours,  or  the  Vigil  of  Love,  and  other  Poems ;  A 
Complete  Dictionary  of  Poetical  Quotations,  containing  Selections  from  the  Writings 
of  the  Poets  of  England  and  America;  and  lastly,  Woman's  Record,  or,  Sketches 
of  all  Distinguished  Women  from  ( the  beginning'  till  A.D.  1850,  a  large  octavo, 
in  double  columns,  of  nine  hundred  pages.  This  is  the  most  important  of  her 
productions,  and  very  valuable  as  a  book  of  reference. 

THE  LIGHT  OF  HOME. 

My  son,  thou  wilt  dream  the  world  is  fair, 

And  thy  spirit  will  sigh  to  roam, 
And  thou  must  go ;  but  never,  when  there, 

Forget  the  light  of  Home  ! 


1  We  always  regretted  that  Mrs.  Hale  did  not  at  once  resign  the  editorial  charge 
of  "  The  Lady's  Book"  when  its  proprietor,  Louis  A.  Godey,  removed,  at  the  dic- 
tation of  some  Southern  subscribers,  the  name  of  Grace  Greenwood  from  the  cover 
of  his  magazine,  because  she  was  also  a  contributor  to  "  The  National  Era."  See 
his  letter  in  the  "  Era,"  of  February  12,  1850,  to  the  editors  of  the  Columbia 
(South  Carolina)  "  Telegraph."  For  some  deservedly  severe  comments  upon  this 
letter,  see  "  The  New  York  Independent"  of  that  time. 


SARAH  JOSEPHA  HALE. 


Though  Pleasure  may  smile  with  a  ray  more  bright, 

It  dazzles  to  lead  astray  ; 
Like  the  meteor's  flash,  'twill  deepen  the  night 

When  treading  thy  lonely  way: — 

But  the  hearth  of  home  has  a  constant  flame, 

And  pure  as  vestal  fire — ■ 
'Twill  burn,  'twill  burn  forever  the  same, 

For  nature  feeds  the  pyre. 

The  sea  of  ambition  is  tempest-toss'd, 
And  thy  hopes  may  vanish  like  foam — 

When  sails  are  shiver'd  and  compass  lost, 
Then  look  to  the  light  of  Home  ! 

And  there,  like  a  star  through  midnight  cloud, 

Thou'lt  see  the  beacon  bright ; 
For  never,  till  shining  on  thy  shroud, 

Can  be  quench'd  its  holy  light. 

The  sun  of  fame  may  gild  the  name, 

But  the  heart  ne'er  felt  its  ray  ; 
And  fashion's  smiles,  that  rich  ones  claim. 

Are  beams  of  a  wintry  day : 

How  cold  and  dim  those  beams  would  be, 
Should  Life's  poor  wanderer  come  ! — 

My  son,  when  the  world  is  dark  to  thee, 
Then  turn  to  the  light  of  Home. 


IT  SNOWS. 

"  It  snows  !"  cries  the  Schoolboy, — "  Hurrah  !"  and  his  shout 

Is  ringing  through  parlor  and  hall, 
While  swift,  as  the  wing  of  a  swallow,  he's  out, 

And  his  playmates  have  answer'd  his  call : 
It  makes  the  heart  leap  but  to  witness  their  joy, — 

Proud  wealth  has  no  pleasures,  I  trow, 
Like  the  rapture  that  throbs  in  the  pulse  of  the  boy, 

As  he  gathers  his  treasures  of  snow ; 
Then  lay  not  the  trappings  of  gold  on  thine  heirs, 
While  health  and  the  riches  of  Nature  are  theirs. 

"It  snows!"  sighs  the  Imbecile, — "  Ah!"  and  his  breath 

Comes  heavy,  as  clogg'd  with  a  weight ; 
While  from  the  pale  aspect  of  Nature  in  death, 

He  turns  to  the  blaze  of  his  grate: 
And  nearer,  and  nearer,  his  soft-cushion'd  chair 

Is  wheel'd  tow'rds  the  life-giving  flame, — 
He  dreads  a  chill  puff  of  the  snow-burden'd  air, 

Lest  it  wither  his  delicate  frame : 
Oh,  small  is  the  pleasure  existence  can  give, 
When  the  fear  we  shall  die  only  proves  that  we  live ! 

"  It  snows !"  cries  the  Traveller. — "  Ho  !"  and  the  word 
Has  quicken'd  his  steed's  lagging  pace ; 


FRANCIS  WAYLAND. 


429 


The  wind  rushes  by,  but  its  howl  is  unheard, — 

Unfelt  the  sharp  drift  in  his  face  ; 
For  bright  through  the  tempest  his  own  home  appear'd, — 

Ay,  though  leagues  intervened,  he  can  see ; 
There's  the  clear,  glowing  hearth,  and  the  table  prepared, 

And  his  wife  with  their  babes  at  her  knee. 
Blest  thought !  how  it  lightens  the  grief-laden  hour, 
That  those  we  love  dearest  are  safe  from  its  power ! 

"It  snows!"  cries  the  Belle, — "Dear,  how  lucky!"  and  turns 

From  her  mirror  to  watch  the  flakes  fall ; 
Like  the  first  rose  of  summer,  her  dimpled  cheek  burns 

While  musing  on  sleigh-ride  and  ball : 
There  are  visions  of  conquest,  of  splendor,  and  mirth, 

Floating  over  each  drear  winter's  day  ; 
But  the  tintings  of  Hope,  on  this  storm-beaten  earth, 

Will  melt,  like  the  snow-flakes,  away ; 
Turn,  turn  thee  to  heaven,  fair  maiden,  for  bliss ; 
That  world  has  a  fountain  ne'er  open'd  in  this. 

"It  snows!"  cries  the  Widow, — "0  God!"  and  her  sighs 

Have  stifled  the  voice  of  her  prayer ; 
Its  burden  ye'll  read  in  her  tear-swollen  eyes, 

On  her  cheek,  sunk  with  fasting  and  care. 
'Tis  night, — and  her  fatherless  ask  her  for  bread, — 

But  "  He  gives  the  young  ravens  their  food," 
And  she  trusts,  till  her  dark  hearth  adds  horror  to  dread, 

And  she  lays  on  her  last  chip  of  wood. 
Poor  sufferer !  that  sorrow  thy  God  only  knows, — 
'Tis  a  pitiful  lot  to  be  poor  when  it  snows ! 


FRANCIS  WAYLAND. 

Francis  Wayland,  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  the  distinguished 
President  of  Brown  University,  was  born  in  the  city  of  New  York,  on  the  11th  of 
March,  1796.  When  he  was  eleven  years  of  age,  his  father  removed  to  Pough- 
keepsie,  where  he  was  prepared  for  college  by  the  Rev.  Daniel  H.  Barnes.  In 
1811,  he  entered  the  junior  class  in  Union  College,  and,  after  graduating,  studied 
medicine  for  three  years,  and  was  admitted  to  practice;  but,  experiencing  a 
change  of  religious  views,  he  relinquished  this  profession  for  the  ministry,  and  in 
1816  entered  the  theological  seminary  at  Andover,  Massachusetts.  In  1817,  he 
accepted  a  tutorship  in  Union  College,  and  in  1S21  he  was  called  to  the  pastorate 
of  the  First  Baptist  Church  in  Boston.  While  here,  he  published,  in  1823,  his 
first  printed  work, — a  sermon  on  The  Moral  Dignity  of  the  Missionary  Enterprise, 
— a  very  eloquent  production,  which  had  great  success,  and  placed  him  in  tho 
rank  of  the  first  writers  of  his  day.  To  this  succeeded,  iu  1825,  two  excellent  dis- 
courses on  The  Duties  of  an  American  Citizen. 

In  1826,  he  returned  to  Schenectady  as  Professor  of  Mathematics  and  Natural 
Philosophy  in  Union  College ;  but,  before  the  close  of  the  year,  he  removed  to 


430 


FRANCIS  WAYLAND. 


Providence,  Rhode  Island,  having  been  elected  to  the  presidency  of  Brown  Uni- 
versity, into  which  office  he  was  inducted  in  February,  1827 ;  and  never  was  a 
choice  of  a  president  more  happy,  for  the  college  started  at  once  into  new  life. 
In  a  few  years  appeared  his  Moral  Science,  Political  Economy,  and  Intellectual 
Philosojjhy,  which  have  enjoyed  great  popularity,  and  been  introduced  as  text- 
books into  many  of  our  best  colleges.  He  also  deserves  high  commendation  for 
the  noble  part  he  has  borne  in  the  anti-slavery  discussion,  shown  partly  in  his 
correspondence  with  Rev.  Richard  Fuller,  of  Beaufort,  South  Carolina.  Their 
letters  were  published  in  one  duodecimo  volume,  entitled  Domestic  Slavery  con- 
sidered as  a  Scriptural  Institution. 

Besides  the  great  ability  and  thoroughness  conspicuous  in  all  his  writings,  Dr. 
Wayland  has  shown  true  independence  in  thought  and  action.  He  was  the  first 
President  of  a  college  to  advocate  and  carry  out  a  change  in  the  collegiate  course, 
extending  the  benefits  of  the  college  beyond  the  small  class  intending  to  pursue 
professional  studies,  by  introducing  a  partial  course  to  be  pursued  by  such  as 
intend  to  engage  in  mechanics  or  in  mercantile  business,  and  conferring  degrees 
according  to  the  attainments  made.  He  has  also  identified  himself  with  a  move- 
ment among  his  own  religious  denomination,  by  the  advocacy  of  lay  preaching,1 
and  a  better  adaptation  of  the  training  of  candidates  to  the  work  of  the  Chris- 
tian ministry.  In  1856,  Dr.  Wayland  resigned  the  presidency  of  Brown  Uni- 
versity, and  now  resides  in  Providence.2 


THE  OBJECT  OF  MISSIONS. 

Our  object  will  not  have  been  accomplished  till  the  tomahawk 
shall  be  buried  forever,  and  the  tree  of  peace  spread  its  broad 
branches  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific;  until  a  thousand 
smiling  villages  shall  be  reflected  from  the  waves  of  the  Missouri, 
and  the  distant  valleys  of  the  West  echo  with  the  song  of  the 
reaper  ;  till  the  wilderness  and  the  solitary  place  shall  have  been 
glad  for  us,  and  the  desert  has  rejoiced  and  blossomed  as  the 
rose.  Our  labors  are  not  to  cease  until  the  last  slave-ship  shall 
have  visited  the  coast  of  Africa,  and,  the  nations  of  Europe  and 
America  having  long  since  redressed  her  aggravated  wrongs, 


1  Read  an  admirable  book,  anonymously  published  in  1857,  by  J.  B.  Lippincott 
&  Co.,  entitled  "  Priesthood  and  Clergy  Unknown  to  Christianity;  or,  The  Church 
a  Community  of  Co-Equal  Brethren."  The  author  is  one  of  our  most  distin- 
guished "divines," — a  D.D.  eminent  alike  for  his  piety  and  learning. 

2  His  published  works  are, — 1.  Occasional  Discourses,  1  vol.  ;  2.  Moral  Science ; 
3.  Political  Economy  ;  4.  TI>ou(]hts  on  Collegiate  Education  ;  5.  Limitations  of  Human 
Responsibility;  6.  University  Sermons;  7.  Memoirs  of  Judson,  2  vols.;  8.  Intellec- 
tual Philosophy ;  (J.  Notes  on  the  Principles  and  Practices  of  the  Baptists.  Besides 
these  volumes,  a  number  of  his  occasional  addresses  and  discourses  have  been 
published;  as,  Discourse  on  the  Life  and  Character  of  Hon.  Nicholas  Brown ;  of 
William  G.  Goddard,  LL.D. ;  and  of  James  N.  Granger,  D.D.  His  latest  work 
'1858)  is  a  duodecimo  of  281  pages,  entitled  Sermons  to  the  Churches. 


FRANCIS  WAYLAND. 


431 


Ethiopia,  from  the  Mediterranean  to  the  Cape,  shall  have 
stretched  forth  her  hand  unto  God. 

In  a  word,  point  us  to  the  loveliest  village  that  smiles  upon  a 
Scottish  or  New  England  landscape,  and  compare  it  with  the 
filthiness  and  brutality  of  a  Caffrarian  kraal,  and  we  tell  you  that 
our  object  is  to  render  that  Caffrarian  kraal  as  happy  and  as  glad- 
some as  that  Scottish  or  New  England  village.  Point  us  to  the 
spot  on  the  face  of  the  earth  where  liberty  is  best  understood  and 
most  perfectly  enjoyed,  where  intellect  shoots  forth  in  its  richest 
luxuriance,  and  where  all  the  kindlier  feelings  of  the  heart  are 
constantly  seen  in  their  most  graceful  exercise ;  point  us  to  the 
loveliest  and  happiest  neighborhood  in  the  world  on  which  we 
dwell,  and  we  tell  you  that  our  object  is  to  render  this  whole 
earth,  with  all  its  nations,  and  kindreds,  and  tongues,  and  people, 
as  happy,  nay,  happier  than  that  neighborhood.  Our  object  is  to 
furnish  every  family  upon  the  face  of  the  whole  earth  with  the 
word  of  God  written  in  its  own  language,  and  to  send  to  every 
neighborhood  a  preacher  of  the  cross  of  Christ.  Our  object  will 
not  be  accomplished  until  every  idol  temple  shall  have  been 
utterly  abolished,  and  a  temple  of  Jehovah  erected  in  its  room ; 
until  this  earth,  instead  of  being  a  theatre,  on  which  immortal 
beings  are  preparing  by  crime  for  eternal  condemnation,  shall 
become  one  universal  temple,  in  which  the  children  of  men  are 
learning  the  anthems  of  the  blessed  above,  and  becoming  meet  to 
join  the  general  assembly  and  church  of  the  first-born,  whose 
names  are  written  in  heaven. 

THE  ILIAD  AND  THE  BIBLE. 

Of  all  the  books  with  which,  since  the  invention  of  writing, 
this  world  has  been  deluged,  the  number  of  those  is  very  small 
which  have  produced  any  perceptible  effect  on  the  mass  of  human 
character.  By  far  the  greater  part  have  been,  even  by  their  con- 
temporaries, unnoticed  and  unknown.  Not  many  a  one  has  made 
its  little  mark  upon  that  generation  that  produced  it,  though  it 
sunk  with  that  generation  to  utter  forgetfulness.  But,  after  the 
ceaseless  toil  of  six  thousand  years,  how  few  have  been  the  works, 
the  adamantine  basis  of  whose  reputation  has  stood  unhurt  amid 
the  fluctuations  of  time,  and  whose  impression  can  be  traced 
through  successive  centuries,  on  the  history  of  our  species  ! 

When,  however,  such  a  work  appears,  its  effects  are  absolutely 
incalculable ;  and  such  a  work,  you  are  aware,  is  the  Iliad  of 
Homer.  Who  can  estimate  the  results  produced  by  the  incom- 
parable efforts  of  a  single  mind  ?  who  can  tell  what  Greece  owes 
to  this  first-born  of  song?  Her  breathing  marbles,  her  solemn 
temples,  her  unrivalled  eloquence,  and  her  matchless  verse,  all 


432 


FRANCIS  TV  A  YL  AND. 


point  us  to  that  transcendent  genius,  who,  by  the  very  splendor 
of  his  own  effulgence,  woke  the  human  intellect  from  the  slumber 
of  ages.  It  was  Homer  who  gave  laws  to  the  artist;  it  was 
Homer  who  inspired  the  poet ;  it  was  Homer  who  thundered  in 
the  senate ;  and,  more  than  all,  it  was  Homer  who  was  sung  by 
the  people ;  and  hence  a  nation  was  cast  into  the  mould  of  one 
mighty  mind,  and  the  land  of  the  Iliad  became  the  region  of  taste, 
the  birthplace  of  the  arts. 

But,  considered  simply  as  an  intellectual  production,  who  will 
compare  the  poems  of  Homer  with  the  Holy  Scriptures  of  the 
Old  and  New  Testament  ?  Where  in  the  Iliad  shall  we  find  sim- 
plicity and  pathos  which  shall  vie  with  the  narrative  of  Moses,  or 
maxims  of  conduct  to  equal  in  wisdom  the  Proverbs  of  Solomon, 
or  sublimity  which  does  not  fade  away  before  the  conceptions  of 
Job,  or  David,  or  Isaiah,  or  St.  John  ?  But  I  cannot  pursue  this 
comparison.  I  feel  that  it  is  doing  wrong  to  the  mind  which  dic- 
tated the  Iliad,  and  to  those  other  mighty  intellects  on  whom  the 
light  of  the  holy  oracles  never  shined. 

If,  then,  so  great  results  have  flowed  from  this  one  effort  of  a 
single  mind,  what  may  we  not  expect  from  the  combined  efforts 
of  several,  at  least  his  equals  in  power  over  the  human  heart  ?  If 
that  one  genius,  though  groping  in  the  thick  darkness  of  absurd 
idolatry,  wrought  so  glorious  a  transformation  in  the  character  of 
his  countrymen,  what  may  we  not  look  for  from  the  universal 
dissemination  of  those  writings  on  whose  authors  was  poured  the 
full  splendor  of  eternal  truth  ?  If  unassisted  human  nature,  spell- 
bound by  a  childish  mythology,  have  done  so  much,  what  may  we 
not  hope  for  from  the  supernatural  efforts  of  pre-eminent  genius, 
which  spake  as  it  was  moved  by  the  Holy  Ghost  ? 

THE  GUILT  OF  PUNISHING  THE  INNOCENT. 

By  our  very  constitution  as  men,  we  are  under  solemn  and  un- 
changeable obligations  to  respect  the  rights  of  the  meanest  thing 
that  lives.  Every  other  man  is  created  with  the  same  rights  as 
ourselves;  and  most  of  all,  he  is  created  with  the  inalienable 
"  right  to  life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness."  To  deprive 
him  of  these  as  a  punishment  for  crime,  while  yet  he  continues 
under  the  protection  of  law,  is  one  of  the  severest  inflictions  that 
the  criminal  code  of  any  human  government  can  recognize,  even 
when  the  punishment  is  confined  to  his  own  person.  But  what 
crime  can  be  conceived  of  so  atrocious  as  to  justify  the  consign- 
ing of  a  human  being  to  servitude  for  life,  and  the  extension  of 
this  punishment  to  his  posterity  down  to  the  remotest  genera- 
tions ?  Were  this  the  penalty  even  for  murder,  every  man  in 
the  civilized  world  would  rise  up  in  indignation  at  its  enormous 


FRANCIS  WAYLAND. 


433 


injustice.  How  great,  then,  must  be  the  injustice  when  such  a 
doom  is  inflicted,  not  upon  criminals  convicted  of  atrocious 
wickedness,  but  upon  men,  women,  and  children  who  have  never 
been  accused  of  any  crime,  and  against  whom  there  is  not  even 
the  suspicion  of  guilt !  Can  any  moral  creature  of  God  be  inno- 
cent that  inflicts  such  punishment  upon  his  fellow-creatures  who 
have  never  done  any  thing  to  deserve  it  ?  I  ask,  what  have  those 
poor,  defenceless,  and  undefended  black  men  done,  that  they  and 
their  children  forever  should  thus  be  consigned  to  hopeless  ser- 
vitude ?  If  they  have  done  nothing,  how  can  we  be  innocent  if  we 
inflict  such  punishment  upon  them  ?  But  yet  more.  The  spirit 
of  Christianity,  if  I  understand  it  aright,  teaches  us  not  merely 
the  principles  of  pure  and  elevated  justice,  but  those  of  the  most 
tender  and  all-embracing  charity.  The  Captain  of  our  salvation 
was  anointed  "to  preach  the  gospel  to  the  poor;  he  was  sent  to 
heal  the  broken-hearted,  to  preach  deliverance  to  the  captives,  and 
recovering  of  sight  to  the  blind ;  to  set  at  liberty  them  that  are 
bruised."  "  He  is  the  comforter  of  them  that  are  cast  down." 
Can  the  disciple  of  such  a  Saviour,  then,  inflict  the  least,  how 
much  less  the  greatest  of  punishments  upon  a  human  being  who 
has  never  been  guilty  of  a  crime  that  should  deserve  it  ? 

THE  TRUE  GOSPEL  MINISTRY. 

It  so  chanced  that,  at  the  close  of  the  last  war  with  Great 
Britain,  I  was  temporarily  a  resident  of  the  city  of  New  York. 
The  prospects  of  the  nation  were  shrouded  in  gloom.  We  had 
been  for  two  or  three  years  at  war  with  the  mightiest  nation  on 
earth,  and,  as  she  had  now  concluded  a  peace  with  the  continent 
of  Europe,  we  were  obliged  to  cope  with  her  single-handed.  Our 
harbors  were  blockaded.  Communication  coast-wise,  between  our 
ports,  was  cut  off.  Our  ships  were  rotting  in  every  creek  and 
cove  where  they  could  find  a  place  of  security.  Our  immense 
annual  products  were  moulding  in  our  warehouses.  The  sources 
of  profitable  labor  were  dried  up.  Our  currency  was  reduced  to 
irredeemable  paper.  The  extreme  portions  of  our  country  were 
becoming  hostile  to  each  other,  and  differences  of  political  opinion 
were  embittering  the  peace  of  every  household.  The  credit  of 
the  Government  was  exhausted.  No  one  could  predict  when  the 
contest  would  terminate,  or  discover  the  means  by  which  it  could 
much  longer  be  protracted. 

It  happened  that,  on  a  Saturday  afternoon  in  February,  a  ship 
was  discovered  in  the  offing,  which  was  supposed  to  be  a  cartel, 
bringing  home  our  commissioners  at  Ghent,  from  their  unsuccess- 
ful mission.  The  sun  had  set  gloomily,  before  any  intelligence 
from  the  vessel  had  reached  the  city.    Expectation  became  pain- 

37 


434 


FRANCIS  WAYLAND. 


fully  intense  as  the  hours  of  darkness  drew  on.  At  length  a  boat 
reached  the  wharf,  announcing  the  fact  that  a  treaty  of  peace  had 
been  signed,  and  was  waiting  for  nothing  but  the  action  of  our 
Government  to  become  a  law.  The  men  on  whose  ears  these 
words  first  fell  rushed  in  breathless  haste  into  the  city,  to  repeat 
them  to  their  friends,  shouting,  as  they  ran  through  the  streets, 
Peace  !  peace  !  peace  !  Every  one  who  heard  the  sound  repeated 
it.  From  house  to  house,  from  street  to  street,  the  news  spread 
with  electric  rapidity.  The  whole  city  was  in  commotion.  Men 
bearing  lighted  torches  were  flying  to  and  fro,  shouting  like  mad- 
men, Peace !  peace !  peace !  When  the  rapture  had  partially 
subsided,  one  idea  occupied  every  mind.  But  few  men  slept  that 
night.  In  groups  they  were  gathered  in  the  streets  and  by  the 
fireside,  beguiling  the  hours  of  midnight  by  reminding  each  other 
that  the  agony  of  war  was  over,  and  that  a  worn-out  and  dis- 
tracted country  was  about  to  enter  again  upon  its  wonted  career 
of  prosperity.  Thus,  every  one  becoming  a  herald,  the  news 
soon  reached  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  city,  and 
in  this  sense  the  city  was  evangelized.  All  this  you  see  was 
reasonable  and  proper.  But  when  Jehovah  has  offered  to  our 
world  a  treaty  of  peace,  when  men  doomed  to  hell  may  be  raised 
to  seats  at  the  right  hand  of  God,  why  is  not  a  similar  zeal  dis- 
played in  proclaiming  the  good  news  ?  Why  are  men  perishing 
all  around  us,  and  no  one  has  ever  personally  offered  to  them 
salvation  through  a  crucified  Redeemer  ? 

But  who  is  thus  to  preach  the  gospel  ?  What  would  be  the 
answer  to  this  question,  if  we  listen  to  the  voice  of  common 
humanity  ?  When  the  brazen  serpent  was  lifted  up,  who  was  to 
carry  the  good  news  throughout  the  camp  ?  When  the  glad 
tidings  of  peace  arrived  in  the  city,  who  was  to  proclaim  it  to  his 
fellow-citizens  ?  When  the  news  of  peace  with  God,  through  the 
blood  of  the  covenant,  is  proclaimed  to  us,  who  shall  make  it 
known  to  those  perishing  in  sin  ?  The  answer  in  each  case  is, 
every  one.  Were  no  command  given,  the  common  principles  of 
our  nature  would  teach  us  that  nothing  but  the  grossest  selfish- 
ness would  claim  to  be  exempted  from  the  joyful  duty  of  extend- 
ing to  others  the  blessing  which  we  have  received  ourselves. 

But  let  us  see  how  the  apostles  themselves  understood  the  pre- 
cept. Their  own  narrative  shall  inform  us.  "  At  that  time  there 
was  a  great  persecution  against  the  church  that  was  at  Jerusalem, 
and  they  were  scattered  abroad  throughout  all  the  regions  of 
Judea  and  Samaria,  except  the  apostles."  "  Therefore,  they  that 
were  scattered  abroad  went  everywhere  preaching  the  word." 
These  men  were  not  apostles,  nor  even  original  disciples  of  Christ; 
for  they  were  men  of  Cyprus  and  Cyrene.  Yet  they  went  every- 
where preaching  the  word,  and  in  so  doing  they  pleased  the 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


435 


Master,  for  the  Holy  Spirit  accompanied  their  labors  with  the 
blessing  from  on  high.  The  ascended  Saviour  thus  approved 
of  their  conduct,  and  testified  that  their  understanding  of  his  last 
command  was  correct. 

Indeed,  the  Saviour  requires  every  disciple,  as  soon  as  he 
becomes  a  partaker  of  divine  grace,  to  become  a  herald  of  salva- 
tion to  his  fellow-men ;  and  every  man  possessed  of  the  gifts  for 
the  ministry  mentioned  in  the  New  Testament  is  bound  to  conse- 
crate them  to  Christ,  either  in  connection  with  his  secular  pur- 
suits, or  by  devoting  his  whole  time  to  this  particular  service. 
If  this  be  so,  you  see  that  in  the  church  of  Christ  there  is  no 
ministerial  caste ;  no  class  elevated  in  rank  above  their  brethren, 
on  whom  devolves  the  discharge  of  the  more  dignified  or  more 
honorable  portions  of  Christian  labor,  while  the  rest  of  the  disci- 
ples are  to  do  nothing  but  raise  the  funds  necessary  for  their  sup- 
port. The  minister  does  the  same  work  that  is  to  be  done  by 
every  other  member  of  the  body  of  Christ ;  but,  since  he  does  it 
exclusively,  he  may  be  expected  to  do  it  more  to  edification.  Is  it 
his  business  to  labor  for  the  conversion  of  sinners  and  the  sancti- 
fication  of  the  body  of  Christ?  so  is  it  theirs.  In  every  thing 
which  they  do  as  disciples,  he  is  to  be  their  example.  I  know 
that  we  now  restrict  to  the  ministry  the  administration  of  the 
ordinances,  and  to  this  rule  I  think  there  can  be  no  objection. 
But  we  all  know  that  for  this  restriction  rue  have  no  example  in 
the  Neio  Testament. 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT,  1796—1859. 

This  eminent  historian  was  bom  in  Salem,  Massachusetts,  on  the  4th  of  May, 
1796.  His  grandfather  was  Colonel  William  Prescott,  who,  in  conjunction  with 
General  Putnam,  commanded  at  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill.  His  father,  Hon. 
William  Prescott,  was  born  in  Pepperell,  Massachusetts,  and,  after  residing  in 
Salem  from  1798  to  1808,  removed  to  Boston,  where  for  nearly  forty  years  he 
practised  law,  eminently  distinguished  as  a  jurist  and  as  one  of  the  wisest  and 
best  men  Massachusetts  has  produced. 

Our  author  had  the  benefit  of  his  early  classical  training  under  Dr.  Gardner, 
of  Boston,  who  was  a  pupil  of  Dr.  Parr;  and  in  1814  he  graduated  at  Harvard 
College.  It  was  his  intention  to  devote  himself  to  the  profession  of  his  father, 
but  just  before  commencement  an  accident  deprived  him  of  one  of  his  eyes,  and 
the  other,  from  sympathy,  became  so  weak  that  he  could  not  use  it  with  safety. 
He  spent  two  years  in  travelling  in  England  and  on  the  continent,  where  he  con- 
sulted the  best  oculists,  but  obtained  no  relief.  On  his  return  home,  the  question 
presented  itself  to  him,  to  what  he  should  devoce  his  life.  Feeling  that  profes- 
sional life  would  mako  greater  requisitions  upon  the  organs  of  sight  than  literary 


436 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


occupation,  in  which  he  could  make  greater  use  of  the  eyes  of  others,  he  resolved 
on  becoming  an  historian,  and  to  devote  ten  years  in  preparing  himself  for  the 
work.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight  to  see  a  young  man  of  fortune,  whose  partial 
deprivation  of  sight  might  have  been  an  excuse  for  declining  all  exertion,  thus 
rising  above  his  affliction,  and,  with  an  industry  that  never  tired,  and  a  courage 
that  never  faltered,  toiling  day  after  day  and  year  after  year  for  an  end  so 
worthy  and  so  noble. 

He  selected  for  his  subject  the  History  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  one  of 
the  few  important  subjects  of  European  history  which  had  not  been  fully  treated 
of,  and  which  seemed  to  invite  the  hand  of  a  master.  This  great  work  appeared 
in  1838,  and  was  published  simultaneously  in  London  and  Boston.  It  was  received 
on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic  with  the  highest  praise.1  It  has  since  run  through 
many  editions,  and  been  translated  into  German,  Italian,  French,  and  Spanish. 
This  was  followed  by  his  Conquest  of  Mexico,  in  1843;  and  in  1847  appeared  his 
Conquest  of  Peru.  In  both  of  these  works  he  draws  largely  from  manuscript 
materials  received  from  Spain ;  both  are  written  in  the  author's  most  attractive 
and  brilliant  style,  and  both  were  followed  by  the  highest  and  most  gratifying 
success  in  Europe  and  America. 

In  1S50,  Mr.  Prescott  made  a  short  visit  to  England,  where  he  was  received 
with  marked  kinduess  and  respect  by  men  most  distinguished  in  society  and 
letters,  and  where  the  University  of  Oxford  conferred  on  him  the  honorary 
degree  of  Doctor  in  Civil  Law. 

He  now  planned  his  last,  (as  it  has  proved  to  be,)  and  most  comprehensive 
work,  The  History  of  the  Reign  of  Philip  the  Second,  and  collected  a  large  amount 
of  materials  for  it.  But  of  this  he  lived  to  complete  and  publish  only  three  vo- 
lumes, comprising  about  fifteen  years  of  Philip's  reign,  leaving  twenty-eight 
more  to  be  treated;  when  his  indefatigable  labors  were  cut  short  by  his  sudden 
death.  He  was  seized  with  apoplexy,  at  his  residence,  Beacon  Street,  Boston,  on 
the  28th  of  January,  1859,  at  half-past  twelve,  and  expired  at  two  o'clock. 

Mr.  Prescott  was  not  only  a  man  of  genius  and  elegant  scholarship,  who  has 
shed  a  lustre  on  the  literature  of  America,  but  one  whose  high  moral  worth, 
amiable  disposition,  and  charming  companionable  qualities  made  him  the  orna- 
ment and  delight  of  every  social  circle.  His  death,  therefore,  was  a  great  loss  to 
society  as  well  as  to  the  nation  and  the  world  of  letters.2 


1  "  Mr.  Prescott's  work  is  one  of  the  most  successful  historical  productions  of 
our  time.  Besides  the  merits  which  we  have  already  alluded  to,  the  author  pos- 
sesses one  Avhich,  in  our  opinion,  is  worth  all  the  rest, — that  is,  impartiality.  The 
inhabitant  of  another  world,  he  seems  to  have  shaken  off  all  the  prejudices  of  ours: 
he  has  written  a  history  without  party  spirit  and  without  bias  of  any  sort.  In  a 
word,  he  has,  in  every  respect,  made  a  most  valuable  addition  to  our  historical 
literature." — Edinburgh.  Review,  lxviii.  404. 

"An  historical  work  that  need  hardly  fear  a  comparison  with  any  that  has 
issued  from  the  European  press  since  this  century  began." — London  Quarterly 
Review,  lxiv.  58. 

2  The  London  "Athenaeum/'  which  has  rarely  of  late  years  praised  the  work 
of  any  American  author,  devotes  five  columns  to  a  review  of  the  new  volume  of 
Prescott's  History  of  the  Reign  of  Philip  the  Second.  It  says,  "In  no  previous 
compositions  has  he  exhibited,  we  think,  so  much  sustained,  varied,  and  concen- 
trated power.  The  style  throughout  runs  on  a  high  level,  but  is  free  from  all 
artificial  pomp  and  rhetorical  redundance.    It  is  at  once  simple,  firm,  and  digni- 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


437 


RETURN  OF  COLLMBUS. 

Great  was  the  agitation  in  the  little  community  of  Palos,  as 
they  beheld  the  well-known  vessel  of  the  admiral  re-entering  their 
harbor.  Their  desponding  imaginations  had  long  since  consigned 
him  to  a  watery  grave }  for,  in  addition  to  the  preternatural  hor- 
rors which  hung  over  the  voyage,  they  had  experienced  the  most 
stormy  and  disastrous  winter  within  the  recollection  of  the  oldest 
mariners.  Most  of  them  had  relatives  or  friends  on  board.  They 
thronged  immediately  to  the  shore  to  assure  themselves  with  their 
own  eyes  of  the  truth  of  their  return.  When  they  beheld  their 
faces  once  more,  and  saw  them  accompanied  by  the  numerous  evi- 
dences which  they  brought  back  of  the  success  of  the  expedition, 
they  burst  forth  in  acclamations  of  joy  and  gratulation.  They 
awaited  the  landing  of  Columbus,  when  the  whole  population  of 
the  place  accompanied  him  and  his  crew  to  the  principal  church, 
where  solemn  thanksgivings  were  offered  up  for  their  return ; 
while  every  bell  in  the  village  sent  forth  a  joyous  peal  in  honor 
of  the  glorious  event.  The  admiral  was  too  desirous  of  present- 
ing himself  before  the  sovereigns,  to  protract  his  stay  long  at 
Palos.  He  took  with  him  on  his  journey  specimens  of  the  multi- 
farious products  of  the  newly-discovered  regions.  He  was  accom- 
panied by  several  of  the  native  islanders,  arrayed  in  their  simple 
barbaric  costume,  and  decorated,  as  he  passed  through  the  prin- 
cipal cities,  with  collars,  bracelets,  and  other  ornaments  of  gold, 
rudely  fashioned.  He  exhibited  also  considerable  quantities  of 
the  same  metal  in  dust,  or  in  crude  masses,  numerous  vegetable 
exotics,  possessed  of  aromatic  or  medicinal  virtue,  and  several 
kinds  of  quadrupeds  unknown  in  Europe,  and  birds  whose  varie- 
ties of  gaudy  plumage  gave  a  brilliant  effect  to  the  pageant.  The 
admiral's  progress  through  the  country  was  everywhere  impeded 
by  the  multitudes  thronging  forth  to  gaze  at  the  extraordinary 
spectacle,  and  the  more  extraordinary  man,  who,  in  the  emphatic 


tied."  The  review  concludes  as  follows  : — "  The  genius  of  Mr.  Prescott  as  a  histo- 
rian has  never  been  exhibited  to  better  advantage  than  in  this  very  remarkable 
volume,  which  is  grounded  on  varied  and  ample  authority." 

At  a  meeting  of  the  New  York  Historical  Society,  shortly  after  Mr.  Prescott's 
death,  Mr.  Bancroft,  the  historian,  made  some  feeling  and  appropriate  remarks, 
from  which  we  select  the  following: — "Mr.  Prescott's  personal  appearance  itself 
was  singularly  pleasing,  and  won  for  him  everywhere,  in  advance,  a  welcome 
and  favor.  His  countenance  had  something  that  brought  to  mind  'the  beautiful 
disdain'  that  hovers  on  that  of  the  Apollo.  But,  while  he  was  high-spirited,  he  was 
tender,  and  gentle,  and  humane.  His  voice  was  like  music;  and  one  could  never 
hear  enough  of  it.  His  cheerfulness  reached  and  animated  all  about  him.  He 
could  indulge  in  playfulness,  and  could  also  speak  earnestly  and  profoundly;  but 
he  knew  not  how  to  be  ungracious  or  pedantic.  In  truth,  the  charms  of  his  con- 
versation were  unequalled,  he  so  united  the  rich  stores  of  memory  with  the  ease 
of  one  who  is  familiar  with  the  world." 

37* 


438 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


language  of  that  time,  which  has  now  lost  its  force  from  its  fami- 
liarity, first  revealed  the  existence  of  a  "  New  World."  As  he 
passed  through  the  busy,  populous  city  of  Seville,  every  window, 
balcony,  and  housetop,  which  could  afford  a  glimpse  of  him,  is 
described  to  have  been  crowded  with  spectators.  It  was  the 
middle  of  April  before  Columbus  reached  Barcelona.  The  no- 
bility and  cavaliers  in  attendance  on  the  court,  together  with  the 
authorities  of  the  city,  came  to  the  gates  to  receive  him,  and 
escorted  him  to  the  royal  presence.  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  were 
seated,  with  their  son,  Prince  John,  under  a  superb  canopy  of 
state,  awaiting  his  arrival.  On  his  approach,  they  rose  from  their 
seats,  and,  extending  their  hands  to  him  to  salute,  caused  him  to 
be  seated  before  them.  These  were  unprecedented  marks  of  con- 
descension, to  a  person  of  Columbus's  rank,  in  the  haughty  and 
ceremonious  court  of  Castile.  It  was,  indeed,  the  proudest  mo- 
ment in  the  life  of  Columbus.  He  had  fully  established  the  truth 
of  his  long-contested  theory,  in  the  face  of  argument,  sophistry, 
sneer,  skepticism,  and  contempt.  He  had  achieved  this,  not  by 
chance,  but  by  calculation,  supported  through  the  most  adverse 
circumstances  by  consummate  conduct.  The  honors  paid  him, 
which  had  hitherto  been  reserved  only  for  rank,  or  fortune,  or 
military  success,  purchased  by  the  blood  and  tears  of  thousands, 
were,  in  his  case,  a  homage  to  intellectual  power  successfully 
exerted  in  behalf  of  the  noblest  interests  of  humanity. 

QUEEN  ISABELLA. 

Her  person  was  of  the  middle  height,  and  well  proportioned. 
She  had  a  clear,  fresh  complexion,  with  light  blue  eyes  and  auburn 
hair, — a  style  of  beauty  exceedingly  rare  in  Spain.  Her  features 
were  regular,  and  universally  allowed  to  be  uncommonly  hand- 
some. The  illusion  which  attaches  to  rank,  more  especially  when 
united  with  engaging  manners,  might  lead  us  to  suspect  some 
exaggeration  in  the  encomiums  so  liberally  lavished  on  her.  But 
they  would  seem  to  be  in  a  great  measure  justified  by  the  portraits 
that  remain  of  her,  wMch  combine  a  faultless  symmetry  of  fea- 
tures with  singular  sweetness  and  intelligence  of  expression. 

Her  manners  were  most  gracious  and  pleasing.  They  were 
marked  by  natural  dignity  and  modest  reserve,  tempered  by  an 
affability  which  flowed  from  the  kindliness  of  her  disposition. 
She  was  the  last  person  to  be  approached  with  undue  familiarity; 
yet  the  respect  which  she  imposed  was  mingled  with  the  strongest 
feelings  of  devotion  and  love.  She  showed  great  tact  in  accom- 
modating herself  to  the  peculiar  situation  and  character  of  those 
around  her.  She  appeared  in  arms  at  the  head  of  her  troops,  and 
shrunk  from  none  of  the  hardships  of  war.    During  the  reforms 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


439 


introduced  into  the  religious  houses,  she  visited  the  nunneries  in 
person,  taking  her  needlework  with  her,  and  passing  the  day  in 
the  society  of  the  inmates.  When  travelling  in  Galicia,  she 
attired  herself  in  the  costume  of  the  country,  borrowing  for  that 
purpose  the  jewels  and  other  ornaments  of  the  ladies  there,  and 
returning  them  with  liberal  additions.  By  this  condescending 
and  captivating  deportment,  as  well  as  by  her  higher  qualities, 
she  gained  an  ascendency  over  her  turbulent  subjects  which  no 
king  of  Spain  could  ever  boast. 

She  spoke  the  Castilian  with  much  elegance  and  correctness. 
She  had  an  easy  fluency  of  discourse,  which,  though  generally  of 
a  serious  complexion,  was  occasionally  seasoned  with  agreeable 
sallies,  some  of  which  have  passed  into  proverbs.  She  was  tem- 
perate even  to  abstemiousness  in  her  diet,  seldom  or  never  tasting 
wine,  and  so  frugal  in  her  table,  that  the  daily  expenses  for  her- 
self and  family  did  not  exceed  the  moderate  sum  of  forty  ducats. 
She  was  equally  simple  and  economical  in  her  apparel.  On  all 
public  occasions,. indeed,  she  displayed  a  royal  magnificence  ;  but 
she  had  no  relish  for  it  in  private ;  and  she  freely  gave  away  her 
clothes  and  jewels  as  presents  to  her  friends.  Naturally  of  a 
sedate,  though  cheerful  temper,  she  had  little  taste  for  the  fri- 
volous amusements  which  make  up  so  much  of  a  court  life )  and, 
if  she  encouraged  the  presence  of  minstrels  and  musicians  in  her 
palace,  it  was  to  wean  her  young  nobility  from  the  coarser  and 
less  intellectual  pleasures  to  which  they  were  addicted. 

Among  her  moral  qualities,  the  most  conspicuous,  perhaps,  was 
her  magnanimity.  She  betrayed  nothing  little  or  selfish  in  thought 
or  action.  Her  schemes  were  vast,  and  executed  in  the  same 
noble  spirit  in  which  they  were  conceived.  She  never  employed 
doubtful  agents  or  sinister  measures,  but  the  most  direct  and  open 
policy.  She  scorned  to  avail  herself  of  advantages  offered  by  the 
perfidy  of  others.  Where  she  had  once  given  her  confidence,  she 
gave  her  hearty  and  steady  support;  and  she  was  scrupulous  to 
redeem  any  pledge  she  had  made  to  those  who  ventured  in  her 
cause,  however  unpopular.  She  sustained  Ximenes  in  all  his 
obnoxious  but  salutary  reforms.  She  seconded  Columbus  in  the 
prosecution  of  his  arduous  enterprise,  and  shielded  him  from  the 
calumny  of  his  enemies.  She  did  the  same  good  service  to  her 
favorite,  Gonsalvo  de  Cordova;  and  the  day  of  her  death  was  felt, 
and,  as  it  proved,  truly  felt,  by  both,  as  the  last  of  their  good  for- 
tune. Artifice  and  duplicity  were  so  abhorrent  to  her  character, 
and  so  averse  from  her  domestic  policy,  that,  when  they  appear  in 
the  foreign  relations  of  Spain,  it  is  certainly  not  imputable  to  her. 
She  was  incapable  of  harboring  any  petty  distrust  or  latent 
malice ;  and,  although  stern  in  the  execution  and  exaction  of 


440 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


public  justice,  she  made  the  most  generous  allowance,  and  even 
sometimes  advances,  to  those  who  had  personally  injured  her. 

But  the  principle  which  gave  a  peculiar  coloring  to  every  fea- 
ture of  Isabella's  mind  was  piety.  It  shone  forth  from  the  very 
depths  of  her  soul  with  a  heavenly  radiance,  which  illuminated 
her  whole  character.  Fortunately,  her  earliest  years  had  been 
passed  in  the  rugged  school  of  adversity,  under  the  eye  of  a 
mother  who  implanted  in  her  serious  mind  such  strong  principles 
of  religion  as  nothing  in  after-life  had  power  to  shake.  At  an 
early  age,  in  the  flower  of  youth  and  beauty,  she  was  introduced 
to  her  brother's  court;  but  its  blandishments,  so  dazzling  to  a 
young  imagination,  had  no  power  over  hers,  for  she  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  moral  atmosphere  of  purity, — 

"  Driving  far  off  each  thing  of  sin  and  guilt." 

Such  was  the  decorum  of  her  manners  that,  though  encompassed 
by  false  friends  and  open  enemies,  not  the  slightest  reproach 
was  breathed  on  her  fair  name  in  this  corrupt  and  calumnious 
court. 

THE  CHARACTER  AND  FATE  OF  MONTEZUMA. 

When  Montezuma  ascended  the  throne,  he  was  scarcely  twenty- 
three  years  of  age.  Young,  and  ambitious  of  extending  his  em- 
pire, he  was  continually  engaged  in  war,  and  is  said  to  have  been 
present  himself  in  nine  pitched  battles.  lie  was  greatly  renowned 
for  his  martial  prowess,  for  he  belonged  to  the  Quachictin,  the 
highest  military  order  of  his  nation,  and  one  into  which  but  few 
even  of  its  sovereigns  had  been  admitted.  In  later  life,  he  pre- 
ferred intrigue  to  violence,  as  more  consonant  to  his  character  and 
priestly  education.  In  this  he  was  as  great  an  adept  as  any  prince 
of  his  time,  and,  by  arts  not  very  honorable  to  himself,  succeeded 
in  filching  away  much  of  the  territory  of  his  royal  kinsman  of 
Tezcuco.  Severe  in  the  administration  of  justice,  he  made  im- 
portant reforms  in  the  arrangement  of  the  tribunals.  He  intro- 
duced other  innovations  in  the  royal  household,  creating  new 
offices,  introducing  a  lavish  magnificence  and  forms  of  courtly  eti- 
quette unknown  to  his  ruder  predecessors.  He  was,  in  short,  most 
attentive  to  all  that  concerned  the  exterior  and  pomp  of  royalty. 
Stately  and  decorous,  he  was  careful  of  his  own  dignity,  and 
might  be  said  to  be  as  great  an  "  actor  of  majesty"  among  the 
barbarian  potentates  of  the  New  World,  as  Louis  the  Fourteenth 
was  among  the  polished  princes  of  Europe. 

He  was  deeply  tinctured,  moreover,  with  that  spirit  of  bigotry 
which  threw  such  a  shade  over  the  latter  days  of  the  French 
monarch.  He  received  the  Spaniards  as  the  beings  predicted  by 
his  oracles.    The  anxious  dread,  with  which  he  had  evaded  their 


CATHARINE  MARIA  SEDGWICK. 


441 


proffered  visit,  was  founded  on  the  same  feelings  which  led  him 
so  blindly  to  resign  himself  to  them  on  their  approach.  He  felt 
himself  rebuked  by  their  superior  genius.  He  at  once  conceded 
all  that  they  demanded, — his  treasures,  his  power,  even  his  person. 
For  their  sake,  he  forsook  his  wonted  occupations,  his  pleasures, 
his  most,  familiar  habits.  He  might  be  said  to  forego  his  nature, 
and,  as  his  subjects  asserted,  to  change  his  sex  and  become  a 
woman.  If  we  cannot  refuse  our  contempt  for  the  pusillanimity 
of  the  Aztec  monarch,  it  should  be  mitigated  by  the  consideration 
that  his  pusillanimity  sprung  from  his  superstition,  and  that 
superstition  in  the  savage  is  the  substitute  for  religious  principle 
in  the  civilized  man. 

It  is  not  easy  to  contemplate  the  fate  of  Montezuma  without 
feelings  of  the  strongest  compassion, — to  see  him  thus  borne 
along  the  tide  of  events  beyond  his  power  to  avert  or  control ;  to 
see  him,  like  some  stately  tree,  the  pride  of  his  own  Indian 
forests,  towering  aloft  in  the  pomp  and  majesty  of  its  branches, 
by  its  very  eminence  a  mark  for  the  thunderbolt,  the  first  victim 
of  the  tempest  which  was  to  sweep  over  its  native  hills  !  When 
the  wise  king  of  Tezcuco  addressed  his  royal  relative  at  his 
coronation,  he  exclaimed,  "  Happy  the  empire,  which  is  now  in 
the  meridian  of  its  prosperity,  for  the  sceptre  is  given  to  one 
whom  the  Almighty  has  in  his  keeping  j  and  the  nations  shall 
hold  him  in  reverence  !"  Alas  !  the  subject  of  this  auspicious 
invocation  lived  to  see  his  empire  melt  away  like  the  winter's 
wreath  j  to  see  a  strange  race  drop,  as  it  were,  from  the  clouds  on 
his  land ;  to  find  himself  a  prisoner  in  the  palace  of  his  fathers, 
the  companion  of  those  who  were  the  enemies  of  his  gods  and 
his  people ;  to  be  insulted,  reviled,  trodden  in  the  dust,  by  the 
meanest  of  his  subjects,  by  those  who,  a  few  months  previous, 
had  trembled  at  his  glance ;  drawing  his  last  breath  in  the  halls 
of  a  stranger, — a  lonely  outcast  in  the  heart  of  his  own  capital ! 
He  was  the  sad  victim  of  destiny, — a  destiny  as  dark  and  irre- 
sistible in  its  march  as  that  which  broods  over  the  mythic  legends 
of  antiquity  ! 


CATHARINE  MARIA  SEDGWICK. 

This  pleasing  writer  was  born  in  Stockbridge,  Massachusetts.  Her  father,  the 
Hon.  Theodore  Sedgwick, — one  of  the  first  men  in  the  State, — was  at  one  time 
Speaker  of  the  House  of  Representatives,  and  afterwards  Senator  in  Congress, 
and  at  the  time  of  his  death  (January  24,  1813)  was  a  Judge  of  the  Supreme 
Court  of  Massachusetts. 

Miss  Sedgwick  first  appeared  as  an  author  in  1822,  by  the  publication  of  A  New 
England  Tale,  the  success  of  which  was  so  great  as  to  induce  her  to  continue  in  a 


442 


CATHARINE  MARIA  SEDGWICK. 


career  so  auspiciously  begun.  In  1824,  she  published  Redwood,  a  Tale,  which 
immediately  became  very  popular.  In  1827  appeared  Hope  Leslie,  or  Early 
Times  in  Massachusetts,  in  two  volumes;  in  1830,  Clarence,  a  Tale  of  Our  Own 
Times;  and  in  1835,  The  Linwoods,  or  Sixty  Years  Since  in  America, — the  last, 
and,  as  many  think,  the  best,  of  her  novels.1 

In  183G,  she  struck  out  into  a  new  path,  and  gave  to  the  public  Home, — the  first 
of  an  admirable  series  of  stories  illustrative  of  everyday  life.  This  was  followed 
by  The  Poor  Rich  Man,  and  the  Rich  Poor  Man  ;2  Lice,  and  Let  Live;  and  this, 
by  Means  and  Ends,  or  Self- Training.  Then  appeared  two  volumes  of  delightful 
juvenile  tales, — A  Love- Token  for  Children,  and  Stories  for  Young  Persons. 
Soon  after  these  appeared  a  small  volume, — Morals 'of  Manners,  with  a  sequel  of 
Facts  and  Fancies.  It  was  introduced  into  the  school-libraries  of  New  York,  and 
exerted  a  happy  influence  in  educating  the  manners  of  the  young.  The  Boy  of 
Mount  Rhigi  was  written  by  request  of  a  friend,  to  be  read  to  prisoners  in  a  house 
of  correction,  and  it  was  listened  to  with  great  interest. 

In  1839,  Miss  Sedgwick  went  to  Europe,  and  during  the  year  she  was  there, 
wrote  her  Letters  from  Abroad  to  Kindred  at  Home,  which,  on  her  return,  were 
published  in  two  volumes.  She  has  also  written  a  Life  of  Lucrctia  M.  Davidson, 
published  in  the  seventh  volume  of  "Sparks's  American  Biography,"  and  has  con- 
tributed many  articles  to  "  The  Lady's  Book,"  and  other  periodicals.  Her  last- 
published  work  is  entitled  Married  or  Single.3 

A  SABBATH  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 

The  observance  of  the  Sabbath  began  with  the  Puritans,  as  it 
still  does  with  a  great  portion  of  their  descendants,  on  Saturday 
night.    At  the  going  down  of  the  sun  on  Saturday,  all  temporal 


1  "  We  think  this  work  the  most  agreeable  that  Miss  Sedgwick  has  yet  pub- 
lished. It  is  written  throughout  with  the  same  good  taste,  and  quiet,  unpretend- 
ing power,  which  characterize  all  her  productions,  and  is  superior  to  most  of  them 
in  the  variety  of  the  characters  brought  into  action,  and  the  interest  of  the  fable." 
— Xorth  American  Review,  xlii.  160. 

2  "The  Poor  Rich  Man,  and  the  Rich  Poor  Man  is  one  of  those  rare  productions 
of  wisdom  and  genius  which  none  can  read  without  delight,  and  which  are 
adapted  to  leave  deep  impressions  of  duty.  If  Ave  dared  to  allude  to  so  trite  a 
saying  as  that  which  sets  ballad-making  above  law-making,  we  would  say  that 
the  writer  of  works  like  this  and  its  twin-sister  Home  has  the  character  and  for- 
tunes of  this  nation  more  at  her  disposal  than  any  of  the  ambitious  politicians  of 
the  land.  We  look,  for  the  safety  and  progress  of  society,  far  more  to  the  opera- 
tion of  strong  principle  and  persuasive  truth,  wrought  quietly  into  the  heart  and 
formed  silently  into  habit,  than  to  any  action  of  government  or  other  external  in- 
stitution."—  Christian  Examiner,  xxi.  398. 

a  "  It  is  impossible  to  speak  of  her  works  without  a  particular  regard  to  their 
moral  and  religious  character.  We  know  no  writer  of  the  class  to  which  sho 
belongs  who  has  done  more  to  inculcate  just  religious  sentiments.  They  are 
never  obtruded,  nor  are  they  ever  suppressed.  It  is  not  the  religion  of  ob- 
servances, nor  of  professions,  nor  of  articles  of  faith,  but  of  the  heart  and  life." — 
Xationa I  Portra it- Gallery. 


CATHARINE  MARIA  SEDGWICK. 


443 


affairs  were  suspended ;  and  so  zealously  did  our  fathers  main- 
tain the  letter  as  well  as  the  spirit  of  the  law,  that,  according 
to  a  vulgar  tradition  in  Connecticut,  no  beer  was  brewed  in 
the  latter  part  of  the  week,  lest  it  should  presume  to  work  on 
Sunday. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  the  tendency  of  the  age  is  to  laxity; 
and  so  rapidly  is  the  wholesome  strictness  of  primitive  times 
abating,  that,  should  some  antiquary,  fifty  years  hence,  in  ex- 
ploring his  garret-rubbish,  chance  to  cast  his  eye  on  our  humble 
pages,  he  may  be  surprised  to  learn  that  even  now  the  Sabbath  is 
observed,  in  the  interior  of  Xew  England,  with  an  almost  Judaical 
severity. 

On  Saturday  afternoon  an  uncommon  bustle  is  apparent.  The 
great  class  of  procrastinators  are  hurrying  to  and  fro  to  complete 
the  lagging  business  of  the  week.  The  good  mothers,  like  Burns's 
matron,  are  plying  their  needles,  making  "  auld  claes  look  amaist 
as  weel's  the  new;"  while  the  domestics,  or  help,  (we  prefer  the 
national  descriptive  term,)  are  wielding,  with  might  and  main, 
their  brooms  and  moj)s,  to  make  all  tidy  for  the  Sabbath. 

As  the  day  declines,  the  hum  of  labor  dies  away,  and,  after  the 
sun  is  set,  perfect  stillness  reigns  in  every  well-ordered  household, 
and  not  a  footfall  is  heard  in  the  village  street.  It  cannot  be 
denied  that  even  the  most  scriptural,  missing  the  excitement  of 
their  ordinary  occupations,  anticipate  their  usual  bedtime.  The 
obvious  inference  from  this  fact  is  skilfully  avoided  by  certain  in- 
genious reasoners,  who  allege  that  the  constitution  was  originally 
so  organized  as  to  require  an  extra  quantity  of  sleep  on  every 
seventh  night.  We  recommend  it  to  the  curious  to  inquire  how 
this  peculiarity  was  adjusted  when  the  first  day  of  the  week  was 
changed  from  Saturday  to  Sunday. 

The  Sabbath  morning  is  as  peaceful  as  the  first  hallowed  day. 
Not  a  human  sound  is  heard  without  the  dwellings,  and,  but  for 
the  lowing  of  the  herds,  the  crowing  of  the  cocks,  and  the  gossip- 
ing of  the  birds,  animal  life  would  seem  to  be  extinct,  till,  at  the 
bidding  of  the  church-going  bell,  the  old  and  young  issue  from 
their  habitations,  and,  with  solemn  demeanor,  bend  their  mea- 
sured steps  to  the  meeting-house ;  the  families  of  the  minister,  the 
squire,  the  doctor,  the  merchant,  the  modest  gentry  of  the  village, 
and  the  mechanic  and  laborer,  all  arrayed  in  their  best,  all  meet- 
ing on  even  ground,  and  all  with  that  consciousness  of  inde- 
pendence and  equality  which  breaks  down  the  pride  of  the  rich, 
and  rescues  the  poor  from  servility,  envy,  and  discontent.  If  a 
morning  salutation  is  reciprocated,  it  is  in  a  suppressed  voice; 
and  if,  perchance,  nature,  in  some  reckless  urchin,  burst  forth  in 
laughter,  -  My  dear,  you  forget  it's  Sunday,"  is  the  ever-ready 
reproof. 


CATHARINE  MARIA  SEDGWICK. 


Though  every  face  wears  a  solemn  aspect,  yet  we  once  chanced 
to  see  even  a  deacon's  muscles  relax  by  the  wit  of  a  neighbor,  and 
heard  him  allege,  in  a  half-deprecating,  half-laughing  voice,  "  The 
squire  is  so  droll,  that  a  body  must  laugh,  though  it  be  Sabbath- 
day." 

The  farmer's  ample  wagon,  and  the  little  one-horse  vehicle, 
bring  in  all  who  reside  at  an  inconvenient  walking  distance, — that 
is  to  say,  in  our  riding  community,  half  a  mile  from  the  church. 
It  is  a  pleasing  sight,  to  those  who  love  to  note  the  happy  pecu- 
liarities of  their  own  land,  to  see  the  farmers'  daughters,  bloom- 
ing, intelligent,  well  bred,  pouring  out  of  these  homely  coaches, 
with  their  nice  white  gowns,  prunel  shoes,  Leghorn  hats,  fans 
and  parasols,  and  the  spruce  young  men,  with  their  plaited  ruffles, 
blue  coats,  and  yellow  buttons.  The  whole  community  meet  as 
one  religious  family,  to  offer  their  devotions  at  the  common  altar. 
If  there  is  an  outlaw  from  the  society, — a  luckless  wight,  whose 
vagrant  taste  has  never  been  subdued, — he  may  be  seen  stealing 
along  the  margin  of  some  little  brook,  far  away  from  the  condemn- 
ing observation  and  troublesome  admonitions  of  his  fellows. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  day,  (or,  to  borrow  a  phrase  descrip- 
tive of  his  feelings  who  first  used  it,)  "  when  the  Sabbath  begins 
to  abate  "  the  children  cluster  about  the  windows.  Their  eyes 
wander  from  their  catechism  to  the  western  sky,  and,  though  it 
seems  to  them  as  if  the  sun  would  never  disappear,  his  broad  disk 
does  slowly  sink  behind  the  mountain  ;  and,  while  his  last  ray  still 
lingers  on  the  eastern  summits,  merry  voices  break  forth,  and  the 
ground  resounds  with  bounding  footsteps.  The  village  belle  arrays 
herself  for  her  twilight  walk ;  the  boys  gather  on  "  the  green 
the  lads  and  girls  throng  to  the  "  singing-school  j"  while  some  coy 
maiden  lingers  at  home,  awaiting  her  expected  suitor;  and  all 
enter  upon  the  pleasures  of  the  evening  with  as  keen  a  relish  as 
if  the  day  had  been  a  preparatory  penance. 

UNCLE  PHIL  AND  HIS  INVALID  DAUGHTER. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning  in  June  when  Uncle  Phil  set  forth  for 
New  York  with  his  invalid  daughter.  Ineffable  happiness  shone 
through  his  honest  face,  and  there  was  a  slight  flush  of  hope  and 
expectation  on  Charlotte's  usually  pale  and  tranquil  countenance, 
as  she  half  rebuked  Susan's  last  sanguine  expression. 

"  You  will  come  home  as  well  as  I  am  :  I  know  you  will, 
Lottie  V 

"  Not  well, — oh,  no,  Susy,  but  better,  I  expect, — I  mean,  I 
hope/' 

"  Better,  then,  if  you  are, — that  is  to  say,  a  great  deal  letter, — 
I  shall  be  satisfied  :  shaVt  you,  Harry  V 


I 

CATHARINE  MARIA  SEDGWICK. 


445 


"  I  shall  be  satisfied  that  it  was  best  for  her  to  go,  if  she  is  any 
better." 

"  I  trust  we  shall  all  be  satisfied  with  God's  will,  whatever  it 
may  be,"  said  Charlotte,  turning  her  eye,  full  of  gratitude,  upon 
Harry.  Harry  arranged  her  cushions  as  nobody  else  could  to 
support  her  weak  back  :  Susan  disposed  her  cloak  so  that  Char- 
lotte could  draw  it  around  her  if  the  air  proved  too  fresh  •  and 
then,  taking  her  willow-basket  in  her  hand,  the  last  words  were 
spoken,  and  they  set  forth.  Uncle  Phil  was  in  the  happiest  of  his 
happy  humors.  He  commended  the  wagon, — "  it  was  just  like 
sitting  at  home  in  a  rocking-chair  :  it  is  kind  o'  lucky  that  you 
are  lame,  Lottie,  or  maybe  Mrs.  Sibley  would  not  have  offered  to 
loan  us  her  wagon.  I  was  dreadful  'fraid  we  should  have  to  go 
down  the  North  River.  I  tell  you,  Lottie,  when  I  crossed  over  it 
once,  I  was  a'most  scared  to  death, — the  water  went  swash,  swash, 
— there  was  nothing  but  a  plank  between  me  and  etarnity ;  and  I 
thought  in  my  heart  I  should  have  gone  down,  and  nobody  would 
ever  have  heard  of  me  again.  I  wonder  folks  can  be  so  foolish  as 
to  go  on  water  when  they  can  travel  on  solid  land ;  but  I  suppose 
some  do  !" 

"  It  is  pleasanter,"  said  Charlotte,  "  to  travel  at  this  season, 
where  you  can  see  the  beautiful  fruits  of  the  earth,  as  we  do  now, 
on  all  sides  of  us."  Uncle  Phil  replied,  and  talked  on  without 
disturbing  his  daughter's  quiet  and  meditation.  They  travelled 
slowly,  but  he  was  never  impatient,  and  she  never  wearied,  for  she 
was  an  observer  and  lover  of  nature.  The  earth  was  clothed  with 
its  richest  green, — was  all  green,  but  of  infinitely  varied  tints. 
The  young  corn  was  shooting  forth •  the  winter-wheat  already 
waved  over  many  a  fertile  hill-side;  the  gardens  were  newly 
made,  and  clean,  and  full  of  promise  j  fkrwers,  in  this  month  of 
their  abundance,  perfumed  the  woods,  and  decked  the  gardens 
and  court-yards;  and  where  nothing  else  grew,  there  were  lilacs 
and  peonies  in  plenty.  The  young  lambs  were  frolicking  in  the 
fields,  the  chickens  peeping  about  the  barn-yards,  and  birds — ■ 
thousands  of  them — singing  at  their  work. 

Our  travellers  were  descending  a  mountain  where  their  view 
extended  over  an  immense  tract  of  country,  for  the  most  part 
richly  cultivated. 

"  I  declare  !"  exclaimed  Uncle  Phil,  "  how  much  land  there  is 
in  the  world,  and  I  don't  own  a  foot  on't,  only  our  little  half-acre 
lot :  it  don't  seem  hardly  right."  Uncle  Phil  was  no  agrarian, 
and  he  immediately  added,  "  But,  after  all,  I  guess  I  am  better 
off  without  it, — it  would  be  a  dreadful  care." 

"  Contentment  with  godliness  is  great  gain,"  said  Charlotte. 

"  You've  hit  the  nail  on  the  head,  Lottie :  I  don't  know  who 
should  be  contented  if  I  a'n't :  I  always  have  enough,  and  every- 

38 


446 


CATHARINE  MARIA  SEDGWICK. 


body  is  friendly  to  ine, — and  you  and  Susan  are  worth  a  mint  of 
money  to  me.  For  all  wrhat  I  said  about  the  land,  I  really  think 
I  have  got  my  full  share." 

"  We  can  all  have  our  share  in  the  beauties  of  God's  earth 
without  owning,  as  you  say,  a  foot  of  it,"  rejoined  Charlotte. 
"  We  must  feel  it  is  our  Father's.  I  am  sure  the  richest  man  in 
the  world  cannot  take  more  pleasure  in  looking  at  a  beautiful 
prospect  than  I  do,  or  in  breathing  this  sweet,  sweet  air.  It 
seems  to  me,  father,  as  if  every  thing  I  look  upon  was  ready  to 
burst  forth  in  a  hymn  of  praise  j  and  there  is  enough  in  my  heart 
to  make  verses  of,  if  I  only  knew  how." 

"  That's  the  mystery,  Lottie,  how  they  do  it :  I  can  make  one 
line,  but  I  can  never  get  a  fellow  to  it." 

"  Well,  father,  as  Susy  would  say,  it's  a  comfort  to  have  the 
feeling,  though  you  can't  express  it." 

Charlotte  was  right.  It  is  a  great  comfort  and  happiness  to 
have  the  feeling  j  and  happy  would  it  be  if  those  who  live  in  the 
country  were  more  sensible  to  the  beauties  of  nature  :  if  they 
could  see  something  in  the  glorious  forest  besides  "  good  wood  and 
timber  lots,"  something  in  the  green  valley  besides  a  "  warm 
soil,"  something  in  a  waterfall  besides  a  "  mill-privilege."  There 
is  a  susceptibility  in  every  human  heart  to  the  ever-present  and 
abounding  beauties  of  nature;  and  whose  fault  is  it  that  this  taste 
is  not  awakened  and  directed  ?  If  the  poet  and  the  painter  cannot 
bring  down  their  arts  to  the  level  of  the  poor,  are  there  none  to 
be  God's  interpreters  to  them, — to  teach  them  to  read  the  great 
book  of  nature  ? 

The  laboring  classes  ought  not  to  lose  the  pleasures  that  in 
the  country  are  before  them  from  dawn  to  twilight, — pleasures 
that  might  counterbalance,  and  often  do,  the  profits  of  the  mer- 
chant, pent  in  his  city  counting-house,  and  all  the  honors  the 
lawyer  earns  between  the  court-rooms  and  his  office.  We  only 
wish  that  more  was  made  of  the  privilege  of  country  life;  that 
the  farmer's  wife  would  steal  some  moments  from  her  cares  to 
point  out  to  her  children  the  beauties  of  nature,  whether  amid 
the  hills  and  valleys  of  our  inland  country,  or  on  the  sublime 
shores  of  the  ocean.  Over  the  city,  too,  hangs  the  vault  of 
heaven, — "  thick  inlaid"  with  the  witnesses  of  God's  power  and 
goodness  :  his  altars  are  everywhere. 

The  rich  man  who  "  lives  at  home  at  ease,"  and  goes  irritated 
and  fretting  through  the  country  because  he  misses  at  the  taverns 
the  luxuries  of  his  own  house, — who  finds  the  tea  bad  and  coffee 
worse,  the  food  ill  cooked  and'  table  ill  served,  no  mattresses,  no 
silver  forks, — who  is  obliged  to  endure  the  vulgarity  of  a  common 
parlor,  and,  in  spite  of  the  inward  chafing,  give  a  civil  answer  to 


JOHN   GOBHAM  PALFREY. 


447 


whatever  questions  may  be  put  to  him, — cannot  conceive  of  the 
luxuries  our  travellers  enjoyed  at  the  simplest  inn. 

Uncle  Phil  found  out  the  little  histories  of  all  the  wayfarers  he 
met,  and  frankly  told  his  own.  Charlotte's  pale,  sweet  face 
attracted  general  sympathy.  Country  people  have  time  for  little 
by-the-way  kindnesses ;  and  the  landlady,  and  her  daughters,  and 
her  domestics,  inquired  into  Charlotte's  malady,  suggested  re- 
medies, and  described  similar  cases. 


JOHX  GORHAM  PALFREY. 

John  Gorham  Palfrey,  LL.D.,  the  son  of  a  Boston  merchant,  was  born  in 
that  city  on  the  2d  of  May,  1796.  He  was  fitted  for  college  at  Exeter  Aca- 
demy, graduated  at  Harvard  in  1815,  studied  theology,  and  in  1S18  was  ordained 
over  the  Brattle  Street  Church,  Boston,  where  he  continued  till  1S31,  when  he  was 
appointed  Dexter  Professor  of  Sacred  Literature  in  Harvard  University.  From 
January,  1836,  to  October,  1S42,  he  was  the  editor  of  the  "  Xorth  American 
Review."  From  1839  to  1842,  he  delivered  courses  of  lectures  before  the  Lowell 
Institute,  on  the  Evidences  of  Christianity,  which  were  afterwards  published  in 
two  volumes,  octavo.  He  has  also  published  four  volumes  of  Lectures  on  the 
Hebrew  Scriptures,  and  a  volume  of  Sermons,  entitled  Duties  of  Private  Life. 

Many  of  the  literary,  historical,  and  political  discourses  which  he  has  from 
time  to  time  delivered,  before  the  city  authorities  of  Boston  on  the  4th  of  July, 
the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society,  &c.  &c,  have  been  published.  To  Sparks's 
"American  Biography"  he  has  contributed  one  life, — that  of  his  ancestor,  William 
Palfrey. 

In  later  years  Mr.  Palfrey  has  been  much  in  public  life,  both  in  the  Legislature 
of  his  own  State  and  in  the  Congress  of  the  United  States,  in  which  positions  he 
gave  ample  evidence  of  his  earnest  and  hearty  sympathies  for  freedom.  In  1846, 
he  published  in  the  "  Boston  Whig"  a  series  of  Papers  on  the  Slave  Power,  which 
were  collected  in  a  pamphlet,  and  widely  circulated.1 

For  a  number  of  years  Dr.  Palfrey  has  been  laboriously  engaged  upon  A  His- 
tory of  New  England,  of  which  the  first  volume  appeared  early  in  December, 
1858,  and  of  which  it  is  praise  enough  to  say  that  it  comes  up  fully  to  the  high 
expectations  that  were  entertained  of  it.  Evincing  a  noble  and  hearty  apprecia- 
tion of  the  early  settlers  of  New  Eugland,  guided  by  cool,  impartial  reason, 
and  exhibiting  throughout  extensive  research  and  a  careful  collation  of  facts,  he 
has  given  us  a.  work  which  will  doubtless  supersede  all  others  upon  the  same  sub- 
ject, and  be  the  established  or  classical  history  of  that  portion  of  our  country. 


1  "  Vigorously  and  acutely  written,  embodying  a  great  mass  of  facts  and  rea- 
sonings, some  of  which  will  be  new  to  many  readers,  and  all  of  which  deserve 
the  careful  consideration  of  every  friend  of  his  country  or  of  humanity."- - 
Christian  Examiner,  March,  1847. 


448 


JOHN  GORHAM  PALFREY. 


THE  ELEGANT  CULTURE  AND  LEARNING  OF  THE  PURITANS. 

Whatever  may  have  taken  place  later,  the  Puritanism  of  the 
first  forty  years  of  the  seventeenth  century  was  not  tainted  with 
degrading  or  ungraceful  associations  of  any  sort.  The  rank,  the 
wealth,  the  chivalry,  the  genius,  the  learning,  the  accomplish- 
ments, the  social  refinements  and  elegance  of  the  time,  were 
largely  represented  in  its  ranks.  Not  to  speak  of  Scotland,  where 
soon  Puritanism  had  few  opponents  in  the  class  of  the  high-born 
and  the  educated,  the  severity  of  Elizabeth  scarcely  restrained.,  in 
her  latter  days,  its  predominance  among  the  most  exalted  orders 
of  her  subjects.  The  Earls  of  Leicester,  Bedford,  Huntingdon, 
and  Warwick,  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon,  his  greater  son,  Walsingham, 
Burleigh,  Mildmay,  Sadler,  Knollys,  were  specimens  of  a  host  of 
eminent  men  more  or  less  friendly  to  or  tolerant  of  it.  Through- 
out the  reign  of  James  the  First,  it  controlled  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, composed  chiefly  of  the  landed  gentry  of  the  kingdom  ; 
and  if  it  had  less  sway  among  the  Peers,  this  was  partly  because 
the  number  of  lay  nobles  did  not  largely  exceed  that  of  the 
Bishops,  who  were  mostly  creatures  of  the  crown.  The  aggregate 
property  of  that  Puritan  House  of  Commons,  whose  dissolution 
has  been  just  now  related,  was  computed  to  be  three  times  as 
great  as  that  of  the  Lords.1  The  statesmen  of  the  first  period 
of  that  Parliament,  which  by-and-by  dethroned  Charles  the  First, 
had  been  bred  in  the  luxury  of  the  landed  aristocracy  of  the 
realm;  while  of  the  nobility,  Manchester,  Essex,  Warwick, 
Brooke,  Fairfax,  and  others,  and  of  the  gentry,  a  long  roll  of 
men  of  the  scarcely  inferior  position  of  Hampden  and  Waller, 
commanded  and  officered  its  armies  and  fleets.  A  Puritan  was  the 
first  Protestant  founder  of  a  college  at  an  English  University. 
Among  the  clergy,  representing  mainly  the  scholarship  of  the 
country,  nothing  is  more  incontrovertible  than  that  the  per- 
manent ascendency  of  Puritanism  was  only  prevented  by  the 
severities  of  the  governments  of  Elizabeth  and  her  Scottish  kins- 
men under  the  several  administrations  of  Parker,  Whitgift,  Ban- 
croft, and  Laud. 

It  may  be  easily  believed  that  none  of  the  guests  whom  the 
Earl  of  Leicester  placed  at  his  table  by  the  side  of  his  nephew, 
Sir  Philip  Sydney,  were  clowns.  But  the  supposition  of  any 
necessary  connection  between  Puritanism  and  what  is  harsh  and 
rude  in  taste  and  manners  will  not  even  stand  the  test  of  an 
observation  of  the  character  of  men  who  figured  in  its  ranks, 
when  the  lines  came  to  be  most  distinctly  drawn.    The  Par- 


1  Hurae,  chap.  li. 


JOHN  G OR II AM  PALFREY.  449 

liamentary  general,  Devereux,  Earl  of  Essex,  was  no  strait-laced 
gospeller,  but  a  man  formed  with  every  grace  of  person,  mind, 
and  culture,  to  be  the  ornament  of  a  splendid  court,  the  model 
knight — the  idol,  as  long  as  he  was  the  comrade,  of  the  royal 
soldiery — the  Bayard  of  the  time.  The  position  of  Manchester 
and  Fairfax,  of  Hollis,  Fiennes,  and  Pierrepont,  was  by  birth- 
right in  the  most  polished  circle  of  English  society.  In  the  me- 
moirs of  the  young  regicide,  Colonel  Hutchinson,  recorded  by  his 
beautiful  and  gentle  wife,  we  may  look  at  the  interior  of  a  Puritan 
household,  and  see  its  graces,  divine  and  human,  as  they  shone 
with  a  naturally  blended  lustre  in  the  most  strenuous  and  most 
afflicted  times.1  The  renown  of  English  learning  owes  something 
to  the  sect  which  enrolled  the  names  of  Selden,  Lightfoot,  dale, 
and  Owen.2  Its  seriousness  and  depth  of  thought  had  lent  their 
inspiration  to  the  delicate  muse  of  Spenser.  Judging  between 
their  colleague  preachers,  Travers  and  Hooker,3  the  critical  Tem- 
plars awarded  the  palm  of  scholarly  eloquence  to  the  Puritan. 
When  the  Puritan  lawyer  Whitelock  was  ambassador  to  Queen 
Christina,  he  kept  a  magnificent  state,  which  was  the  admiration 
of  her  court,  perplexed  as  they  were  by  his  persistent  Puritanical 
testimony  against  the  practice  of  drinking  healths.  For  his  Latin 
Secretary,  the  Puritan  Protector  employed  a  man  at  once  equal 
to  the  foremost  of  mankind  in  genius  and  learning,  and  skilled  in 
all  manly  exercises,  proficient  in  the  lighter  accomplishments 
beyond  any  other  Englishman  of  his  day,  and  caressed  in  his 
youth,  in  France  and  Italy,  for  eminence  in  the  studies  of  their 
fastidious  scholars  and  artists.  The  king's  camp  and  court  at 
Oxford  had  not  a  better  swordsman  or  amateur  musician  than 
John  Milton,  and  his  portraits  exhibit  him  with  locks  as  flowing 
as  Prince  Rupert's.  In  such  trifles  as  the  fashion  of  apparel,  the 
usage  of  the  best  modern  society  vindicates,  in  characteristic  par- 
ticulars, the  Roundhead  judgment  and  taste  of  the  century  before 
the  last.  The  English  gentleman  now,  as  the  Puritan  gentleman 
then,  dresses  plainly  in  "  sad"  colors,  and  puts  his  lace  and  em- 
broidery on  his  servants. 


1  Colonel  Hutchinson  could  dance  admirably  well,  had  skill  in  fencing,  played 
masterly  on  the  viol,  shot  excellently  in  bows  and  guns,  and  had  great  judgment 
in  paintings,  graving,  sculpture,  and  all  liberal  arts. 

2  The  learned  Owen,  the  author  of  An  Exposition  on  the  Epistle  to  the  Hebreios, 
4  vols,  folio,  and  numerous  other  theological  works,  and  who  was  said  "  to  carry 
within  his  broad  forehead  the  concentrated  extract  of  a  thousand  folios,"  was  said 
to  be  very  exact  and  nice  in  his  personal  appearance. 

3  For  the  rival  preaching  of  these  divines,  see,  under  Hooker,  Compendium  &f 
English  Literature,  pa^e  105. 

38* 


450 


JOHN  GORHAM  PALFREY. 


ROGER  WILLIAMS. 

There  was  no  question  upon  dogmas  between  Williams  and 
those  who  dismissed  him.  The  sound  and  generous  principle  of 
a  perfect  freedom  of  the  conscience  in  religious  concerns  can 
therefore  scarcely  be  shown  to  have  been  involved  in  this  dispute. 
At  a  later  period  he  was  prone  to  capricious  changes  of  religious 
opinion.  But  as  yet  there  was  no  development  of  this  kind.  As 
long  as  he  was  in  Massachusetts,  he  was  no  heretic,  tried  by  the 
standard  of  the  time  and  the  place.  He  was  not  charged  with 
heresy.  The  questions  which  he  raised,  and  by  raising  which  he 
provoked  opposition,  were  questions  relating  to  political  rights 
and  to  the  administration  of  government.  He  had  made  an  issue 
with  his  rulers  and  his  neighbors  upon  fundamental  points  of 
their  power  and  their  property,  including  their  power  of  self-pro- 
tection against  the  tyranny  from  which  they  had  lately  escaped. 
Unintentionally,  but  effectually,  he  had  set  himself  to  play  into 
the  hands  of  the  king  and  the  archbishop ;  and  it  was  not  to  be 
thought  of  by  the  sagacious  patriots  of  Massachusetts,  that,  in  the 
great  work  which  they  had  in  hand,  they  should  suffer  them- 
selves to  be  defeated  by  such  random  movements. 

For  his  busy  disaffection,  therefore,  Williams  was  punished  ;  or, 
rather,  he  was  disabled  for  the  mischief  it  threatened,  by  banish- 
ment from  the  jurisdiction.  He  was  punished  much  less  severely 
than  the  dissenters  from  the  popular  will  were  punished  through- 
out the  North  American  colonies  at  the  time  of  the  final  rupture 
with  the  mother-country.  Virtually,  the  freemen  said  to  him, 
"  It  is  not  best  that  you  and  we  should  live  together,  and  we  can- 
not agree  to  it.  We  have  just  put  ourselves  to  great  loss  and 
trouble  for  the  sake  of  pursuing  our  own  objects  uninterrupted; 
and  we  must  be  allowed  to  do  so.  Your  liberty,  as  you  under- 
stand it,  and  are  bent  on  using  it,  is  not  compatible  with  the 
security  of  ours.  Since  you  cannot  accommodate  yourself  to  us, 
go  away.  The  world  is  wide,  and  it  is  as  open  to  you  as  it  was 
just  now  to  us.  We  do  not  wish  to  harm  you;  but  there  is  no 
place  for  you  among  us."  Banishment  is  a  word  of  ill  sound; 
but  the  banishment  from  one  part  of  New  England  to  another,  to 
which,  in  the  early  period  of  their  residence,  the  settlers  con- 
demned Williams,  was  a  thing  widely  different  from  that  banish- 
ment from  luxurious  Old  England  to  desert  New  England  to 
which  they  had  just  condemned  themselves.  There  was  little 
hardship  in  leaving  unattractive  Salem  for  a  residence  on  the 
beautiful  shore  of  Narragansett  Bay,  except  as  the  former  had  a 
very  short  start  in  the  date  of  its  first  cultivation.  Williams,  in- 
voluntarily separated  from  Massachusetts,  went  with  his  company 
to  Providence  the  same  year  that  Hooker,  and  Stone,  and  their 


JOHN  GORHAM  PALFREY. 


451 


company,  self-exiled,  went  from  Massachusetts  to  Connecticut. 
If  to  the  former  the  movement  was  not  optional,  it  was  the  same 
that  the  latter  chose  when  it  was  optional ;  and  it  proved  advan- 
tageous for  all  the  parties  concerned. 

A  GOOD  DAUGHTER. 

A  good  daughter ! — there  are  other  ministries  of  love  more 
conspicuous  than  hers,  but  none  in  which  a  gentler,  lovelier  spirit 
dwells,  and  none  to  which  the  heart's  warm  requitals  more  joy- 
fully respond.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  comparative  estimate 
of  a  parent's  affection  for  one  or  another  child.  There  is  little 
which  he  needs  to  covet,  to  whom  the  treasure  of  a  good  child  has 
been  given.  But  a  son's  occupations  and  pleasures  carry  him  more 
abroad,  and  he  lives  more  among  temptations,  which  hardly  permit 
the  affection,  that  is  following  him  perhaps  over  half  the  globe, 
to  be  wholly  un mingled  with  anxiety,  till  the  time  when  he  comes 
to  relinquish  the  shelter  of  his  father's  roof  for  one  of  his  own ; 
while  a  good  daughter  is  the  steady  light  of  her  parent's  house. 
Her  idea  is  indissolubly  connected  with  that  of  his  happy  fireside. 
She  is  his  morning  sunlight  and  his  evening  star.  The  grace, 
and  vivacity,  and  tenderness  of  her  sex  have  their  place  in  the 
mighty  sway  which  she  holds  over  his  spirit.  The  lessons  of  re- 
corded wisdom  which  he  reads  with  her  eyes  come  to  his  mind 
with  a  new  cnarm  as  they  blend  with  the  beloved  melody  of  her 
voice.  He  scarcely  knows  weariness  which  her  song  does  not 
make  him  forget,  or  gloom  which  is  proof  against  the  young 
brightness  of  her  smile.  She  is  the  pride  and  ornament  of  his 
hospitality,  and  the  gentle  nurse  of  his  sickness,  and  the  constant 
agent  in  those  nameless,  numberless  acts  of  kindness,  which  one 
chiefly  cares  to  have  rendered  because  they  are  unpretending,  but 
all-expressive  proofs  of  love.  And  then  what  a  cheerful  sharer  is 
she,  and  what  an  able  lightener,  of  a  mother's  cares  !  what  an  ever- 
present  delight  and  triumph  to  a  mother's  affection  !  Oh,  how 
little  do  those  daughters  know  of  the  power  which  God  has  com- 
mitted to  them,  and  the  happiness  God  wrould  have  them  enjoy, 
who  do  not,  every  time  that  a  parent's  eye  rests  on  them,  bring 
rapture  to  a  parent's  heart !  A  true  love  will  almost  certainly 
always  greet  their  approaching  steps.  That  they  will  hardly 
alienate.  But  their  ambition  should  be  not  to  have  it  a  love 
merely  wThich  feelings  implanted  by  nature  excite,  but  one  made 
intense  and  overflowing  by  approbation  of  worthy  conduct ;  and 
she  is  strangely  blind  to  her  own  happiness,  as  well  as  undutiful 
to  them  to  whom  she  owes  the  most,  in  whom  the  perpetual 
appeals  of  parental  disinterestedness  do  not  call  forth  the  prompt 
and  full  echo  of  filial  devotion. 


452 


WILLIAM  WARE. 


WILLIAM  WARE,  1797—1852. 

William  Ware,  the  son  of  Rev.  Henry  Ware,  D.D.,  Hollis  Professor  of 
Divinity  in  Harvard  University,  was  born  in  Hingbam,  Massachusetts,  on  tbe  3d 
of  August,  1797,  and  graduated  at  Cambridge  in  1816.  When  be  had  finished 
his  theological  studies  there,  and  had  preached  a  short  time  at  Northboro', 
Massachusetts,  and  Brooklyn,  Connecticut,  he  was  settled  over  the  Unitarian 
congregation  in  Chambers  Street,  New  York,  in  December,  1821,  where  he  re- 
mained about  sixteen  j-ears.  Near  the  close  of  this  period,  he  commenced,  in 
the  "Knickerbocker  Magazine,"  the  publication  of  those  brilliant  papers  which, 
in  1830,  were  published  under  the  title  of  Zenobia,  or  the  Fall  of  Palmyra,  an 
Historical  Romance,  which  gave  him  at  once  very  high  rank  as  a  classical  scholar 
and  a  classic  author.  In  183S,  he  published  another  volume  of  a  similar  charac- 
ter, entitled  Probun,  or  Pome  in  the  Third  Century,  a  sort  of  sequel  to  Zcnobia, 
and  now  known  under  the  title  of  •Aurelicm.  In  1841,  he  published  Julian,  or 
Scenes  in  Judea,  in  which  he  has  described  the  most  striking  incidents  in  our 
Saviour's  life, — the  work  closing  with  an  account  of  the  crucifixion. 

While  these  works  were  in  the  course  of  publication,  he  became  the  editor  of 
the  "  Christian  Examiner/'  having  removed  to  Cambridge,  Massachusetts.  But 
ill  health  obliged  him  to  give  up  all  literary  occupation,  and  he  sailed  for  Europe 
in  1818.  On  his  return,  he  gave  a  series  of  lectures  in  Boston,  New  York,  and 
other  places,  upon  the  scenes  he  had  visited,  and,  in  1851,  published  Sketches  of 
European  Capitals.  This  was  his  last  work;  for  his  health  rapidly  declined,  and 
he  died  on  the  19th  of  February,  1S52.' 

PALMYRA  IN  ITS  GLORY. 

1  was  still  buried  in  reflection,  when  I  was  aroused  by  the 
shout  of  those  who  led  the  caravan,  and  who  had  attained  the 
summit  of  a  little  rising-  ground,  saying,  "  Palmyra !  Palmyra  !" 
I  urged  forward  my  steed,  and  in  a  moment  the  most  wonderful 
prospect  I  ever  beheld — no,  I  cannot  except  even  Rome — burst 
upon  my  sight.  Flanked  by  hills  of  considerable  elevation  on 
the  east,  the  city  filled  the  whole  plain  below  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach,  both  toward  the  north  and  toward  the  south.  This 
immense  plain  was  all  one  vast  and  boundless  city.  It  seemed  to 
me  to  be  larger  than  Rome.    Yet  I  knew  very  well  that  it  could 


1  "  It  was  an  adventure  in  literature  somewhat  bold  when  the  pen  of  an  Occi- 
dental scholar  of  the  nineteenth  century  attempted  to  reproduce  not  merely  the 
outward  manners  and  institutions,  but  the  inner  thoughts  and  principles  of  life- 
in  Rome,  Palmyra,  and  Judea  in  the  early  ages  of  the  Christian  era.  How  well 
Mr.  Ware  succeeded,  the  great  popularity  of  his  works  testify.  To  the  strange 
fascination  of  ancient  and  Oriental  life,  so  vividly  reproduced,  there  was  added 
the  higher  charm  of  a  Christian  philosophy,  delicately,  unobtrusively,  and  yet 
with  a  marked  impression  interweaving  its  lessons  with  the  story.  His  works 
have  passed  into  the  rank  of  classics,  and  no  longer  need  the  critic's  pen  to  point 
out  their  worth." — Neio  York  Independent. 


WILLIAM  WARE. 


453 


not  be, — that  it  was  not.  And  it  was  some  time  before  I  under- 
stood the  true  character  of  the  scene  before  me,  so  as  to  separate 
the  city  from  the  country,  and  the  country  from  the  city,  which 
here  wonderfully  interpenetrated  each  other,  and  so  confound  and 
deceive  the  observer.  For  the  city  proper  is  so  studded  with 
groups  of  lofty  palm-trees,  shooting  up  among  its  temples  and 
palaces,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  plain  in  its  immediate 
vicinity  is  so  thickly  adorned  with  magnificent  structures  of  the 
purest  marble,  that  it  is  not  easy,  nay,  it  is  impossible,  at  the  dis- 
tance at  which  I  contemplated  the  whole,  to  distinguish  the  line 
which  divided  the  one  from  the  other.  It  was  all  city  and  all 
country,  all  country  and  all  city.  Those  which  lay  before  me 
I  was  ready  to  believe  were  the  Elysian  Fields.  I  imagined  that 
I  saw  under  my  feet  the  dwellings  of  purified  men  and  of  gods. 
Certainly  they  were  too  glorious  for  the  mere  earth-born.  There 
was  a  central  point,  however,  which  chiefly  fixed  my  attention, 
where  the  vast  Temple  of  the  Sun  stretched  upwards  its  thousand 
columns  of  polished  marble  to  the  heavens,  in  its  matchless 
beauty,  casting  into  the  shade  every  other  work  of  art  of  which 
the  world  can  boast.  I  have  stood  before  the  Parthenon,  and 
have  almost  worshipped  that  divine  achievement  of  the  immortal 
Phidias.  But  it  is  a  toy  by  the  side  of  this  bright  crown  of  the 
Eastern  capital.  I  have  been  at  Milan,  at  Ephesus,  at  Alex- 
andria, at  Antioch ;  but  in  neither  of  those  renowned  cities  have 
I  beheld  anything  that  I  can  allow  to  approach,  in  united  extent, 
grandeur,  and  most  consummate  beauty,  this  almost  more  than 
work  of  man.  On  each  side  of  this,  the  central  point,  there 
rose  upwards  slender  pyramids — pointed  obelisks — domes  of  the 
most  graceful  proportions,  columns,  arches,  and  lofty  towers,  for 
number  and  for  form,  beyond  my  power  to  describe.  These  build- 
ings, as  well  as  the  walls  of  the  city,  being  all  either  of  white 
marble,  or  of  some  stone  as  white,  and  being  everywhere  in  their 
whole  extent  interspersed,  as  I  have  already  said,  with  multitudes 
of  overshadowing  palm-trees,  perfectly  filled  and  satisfied  my 
sense  of  beauty,  and  made  me  feel  for  the  moment  as  if  in  such  a 
scene  I  should  love  to  dwell,  and  there  end  my  days. 


PALMYRA  AFTER  ITS  CAPTURE  AND  DESTRUCTION. 

No  language  which  I  can  use,  my  Curtius,  can  give  you  any 
just  conception  of  the  horrors  which  met  our  view  on  the  way  to 
the  walls  and  in  the  city  itself.  For  more  than  a  mile  before  we 
reached  the  gates,  the  roads,  and  the  fields  on  either  hand,  were 
strewed  with  the  bodies  of  those  who,  in  their  attempts  to  escape, 
had  been  overtaken  by  the  enemy  and  slain.  Many  a  group  of 
bodies  did  we  notice,  evidently  those  of  a  family,  the  parents  and 


454 


WILLIAM  WARE. 


the  children,  who,  hoping;  to  reach  in  company  some  place  of 
security,  had  all — and  without  resistance,  apparently — fallen  a 
sacrifice  to  the  relentless  fury  of  their  pursuers.  Immediately 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  walls,  and  under  them,  the  earth  was  con- 
cealed from  the  eye  by  the  multitudes  of  the  slain,  and  all  objects 
were  stained  with  the  one  hue  of  blood.  Upon  passing  the  gates, 
and  entering  within  those  walls  which  I  had  been  accustomed  to 
regard  as  embracing  in  their  wide  and  graceful  sweep  the  most 
beautiful  city  in  the  world,  my  eye  met  nought  but  black  and 
smoking  ruins,  fallen  houses  and  temples,  the  streets  choked  with 
piles  of  still  blazing  timbers  and  the  half-burned  bodies  of  the 
dead.  As  I  penetrated  farther  into  the  heart  of  the  city,  and  to 
its  better-built  and  more  spacious  quarters,  I  found  the  destruc- 
tion to  be  less, — that  the  principal  streets  were  standing,  and  many 
of  the  more  distinguished  structures.  But  everywhere — in  the 
streets — upon  the  porticos  of  private  and  public  dwellings — upon 
the  steps  and  within  the  very  walls  of  the  temples  of  every  faith 
— in  all  places,  the  most  sacred  as  well  as  the  most  common,  lay 
the  mangled  carcasses  of  the  wretched  inhabitants.  None,  appa- 
rently, had  been  spared.  The  aged  were  there,  with  their  bald  or 
silvered  heads — little  children  and  infants — women,  the  young, 
the  beautiful,  the  good, — all  were  there,  slaughtered  in  every 
imaginable  way,  and  presenting  to  the  eye  spectacles  of  horror 
and  of  grief  enough  to  break  the  heart  and  craze  the  brain.  For 
one  could  not  but  go  back  to  the  day  and  the  hour  when  they 
died,  and  suffer  with  these  innocent  thousands  a  part  of  what  they 
suffered,  when,  the  gates  of  the  city  giving  way,  the  infuriated 
soldiery  poured  in,  and,  with  death  written  in  their  faces  and 
clamoring  on  their  tongues,  their  quiet  houses  were  invaded,  and, 
resisting  or  unresisting,  they  all  fell  together,  beneath  the  mur- 
derous knives  of  the  savage  foe.  What  shrieks  then  rent  and 
filled  the  air — what  prayers  of  agony  went  up  to  the  gods  for  life 
to  those  whose  ears  on  mercy's  side  were  adders' — what  piercing 
supplications  that  life  might  be  taken  and  honor  spared!  The 
apartments  of  the  rich  and  the  noble  presented  the  most  harrowing 
spectacles,  where  the  inmates,  delicately  nurtured  and  knowing 
of  danger,  evil,  and  wrong  only  by  name  and  report,  had  first 
endured  all  that  nature  most  abhors,  and  then  there,  where  their 
souls  had  died,  were  slain  by  their  brutal  violators  writh  every 
circumstance  of  most  demoniac  cruelty. 

Oh,  miserable  condition  of  humanity  !  Why  is  it  that  to  man 
have  been  given  passions  which  he  cannot  tame,  and  which  sink 
him  below  the  brute  ?  Why  is  it  that  a  few  ambitious  are  per- 
mitted by  the  Great  Ruler,  in"  the  selfish  pursuit  of  their  own 
aggrandizement,  to  scatter  in  ruin,  desolation,  and  death,  whole 
kingdoms, — making  misery  and  destruction  the  steps  by  which 


JOHN  G.  C.  BRAINARD. 


455 


they  mount  up  to  their  seats  of  pride  ?  0  gentle  doctrine  of 
Christ ! — doctrine  of  love  and  of  peace, — when  shall  it  be  that  I 
and  all  mankind  shall  know  Thy  truth,  and  the  world  smile  with 
a  new  happiness  under  Thy  life-giving  reign  ! 


JOHN  G.  C.  BRAINARD,  1796—1828. 

Thou  art  sleeping  calmly,  Brainard;  but  the  fame  denied  thee  when 

Thy  way  was  with  the  multitude— the  living  tide  of  men — 

Is  burning  o'er  thy  sepulchre, — a  holy  light  and  strong; 

And  gifted  ones  are  kneeling  there,  to  breathe  thy  words  of  song, — 

The  beautiful  and  pure  of  soul. — the  lights  of  Earth's  cold  bovvers, 

Are  twining  on  thy  funeral-stone  a  coronal  of  flowers ! 

Ay,  freely  hath  the  tear  been  given,  and  freely  hath  gone  forth 
The  sigh  of  grief,  that  one  like  thee  should  pass  away  from  Karth ; 
Yet  those  who  mourn  thee,  mourn  thee  not  like  those  to  whom  is  given — 
No  soothing  hope,  no  blissful  thought,  of  parted  friends  in  Heaven: 
They  feel  that  thou  wast  summon'd  to  the  Christian's  high  reward, — 
The  everlasting  joy  of  those  whose  trust  is  in  the  Lord! — J.  G.  Whittier. 

John  Gardner  Calkins  Brainard,  son  of  the  Honorable  J.  G.  Brainard, 
one  of  the  Judges  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Connecticut,  was  born  in  New  Lon- 
don, on  the  21st  of  October,  1796,  and  graduated  at  Yale  College  in  1815.  On 
leaving  college,  he  studied  law,  and  commenced  the  practice  of  it  at  Middleton ; 
but,  the  profession  not  being  congenial  to  his  tastes,  he  abandoned  it,  and,  in  1822, 
undertook  the  editorial  charge  of  the  "  Connecticut  Mirror,"  at  Hartford,  which 
for  five  years  he  enriched  with  his  beautiful  poetical  productions  and  chaste  and 
elevated  prose  compositions.  His  pieces  were  extensively  copied,  often  with  very 
high  encomium,  and  the  influence  his  paper  exerted  over  its  readers  could  not  but 
be  purifying  and  elevating.  But  consumption  had  marked  him  for  her  own ;  and 
in  less  than  five  years  he  returned  to  his  father's  house,  at  New  London,  where, 
with  calm  and  Christian  resignation,1  he  expired  on  the  26th  of  September,  1828. 

In  1825,  a  volume  of  his  poems  was  published  in  New  York,  mostly  made  up 
from  the  columns  of  his  newspaper.  After  his  death,  a  second  edition  appeared, 
in  1832,  enlarged  from  the  firs§t,  with  the  title  of  Literary  Remains,  accompanied 
by  a  just  and  feeling  memoir  by  the  poet  Whittier,  a  kindred  spirit,  and  one 
every  way  calculated  to  appreciate  and  illustrate  his  subject.2 


1  Just  before  his  death,  he  remarked,  "The  plan  of  salvation  in  the  gospel 
is  all  that  I  wish  for:  it  fills  me  with  wonder  and  gratitude,  and  makes  the 
prospect  of  death  not  only  peaceful  but  joyful." 

2  The  sketch  of  Brainard's  life  in  Kettell's  "  Specimens"  was  written  by  S.  G. 
Goodrich.  In  1842,  a  beautiful  edition  of  his  poems  was  published  at  Hartford, 
by  Edward  Hopkins,  accompanied  by  a  portrait,  and  by  an  admirable  memoir 
written  by  Rev.  Royal  Robins,  of  Berlin,  Connecticut. 


456 


JOHN  G.  C.  BRAINARD. 


THE  FALL  OF  NIAGARA.1 

The  thoughts  are  strange  that  crowd  into  my  brain, 

While  I  look  upward  to  thee.    It  would  seem 

As  if  God  pour'd  thee  from  his  "hollow  hand," 

And  hung  his  bow  upon  thine  awful  front ; 

And  spoke  in  that  loud  voice,  which  seem'd  to  him 

"Who  dwelt  in  Patnios  for  his  Saviour's  sake, 

"  The  sound  of  many  waters;"  and  had  bade 

Thy  flood  to  chronicle  the  ages  back, 

And  notch  His  centuries  in  the  eternal  rocks. 

Deep  calleth  unto  deep.    And  what  are  we, 
That  hear  the  question  of  that  voice  sublime  ? 
Oh  !  what  are  all  the  notes  that  ever  rung 
From  war's  vain  trumpet,  by  thy  thundering  side! 
Yea,  what  is  all  the  riot  man  can  make 
In  his  short  life,  to  thy  unceasing  roar  ! 
And  yet,  bold  babbler,  what  art  thou  to  Him, 
Who  drown' d  a  world,  and  heap'd  the  waters  far 
Above  its  loftiest  mountains  ? — a  light  wave, 
That  breaks,  and  whispers  of  its  Maker's  might. 


EPITH  ALAMIU  M . 

I  saw  two  clouds  at  morning, 

Tinged  with  the  rising  sun ; 
And  in  the  dawn  they  floated  on, 

And  mingled  into  one  : 
I  thought  that  morning  cloud  was  blest, 
It  moved  so  sweetly  to  the  west. 

I  saw  two  summer  currents, 

Flow  smoothly  to  their  meeting, 
And  join  their  course,  with  silent  force, 

In  peace  each  other  greeting: 
Calm  was  their  course  through  banks  of  green, 
While  dimpling  eddies  play'd  between. 

Such  be  your  gentle  motion, 

Till  life's  last  pulse  shall  beat ; 
Like  summer's  beam,  and  summer's  stream, 

Float  on,  in  joy,  to  meet 
A  calmer  sea,  where  storms  shall  cease — 
A  purer  sky,  where  all  is  peace. 


1  Be  it  remembered  that  this  piece  was  thrown  off  in  the  inspiration  of  the 
moment,  on  a  cold,  stormy  evening,  when,  feeble  from  disease,  he  could  hardly 
drag  his  way  to  the  office  of  his  paper,  and  when  the  printer's  boy  came  clamor- 
ing to  him  ior  "copy."  He  wrote  the  first  verse,  and  told  the  boy  to  come  in 
fifteen  minutes  for  the  rest.  He  did  so,  and  the  poet  gave  him  the  second.  Of  it, 
as  a  whole,  Jared  Sparks,  in  the  twenty-second  volume  of  the  "North  American 
Review,"  thus  remarks: — "Among  all  the  tributes  of  the  Muses  to  that  great 
wonder  of  nature,  we  do  not  remember  any  so  comprehensive  and  forcible,  and 
at  the  same  time  so  graphically  correct,  as  this." 


JOHN  G.  C.  BRAIN ARD. 


457 


ON  A  LATE  LOSS.1 

u  He  shall  not  lloat  upon  his  watery  bier 
Unwept." 

The  breath  of  air  that  stirs  the  harp's  soft  string, 

Floats  on  to  join  the  whirlwind  and  the  storm; 
The  drops  of  dew  exhaled  from  flowers  of  spring, 

Rise  and  assume  the  tempest's  threatening  form; 
The  first  mild  beam  of  morning's  glorious  sun, 

Ere  night,  is  sporting  in  the  lightning's  flash ; 
And  the  smooth  stream,  that  flows  in  quiet  on, 

Moves  but  to  aid  the  overwhelming  dash 
That  wave  and  wind  can  muster,  when  the  might 
Of  earth,  and  air,  and  sea,  and  sky  unite. 

So  science  whisper" d  in  thy  charmed  ear, 

And  radiant  learning  beckon'd  thee  away. 
The  breeze  was  music  to  thee,  and  the  clear 

Beam  of  thy  morning  promised  a  bright  day. 
And  they  have  wreck'd  thee! — But  there  is  a  shore 

Where  storms  are  hush'd — where  tempests  never  rage — 
Where  angry  skies  and  blackening  seas  no  more 

With  gusty  strength  tneir  roaring  warfare  wage. 
By  thee  its  peaceful  margent  shall  be  trod — 
Thy  home  is  heaven,  and  thy  friend  is  God. 

LEATHER  STOCKING.2 

Far  away  from  the  hill-side,  the  lake,  and  the  hamlet, 

The  rock,  and  the  brook,  and  yon  meadow  so  gay ; 
From  the  footpath  that  winds  by  the  side  of  the  streamlet; 

From  his  hut,  and  the  grave  of  his  friend,  far  away — 
He  is  gone  where  the  footsteps  of  men  never  ventured, 
Where  the  glooms  of  the  wild-tangled  forest  are  centred, 
Where  no  beam  of  the  sun  or  the  sweet  moon  has  entered, 
No  bloodhound  has  roused  up  the  deer  with  his  bay. 

Light  be  the  heart  of  the  poor  lonely  wanderer; 

Firm  be  his  step  through  each  wearisome  mile — 
Far  from  the  cruel  man,  far  from  the  plunderer, 

Far  from  the  track  of  the  mean  and  the  vile. 


1  Alexander  Metealf  Fisher,  Professor  of  Mathematics  in  Yale  College,  anxious 
to  enlarge  his  knowledge  in  his  favorite  science,  to  which  he  had  devoted  his  life, 
sot  sail  for  Europe  in  the  packet-ship  Albion,  which  was  lost  iu  a  terrific  storm 
off  the  coast  of  Ireland,  April  22.  1S22.  But,  few  of  the  passengers  or  crew 
were  saved ;  and  among  the  lost  was  the  promising  and  gifted  subject  of  these 
lines.  See  the  fourth  volume  of  the  "  New  Englander"  for  a  fine  memoir  of  Pro- 
fessor Fisher,  by  Professor  Denison  Olmsted. 

2  These  lines  refer  to  the  good  wishes  which  Elizabeth,  in  Mr.  Cooper's  novel 
of  "The  Pioneers,"  seems  to  have  manifested,  in  the  last  chapter,  for  the  welfare 
of  "Leather  Stocking,"  when  he  signified,  at  the  grave  of  the  Indian,  his  deter- 
mination to  quit  the  settlements  of  men  for  the  unexplored  forests  of  the  West, 
and  when,  whistling  to  his  dogs,  with  his  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  and  his  pack  on 
his  back,  he  left  the  village  of  Temple  ton. 

39 


458 


JOHN  G.  C.  BRAINARD. 


And  when  death,  with  the  last  of  its  terrors,  assails  him, 
And  all  but  the  last  throb  of  memory  fails  him, 
He'll  think  of  the  friend,  fax  away,  that  bewails  him, 
And  light  up  the  cold  touch  of  death  with  a  smile. 

And  there  shall  the  dew  shed  its  sweetness  and  lustre ; 

There  for  his  pall  shall  the  oak-leaves  be  spread — 
The  sweet  brier  shall  bloom,  and  the  wild  grape  shall  cluster ; 

And  o'er  him  the  leaves  of  the  ivy  be  shed, 
There  shall  they  mix  with  the  fern  and  the  heather; 
There  shall  the  young  eagle  shed  its  first  feather ; 
The  wolves,  with  his  wild  dogs,  shall  lie  there  together, 

And  moan  o'er  the  spot  where  the  hunter  is  laid. 


THE  SEA-BIRD'S  SONG. 

On  the  deep  is  the  mariner's  danger, 

On  the  deep  is  the  mariner's  death ; 
Who,  to  fear  of  the  tempest  a  stranger, 
Sees  the  last  bubble  burst  of  his  breath? 
'Tis  the  sea-bird,  sea-bird,  sea-bird, 

Lone  looker  on  despair ; 
The  sea-bird,  sea-bird,  sea-bird, 
The  only  witness  there. 

"Who  watches  their  course,  who  so  mildly 
Careen  to  the  kiss  of  the  breeze  ? 

Who  lists  to  their  shrieks,  who  so  wildly 
Are  clasp'd  in  the  arms  of  the  seas? 
'Tis  the  sea-bird,  &c. 

"Who  hovers  on  high  o'er  the  lover. 
And  her  who  has  clung  to  his  neck  ? 

"Whose  wing  is  the  wing  that  can  cover 
With  its  shadow  the  foundering  wreck  ? 
'Tis  the  sea-bird,  &c. 

My  eye  in  the  light  of  the  billow, 
My  wing  on  the  wake  of  the  wave,  . 

I  shall  take  to  my  breast,  for  a  pillow, 
The  shroud  of  the  fair  and  the  brave. 
I'm  a  sea-bird,  &c. 

My  foot  on  the  iceberg  has  lighted, 

When  hoarse  the  wild  winds  veer  about ; 
My  eye,  when  the  bark  is  benighted, 
Sees  the  lamp  of  the  light-house  go  out. 
I'm  the  sea-bird,  sea-bird,  sea-bird, 

Lone  looker  on  despair  ; 
The  sea-bird,  sea-bird,  sea-bird, 
The  only  witness  there. 


ALBERT  BARNES. 


459 


ALBERT  BARNES. 

Thts  eminent  theologian  was  born  at  Rome,  New  York,  December  1,  1798.  He 
worked  with  his  father  in  his  tannery  until  he  was  seventeen  years  old,  when  he 
determined  to  obtain  a  collegiate  education;  and  in  1819  he  entered  the  senior 
class  in  Hamilton  College,  and  graduated  in  July,  1820.  At  college,  he  was  the 
subject  of  a  revival  of  religion;"  and,  feeling  it  his  duty  to  study  theology,  he 
went  to  Princeton,  New  Jersey,  and  entered  the  Theological  Seminary.  He 
was  there  three  years,  and  was  licensed  to  preach,  April  23,  1823,  by  the  Presby- 
tery of  New  Brunswick.  After  preaching  at  various  places,  he  received  a  call 
from  ihe  First  Presbyterian  Church  in  Morristown,  New  Jersey,  and  was  ordained 
there,  on  the  25th  of  February,  1825.  Here  his  ministry  was  highly  prosperous, 
and  his  people  became  devotedly  attached  to  him.  In  1830,  he  received  a  call 
from  the  First  Presbyterian  Church  in  Philadelphia,  which  he  accepted,  and  was 
installed  on  the  25th  of  June  of  that  year.1 

Before  leaving  Morristown,  Mr.  Barnes  commenced  a  series  of  commentaries  on 
the  New  Testament,  designed  for  Sunday-school  teachers  and  family  reading. 
The  volume  upon  Matthew  was  published  in  1832,  and  was  followed  from  time  to 
time  by  like  commentaries  upon  every  book  of  the  New  Testament.  These  works 
are  eminently  practical,  and  among  the  best  of  the  kind  in  our  language.  The 
high  estimation  in  which  they  are  held  by  the  religious  world  is  evinced  by  the 
numerous  editions  which  have  been  published  in  England  as  well  as  in  this 
country. 

In  1835,  George  Junkin,  D.D.,  preferred  against  Mr.  Barnes,  before  his  Pres- 
bytery, charges  of  heresy,  based  on  his  commentaries  on  the  Epistle  to  the 
Romans.  The  Presbytery  sustained  Mr.  Barnes,  and  Dr.  Junkin  appealed  to  the 
Synod  of  Pennsylvania.  The  Synod  sustained  the  appeal,  and  suspended  Mr. 
Barnes  from  the  ministry  " until  he  should  give  evidence  of  repentance"!2  Mr. 
Barnes,  in  his  turn,  appealed  to  the  General  Assembly,  that  met  at  Pittsburg,  in 
May,  1836;  and  the  Assembly  restored  him  to  his  clerical  functions,  by  a  large 
majority. 

Before  Mr.  Barnes  had  finished  his  Notes  on  the  New  Testament,  he  began  a 


'•  Before  leaving  Morristown,  he  had  preached  (February  8,  1829)  a  sermon, 
entitled  "  The  Way  of  Salvation,"  which  was  severely  reviewed  in  the  "  Phila- 
delphian,"  by  Rev.  William  M.  Engles,  accusing  the  author  of  "  defrauding  his 
readers  and  hearers  of  the  doctrine  of  justification,"  &c. !  The  learned  and  vene- 
rable James  P.  Wilson,  D.D.,  whom  Mr.  Barnes  succeeded,  replied  to  this  reviewer, 
fully  and  ably  sustaining  the  positions  of  the  sermon. 

2  During  his  suspension,  the  Rev.  George  Duffield,  D.D.,  the  author  of  the 
able  work  on  "  Regeneration,"  was  invited  to  preach  for  him  ;  and  he  did  so 
from  this  pertinent  text : — Isaiah  lxvi.  5  :  "  Hear  the  word  of  the  Lord,  ye  that 
tremble  at  his  word :  Your  brethren  that  hated  you,  and  cast  you  out  for  my 
name's  sake,  said,  Let  the  Lord  be  glorified :  but  he  shall  appear  to  your  joy,  and 
they  shall  be  ashamed."  And  this  declaration  of  Scripture  has  been  indeed  veri- 
fied. A  writer  in  "The  New  Englander"  for  November,  1858,  in  reviewing  Dr. 
J.  P.  Thompson's  Memoir  of  Stoddard,  makes  this  pertinent  and  instructive  re- 
mark : — "  The  history  of  the  church  is  full  of  evidences  that  clergymen,  when 
contending  with  one  another  over  the  metaphysics  of  theology,  confound  small 
matters  with  great,  and  by  their  recorded  decisions  expose  themselves  to  the  ridi- 
cule and  pity  of  after-generations." 


460 


ALBERT  BARNES. 


series  of  commentaries  upon  the  Old  Testament.  Isaiah  first  appeared,  in  three 
volumes ;  then  Job,  in  two  volumes;  then  Daniel,  in  one  volume;  which  have 
given  him  a  still  higher  reputation  for  profound  and  varied  scholarship.  He  has 
also  published  an  edition  of  "Butler's  Analogy,"  with  an  Introduction  of  rare 
ability ;  a  volume  of  Practical  Sermons,  richly  prized  in  many  a  Christian  house- 
hold; and  a  treatise  entitled  Episcopacy  Tested  by  Scripture.  Another  volume  of 
his  sermons,  entitled  The  Way  of  Salvation,  has  recently  been  published. 

Mr.  Barnes  early  became  interested  in  the  temperance  reformation,  and  his 
sermon  upon  that  subject  is  one  of  the  best  tracts  that  have  yet  appeared.  Ho 
also  came  out  very  early,  and  with  decided  power,  against  the  crime  and  curse  of 
slavery,  being  almost  the  only  one  among  bis  ministerial  brethren  "  faithful  found 
among  the  faithless,"  on  what  has  become  the  great  question  of  the  day.  In 
1S3S,  when  the  yells  of  the  mob  that  burned  Pennsylvania  Hall  had  scarce  (lied 
away,  he  showed  his  moral  courage  by  preaching  a  noble  sermon  on  The  Su- 
premacy of  the  Laics.1  In  lSdfi  appeared  An  Inquiry  into  the  Scriptural  Views  of 
Slavery,  which  was  followed  by  an  excellent  volume,  entitled  The  Church  and 
Slavery,  showing  it  to  be  the  duty  of  the  whole  Christian  church  to  "come  out 
and  not  touch  the  unclean  thing."  More  recently  be  has  given  us  Inquiries  and 
Suggestions  in  Regard  to  the  Foundation  of  Faith  in  the  Word  of  God ;  Life  at 
Three-Score,  a  Sermon  delivered  in  the  First  Presbyterian  Church,  Philadelphia, 
November  28,  1853;  and  The  Atonement  in  its  Relations  to  Law  and  Government.2 

It  is  wonderful  how  Mr.  Barnes,  with  such  laborious  pastoral  duties,  has  been 
able  to  prepare  for  the  press  so  many  works,  and  of  such  depth  of  learning.  The 
secret  lies  in — method.  He  has  always  been  a  very  early  riser,  and  most  of  his 
works  have  been  written  while  the  greater  part  of  his  congregation  were  taking 
their  morning  slumbers.3  So  much  may  be  accomplished  by  devoting  a  few  hours, 
statedly,  every  day  to  one  fixed  purpose !    What  a  lesson  for  every  young  man  ! 

1  On  the  night  of  the  17th  of  May,  1833,  that  noble  structure  in  Sixth  Street, 
Philadelphia, —  Pennsylvania  Hall, — erected  for  the  purpose  of  free  discussion, 
and  especially  for  the  free  discussion  of  slavery,  was  burnt  by  a  mob.  To  this 
event  Rev.  John  Pierpont  thus  alludes,  in  his  spirit-stirring  poem,  The  Tocsin : — 

"Go,  then,  and  build  yourselves  a  hall, 

To  prove  ye  are  not  slaves,  but  men! 
Write  '  Freedom'  on  its  towering  wall! 

Baptize  it  in  the  name  of  Peun; 
And  give  it  to  her  holy  cause, 
Beneath  the  JEgis  of  her  laws ; — 

"Within  let  Freedom's  anthem  swell : — 

And.  while  your  hearts  begin  to  throb 
And  burn  within  you, — hark!  the  yell, — 

The  torch, — the  torrent  of  the  mob! — 
They're  Slavery's  troops  that  round  you  sweep, 
And  leave  your  hall  a  smouldering  heap!" 

2  Beautiful  editions  of  Mr.  Barnes's  recent  works,  as  mentioned  above,  have 
been  published  by  Parry  &  McMillan,  Philadelphia. 

3  "All  my  commentaries  on  the  Scriptures  have  been  written  before  nine  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  At  the  very  beginning — now  more  than  thirty  years  ago — I 
adopted  a  resolution  to  stop  writing  on  these  Notes  when  the  clock  struck  nine. 
This  resolution  I  have  invariably  adhered  to,  not  unfrequently  finishing  my 
morning  task  in  the  midst  of  a  paragraph,  and  sometimes  even  in  the  midst  of  a 
sentence." — Life  at  Three-Score. 


ALBERT  BARNES. 


461 


A   MOTHER'S  LOVE  HOME. 

Many  of  us — most  of  us  who  are  advanced  beyond  the  period 
of  childhood — went  out  from  that  home  to  embark  on  the  stormy 
sea  of  life.  Of  the  feelings  of  a  father,  and  of  his  interest  in  our 
welfare,  we  have  never  entertained  a  doubt,  and  our  home  was 
dear  because  he  was  there;  but  there  was  a  peculiarity  in  the 
feeling  that  it  was  the  home  of  our  mother.  While  she  lived 
there,  there  was  a  place  that  we  felt  was  home.  There  was  one 
place  where  we  would  always  be  welcome,  one  place  where  we 
would  be  met  with  a  smile,  one  place  where  we  would  be  sure  of 
a  friend.  The  world  might  be  indifferent  to  us.  We  might  be 
unsuccessful  in  our  studies  or  our  business.  The  new  friends 
which  we  supposed  we  had  made  might  prove  to  be  false.  The 
honor  which  we  thought  we  deserved  might  be  withheld  from  us. 
We  might  be  chagrined  and  mortified  by  seeing  a  rival  outstrip 
us,  and  bear  away  the  prize  which  we  sought.  But  there  was  a 
place  where  no  feelings  of  rivalry  were  found,  and  where  those 
whom  the  world  overlooked  would  be  sure  of  a  friendly  greeting. 
Whether  pale  and  wan  by  study,  care,  or  sickness,  or  flushed  with 
health  and  flattering  success,  we  were  sure  that  we  should  be  wel- 
come there.  Though  the  world  was  cold  towards  us,  yet  there 
was  one  who  always  rejoiced  in  our  success,  and  always  was 
affected  in  our  reverses  ;  and  there  was  a  place  to  which  we  might 
go  back  from  the  storm  which  began  to  pelt  us,  where  we  might 
rest,  and  become  encouraged  and  invigorated  for  a  new  conflict. 
So  have  I  seen  a  bird,  in  its  first  efforts  to  fly,  leave  its  nest,  and 
stretch  its  wings,  and  go  forth  to  the  wide  world.  But  the  wind 
blew  it  back,  and  the  rain  began  to  fall,  and  the  darkness  of  night 
began  to  draw  on,  and  there  was  no  shelter  abroad,  and  it  sought 
its  way  back  to  its  nest,  to  take  shelter  beneath  its  mother's  wings, 
and  to  be  refreshed  for  the  struggles  of  a  new  day ;  but  then  it 
flew  away  to  think  of  its  nest  and  its  mother  no  more.  But  not 
thus  did  we  leave  our  home  when  we  bade  adieu  to  it  to  go  forth 
alone  to  the  manly  duties  of  life.  Even  amidst  the  storms  that 
then  beat  upon  us,  and  the  disappointments  that  we  met  with,  and 
the  coldness  of  the  world,  we  felt  still  that  there  was  one  there 
who  sympathized  in  our  troubles,  as  well  as  rejoiced  in  our  suc- 
cess, and  that,  whatever  might  be  abroad,  when  we  entered  the 
door  of  her  dwelling  we  should  be  met  with  a  smile.  Wre  ex- 
pected that  a  mother,  like  the  mother  of  Sisera,  as  she  "  looked 
out  at  her  window,"  waiting  for  the  coming  of  her  son  laden  with 
the  spoils  of  victory,  would  look  out  for  our  coming,  and  that  our 
return  would  renew  her  joy  and  ours  in  our  earlier  days. 

It  makes  a  sad  desolation  when  from  such  a  place  a  mother  is 
taken  away,  and  when,  whatever  may  be  the  sorrows  or  the  suc- 

39* 


462 


ALBERT  BARNES. 


cesses  in  life,  she  is  to  greet  the  returning  son  or  daughter  no 
more.  The  home  of  our  childhood  may  be  still  lovely.  The  old 
family  mansion — the  green  fields — the  running  stream — the  moss- 
covered  well — the  trees — the  lawn — the  rose — the  sweet-brier — 
may  be  there.  Perchance,  too,  there  may  be  an  aged  father,  with 
venerable  locks,  sitting  in  his  loneliness,  with  every  thing  to  com- 
mand respect  and  love  )  but  she  is  not  there.  Her  familiar  voice  is 
not  heard.  The  mother  has  been  borne  forth  to  sleep  by  the  side 
of  her  children  who  went  before  her,  and  the  place  is  not  what  it 
was.  There  may  be  those  there  whom  we  much  love,  but  she  is 
not  there.  We  may  have  formed  new  relations  in  life,  tender  and 
strong  as  they  can  be ;  we  may  have  another  home,  dear  to  us  as 
was  the  home  of  our  childhood,  where  there  is  all  in  affection, 
kindness,  and  religion,  to  make  us  happy,  but  that  home  is  not 
what  it  was,  and  it  will  never  be  what  it  was  again.  It  is  a 
loosening  of  one  of  the  cords  which  bound  us  to  earth,  designed 
to  prepare  us  for  our  eternal  flight  from  every  thing  dear  here 
below,  and  to  teach  us  that  there  is  no  place  here  that  is  to  be 
our  permanent  home.1 


THE  TRAFFIC  IN  ARDENT  SPIRITS. 

Every  man  is  bound  to  pursue  such  a  business  as  to  render  a 
valuable  consideration  for  that  which  he  receives  from  others.  A 
man  who  receives  in  trade  the  avails  of  the  industry  of  others,  is 
under  obligation  to  restore  that  which  will  be  of  real  value.  He 
receives  the  fruit  of  toil ;  he  receives  that  which  is  of  value  to 
himself;  and  common  equity  requires  that  he  return  a  valuable 
consideration.  Thus,  the  merchant  renders  to  the  fanner,  in  ex- 
change for  the  growth  of  his  farm,  the  productions  of  other 
climes;  the  manufacturer,  that  which  is  needful  for  the  clothing 
or  comfort  of  the  agriculturist ;  the  physician,  the  result  of  his 
professional  skill.  All  these  are  valuable  considerations,  which 
are  fair  and  honorable  subjects  of  exchange.  They  are  a  mutual 
accommodation  ;  they  advance  the  interest  of  both  parties.  But 
it  is  not  so  with  the  dealer  in  ardent  spirits.  He  obtains  the  pro- 
perty of  his  fellow-men  ;  and  what  does  he  return  ?  That  which 
will  tend  to  promote  his  real  welfare  ?  That  which  will  make 
him  a  happier  man  ?  That  which  will  benefit  his  family  ?  That 
which  diffuses  learning  and  domestic  comfort  around  his  family 
circle?  None  of  these  things.  He  gives  him  that  which  will 
produce  poverty,  and  want,  and  cursing,  and  tears,  and  death. 
He  asked  an  egg,  and  he  receives  a  scorpion.    He  gives  him  that 


1  From  a  sermon  delivered  but  a  few  weeks  after  the  loss  of  his  own  mother. 


ALBERT  BARNES. 


463 


which  is  established  and  well  known  as  a  source  of  no  good,  but 
as  tending  to  produce  beggary  and  wretchedness. 

A  man  is  bound  to  pursue  such  a  course  of  life  as  not  neces- 
sarily to  increase  the  burdens  and  the  taxes  of  the  community. 
The  pauperism  and  crimes  of  this  land  grow  out  of  this  vice,  as 
an  overflowing  fountain.  Three-fourths  of  the  taxes  for  prisons, 
and  houses  of  refuge,  and  almshouses,  would  be  cut  off  but  for 
this  traffic  and  the  attendant  vices.  Nine-tenths  of  the  crimes  of 
the  country,  and  of  the  expenses  of  litigation  for  crime,  would  be 
prevented  by  arresting  it.  Now,  we  have  only  to  ask  our  fellow- 
citizens,  what  right  they  have  to  pursue  an  employment  tending 
thus  to  burden  the  community  with  taxes,  and  to  endanger  the 
dwellings  of  their  fellow-men,  and  to  send  to  my  door,  and  to 
every  other  man's  door,  hordes  of  beggars  loathsome  to  the  sight; 
or  to  compel  the  virtuous  to  seek  out  their  wives  and  children, 
amidst  the  squalidness  of  poverty,  and  the  cold  of  winter,  and  the 
pinchings  of  hunger,  to  supply  their  wants  ?  Could  impartial 
justice  be  done  in  the  world,  an  end  would  soon  be  put  to  the 
traffic  in  ardent  spirits.  Were  every  man  bound  to  alleviate  all 
the  wretchedness  which  his  business  creates,  to  support  all  the 
poor  which  his  traffic  causes,  an  end  would  soon  be  made  of  this 
employment. 

THE  BIBLE  versus  SLAVERY.  THE  DUTY  OF  THE  CHURCH. 

Of  all  the  abuses  ever  applied  to  the  Scriptures,  the  most  in- 
tolerable and  monstrous  are  those  which  pervert  them  to  the 
support  of  American  slavery.  Sad  is  it  that  the  mild  and 
benignant  enactments  of  the  Hebrew  legislator  should  ever  be 
appealed  to,  to  sanction  the  wrongs  and  outrages  of  the  poor 
African  in  "  this  land  of  freedom;"  sad,  that  the  ministers  of  re- 
ligion should  ever  prostitute  their  high  office  to  give  countenance 
to  such  a  system,  by  maintaining,  or  even  conceding  for  a  moment, 
that  the  Mosaic  laws  sanction  the  oppressions  and  wrongs  existing 
in  the  United  States  !  *  *  * 

The  defence  of  slavery  from  the  Bible  is  to  be,  and  will  soon 
be,  abandoned,  and  men  will  wonder  that  any  defence  of  such  a 
system  could  have  been  attempted  from  the  word  of  God.  If  the 
authors  of  these  defences  could  live  a  little  longer  than  the  ordi- 
nary term  of  years  allotted  to  man,  they  would  themselves  wonder 
that  they  could  ever  have  set  up  such  a  defence.  Future  genera- 
tions will  look  upon  the  defences  of  slavery  drawn  from  the  Bible, 
as  among  the  most  remarkable  instances  of  mistaken  interpreta- 
tion and  unfounded  reasoning  furnished  by  the  perversities  of  the 
human  mind.  *  *  * 

Let  every  religious  denomination  in  the  land  detach  itself  from 


464 


ALBERT  BARNES. 


all  connection  with  slavery,  without  saying  a  word  against  others ; 
let  the  time  come  when,  in  all  the  mighty  denominations  of  Chris- 
tians, it  can  be  announced  that  the  evil  has  ceased  with  them  for- 
ever ;  and  let  the  voice  from  each  denomination  be  lifted  up  in 
kind,  but  firm  and  solemn  testimony  against  the  system  ;  with  no 
"  mealy"  words  ;  with  no  attempt  at  apology;  witji  no  wish  to 
blink  it;  with  no  effort  to  throw  the  sacred  shield  of  religion 
over  so  great  an  evil;  and  the  work  is  done.  There  is  no  public 
sentiment  in  this  land,  there  could  be  none  created,  that  would 
resist  the  power  of  such  testimony.  There  is  no  power  out  of 
the  church  that  could  sustain  slavery  an  hour  if  it  were  not  sus- 
tained in  it.  Not  a  blow  need  be  struck.  Not  an  unkind  word 
need  be  uttered.  No  man's  motive  need  be  impugned,  no  man's 
proper  rights  invaded.  All  that  is  needful  is,  for  each  Chris- 
tian man,  and  for  every  Christian  church,  to  stand  up  in  the 
sacred  majesty  of  such  a  solemn  testimony,  to  free  themselves 
from  all  connection  with  the  evil,  and  utter  a  calm  and  deliberate 
voice  to  the  world, — and  the  work  will  be  done. 

war. 

Who  has  ever  told  the  evils,  and  the  curses,  and  the  crimes  of 
war  ?  Who  can  describe  the  horrors  of  the  carnage  of  battle  ? 
Who  can  portray  the  fiendish  passions  which  reign  there  ?  Who 
can  tell  the  amount  of  the  treasures  wasted,  and  of  the  blood  that 
has  flowed,  and  of  the  tears  that  have  been  shed  over  the  slain  ? 
Who  can  register  the  crimes  which  war  has  originated  and  sus- 
tained ?  If  there  is  any  thing  in  which  earth,  more  than  in  any 
other,  resembles  hell,  it  is  in  its  wars.  And  who,  with  the  heart 
of  a  man — of  a  lover  of  human  happiness — of  a  hater  of  carnage 
and  crime — can  look  but  with  pity,  who  can  repress  his  contempt 
in  looking  on  all  the  trappings  of  war — the  tinsel — the  nodding 
plumes  —  even  the  animating  music  —  designed  to  cover  over 
the  reality  of  the  contemplated  murder  of  fathers,  and  husbands, 
and  sons  ? 

THE  GENTLE  CHARITIES  OF  LIFE. 

A  man's  usefulness  in  the  Christian  life  depends  far  more 
on  the  kindness  of  his  daily  temper,  than  on  great  and  glo- 
rious deeds  that  shall  attract  the  admiration  of  the  world,  and 
that  shall  send  his  name  down  to  future  times.  It  is  the 
little  rivulet  that  glides  through  the  meadow,  and  that  runs  along- 
day  and  night  by  the  farm-house,  that  is  useful,  rather  than 
the  swollen  flood,  or  the  noisy  cataract.  Niagara  excites  our 
wonder,  and  fills  the  mind  with  amazement  and  awe.  We  feel 
that  God  is  there;   and  it  is  well  to  go  far  to  see  once  at 


ALBERT  BARNES. 


465 


least  how  solemn  it  is  to  realize  that  we  are  in  the  presence 
of  the  Great  God,  and  to  see  what  wonders  his  hand  can  do. 
But  one  Niagara  is  enough  for  a  continent — or  a  world  ;  while 
that  .same  world  needs  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of  silvery 
fountains,  and  gently  flowing  rivulets,  that  shall  water  every  farm, 
and  every  meadow,  and  every  garden,  and  that  shall  flow  on  every 
day  and  every  night  with  their  gentle  and  quiet  beauty.  So  with 
life.  We  admire  the  great  deeds  of  Howard's  benevolence,  and  wish 
that  all  men  were  like  him.  We  revere  the  names  of  the  illus- 
trious martyrs.  We  honor  the  man  who  will  throw  himself  in  the 
"imminent  deadly  breach"  and  save  his  country, —  and  such  men 
and  such  deeds  we  must  have  when  the  occasion  calls  for  them. 
But  all  men  are  not  to  be  useful  in  this  way — any  more  than  all 
waters  are  to  rush  by  us  in  swelling  and  angry  floods.  We  are  to 
be  useful  in  more  limited  spheres.  We  are  to  cultivate  the  gentle 
charities  of  life.  We  are  by  a  consistent  walk  to  benefit  those 
around  us — though  we  be  in  an  humble  vale,  and  though,  like  the 
gentle  rivulet,  we  may  attract  little  attention,  and  may  soon  cease 
to  be  remembered  on  earth.  Kindness  will  always  do  good.  It 
makes  others  happy — and  that  is  doing  good.  It  prompts  us  to 
seek  to  benefit  others — and  that  is  doing  good.  It  makes  others 
gentle  and  benignant — and  that  is  doing  good. 

Practical  Sermons. 

THE  VALUE  OF  INDUSTRY. 

I  have  seen  the  value  of  industry;  and  as  I  owe  to  this,  under 
God,  whatever  success  I  have  obtained,  it  seems  to  me  not  im- 
proper to  speak  of  it  here,  and  to  recommend  the  habit  to  those 
who  are  just  entering  on  life. 

I  had  nothing  else  to  depend  on  but  this.  I  had  no  capital 
when  I  began  life;  I  had  no  powerful  patronage  to  help  me; 
I  had  no  natural  endowments,  as  I  believe  that  no  man  has, 
that  could  supply  the  place  of  industry  ;  and  it  is  not  improper 
here  to  say  that  all  that  I  have  been  able  to  do  in  this  world  has 
been  the  result  of  habits  of  industry  which  began  early  in  life ; 
which  were  commended  to  me  by  the  example  of  a  venerated 
father;  and  which  have  been,  and  are,  an  abiding  source  of 
enj  oyment. 

Dr.  Doddridge,  in  reference  to  his  own  work,  the  "  Paraphrase 
on  the  New  Testament,"  said,  that  its  being  written  at  all  was 
owing  to  the  difference  between  rising  at  five  and  at  seven  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  A  remark  similar  to  this  will  explain  all  that  I 
have  done.  Whatever  I  have  accomplished  in  the  way  of  com- 
mentary on  the  Scriptures  is  to  be  traced  to  the  fact  of  rising  at 
four  in  the  morning,  and  to  the  time  thus  secured  which  I 


466 


ROBERT  C.  SANDS. 


thought  might  properly  be  employed  in  a  work  not  immediately 
connected  with  my  pastoral  labors. 

In  the  recollection  of  the  past  portions  of  my  life,  I  refer  to 
these  morning  hours, — to  the  stillness  and  quiet  of  my  room  in 
this  house  of  God  when  I  have  been  permitted  to  "  prevent  the 
dawning  of  the  morning"  in  the  study  of  the  Bible,  while  the 
inhabitants  of  this  great  city  were  slumbering  round  about  me, 
and  before  the  cares  of  the  day  and  its  direct  responsibilities 
came  upon  me, — I  refer,  I  say,  to  these  scenes  as  among  the  hap- 
piest portions  of  my  life  j  and  I  could  not  do  a  better  thing  in 
reference  to  my  younger  brethren  in  the  ministry,  than  to  com- 
mend this  habit  to  them  as  one  closely  connected  with  their  own 
personal  piety,  and  their  usefulness  in  the  world.  ' 

Life  at  Three-Score. 


ROBERT  C.  SANDS,  1799—1832. 

Robert  C.  Sands  was  born  in  the  city  of  New  York,  May  11,  1799.  He  en- 
tered the  Sophomore  class  in  Columbia  College  in  1S12,  and  was  graduated,  with 
a  high  reputation  for  scholarship,  in  1815.  He  soon  after  began  the  study  of  law 
in  the  office  of  David  B.  Ogden,  entering  upon  his  new  course  of  study  with  great 
ardor,  and  pursuing  it  with  steady  zeal.  He  had  formed  in  college  an  inti- 
mate friendship  with  James  Eastburn,  afterwards  a  clergyman  of  the  Protestant 
Episcopal  Church;  and  in  1817  he  commenced,  in  conjunction  with  his  clerical 
friend,  a  romantic  poem,  founded  on  the  history  of  Philip,  the  celebrated  Sachem 
of  the  Pequods.  But  Mr.  Eastburn's  health  began  to  fail  early  in  1S19,  and  he 
died  in  December  of  that  year,  before  the  work  was  completed.  It  was  therefore 
revised,  arranged,  and  completed,  with  many  additions,  by  Sands,  who  introduced 
it  with  a  touching  proem,  in  which  the  surviving  poet  mourned,  in  elevated  and 
feeling  strains,  the  accomplished  friend  of  his  youth.  The  poem  was  published, 
under  the  title  of  Yamoyden,  at  New  York,  in  1820,  was  received  with  high 
commendation,  and  gave  Mr.  Sands  great  literary  reputation  throughout  the 
United  States. 

In  1820,  Mr.  Sands  was  admitted  to  the  bar,  and  opened  an  office  in  the  city 
of  New  York ;  but  his  ardent  love  of  general  literature  gradually  weaned  him 
from  his  profession.  In  1822  and  1823,  he  wrote  many  articles  for  the  "Literary 
Review,"  a  monthly  periodical,  and  in  1824  the  "Atlantic  Magazine"  was 
established  and  placed  under  his  charge.  He  gave  it  up  in  six  months;  but 
when  it  became  changed  to  the  "  New  York  Review,"  he  was  engaged  as  an 
editor,  and  assisted  in  conducting  it  till  1827.  He  had  now  become  an  author 
by  profession,  and  looked  to  his  pen  for  support,  as  he  had  before  looked  to  it  for 
fame  or  for  amusement;  and  when  an  offer  of  a  liberal  salary  was  made  him 
as  an  assistant  editor  of  the  "  New  York  Commercial  Advertiser,"  he  accepted 
it,  and  continued  his  connection  with  that  journal  until  his  death,  which  took 
place  on  the  17th  of  December,  1832 ;  in  the  mean  time  editing  and  writing  a 


ROBERT  C.  SANDS. 


467 


great  number  of  miscellaneous  works.  A  selection  from  his  works  was  published 
in  1834,  in  two  volumes,  octavo,  entitled  Writings  in  Prose  and  Verse,  with  a 
Memoir.1 

FROM  THE  PROEM  TO  YAMOYDEN. 

Go  forth,  sad  fragments  of  a  broken  strain, 

The  last  that  either  bard  shall  e'er  essay : 
The  hand  can  ne'er  attempt  the  chords  again 

That  first  awoke  them  in  a  happier  day  : 

Where  sweeps  the  ocean-breeze  its  desert  way, 
His  requiem  murmurs  o'er  the  moaning  wave ; 

And  he  who  feebly  now  prolongs  the  lay 
Shall  ne'er  the  minstrel's  hallow'd  honors  crave ; 
His  harp  lies  buried  deep  in  that  untimely  grave  !2 

Friend  of  my  youth !  with  thee  began  the  love 

Of  sacred  song ;  the  wont,  in  golden  dreams, 
'Mid  classic  realms  of  splendors  past  to  rove, 

O'er  haunted  steep,  and  by  immortal  streams ; 

Where  the  blue  wave,  with  sparkling  bosom,  gleams 
Round  shores,  the  mind's  eternal  heritage, 

Forever  lit  by  memory's  twilight  beams ; 
Where  the  proud  dead,  that  live  in  storied  page, 
Beckon,  with  awful  port,  to  glory's  earlier  age. 

There  would  we  linger  oft,  entranced,  to  hear, 

O'er  battle-fields,  the  epic  thunders  roll; 
Or  list,  where  tragic  wail  upon  the  ear 

Through  Argive  palaces  shrill  echoing  stole; 

There  would  we  mark,  uncurb'd  by  all  control, 
In  central  heaven,  the  Theban  eagle's  flight; 

Or  hold  communion  with  the  musing  soul 
Of  sage  or  bard,  who  sought,  'mid  pagan  night, 
In  loved  Athenian  groves,  for  truth's  eternal  light. 

****** 
Friend  of  my  youth !  with  thee  began  my  song, 

And  o'er  thy  bier  its  latest  accents  die ; 
Misled  in  phantom-peopled  realms  too  long — ■ 

Though  not  to  me  the  muse  averse  deny, 

Sometimes,  perhaps,  her  visions  to  descry — 
Such  thriftless  pastime  should  with  youth  be  o'er ; 

And  he  who  loved  with  thee  his  notes  to  try, 
But  for  thy  sake  such  idlesse  would  deplore — 
And  swears  to  meditate  the  thankless  muse  no  more. 


1  "  That  American  literature  experienced  a  great  loss  in  the  early  death  of  Sands, 
will  be  felt  by  the  reader  who  makes  acquaintance  with  his  well-cultivated, 
prompt,  exuberant  genius,  which  promised,  had  life  been  spared,  a  distinguished 
career  of  genial  mental  activity  and  productiveness." — Duvckinck. 

A  series  of  interesting  papers  on  the  early  and  unpublished  writings  of  this 
"true  son  of  genius"  may  be  found  in  the  twenty-first  and  twenty-second  volumes 
of  the  "  Knickerbocker  Magazine." 

2  Mr.  Eastburn  died  December,  1819,  on  a  voyage  to  Santa  Cruz,  undertaken 
to  regain  his  health. 


468 


ROBERT  C.  SANDS. 


ODE  TO  EVENING. 

Hail !  sober  evening !  thee  the  harass'd  brain 

And  aching  heart  with  fond  orisons  greet  ; 
The  respite  thou  of  toil ;  the  balm  of  pain  ; 

To  thoughtful  mind  the  hour  for  musing  meet : 

'Tis  then  the  sage,  from  forth  his  lone  retreat, 
The  rolling  universe  around  espies ; 

'Tis  then  the  bard  may  hold  communion  sweet 
With  lovely  shapes,  unkenn'd  by  grosser  eyes, 
And  quick  perception  comes  of  finer  mysteries. 

The  silent  hour  of  bliss !  when  in  the  west 

Her  argent  cresset  lights  the  star  of  love : — 
The  spiritual  hour !  when  creatures  blest 

Unseen  return  o'er  former  haunts  to  rove ; 

While  sleep  his  shadowy  mantle  spreads  above, 
Sleep,  brother  of  forgetfulness  and  death, 

Round  well-known  couch  with  noiseless  tread  they  rove, 
In  tones  of  heavenly  music  comfort  breathe, 
And  tell  what  weal  or  bale  shall  chance  the  moon  beneath. 

Hour  of  devotion !  like  a  distant  sea, 

The  world's  loud  voices  faintly  murmuring  die ; 
Responsive  to  the  spheral  harmony, 

While  grateful  hymns  are  borne  from  earth  on  high. 

Oh !  who  can  gaze  on  yon  unsullied  sky, 
And  not  grow  purer  from  the  heavenward  view  ? 

As  those,  the  Virgin  Mother's  meek,  full  eye 
Who  met,  if  uninspired  lore  be  true, 
Felt  a  new  birth  within,  and  sin  no  longer  knew. 

Let  others  hail  the  oriflamme  of  morn, 

O'er  kindling  hills  unfurl'd  with  gorgeous  dyes ! 

0,  mild,  blue  Evening !  still  to  thee  I  turn, 

With  holier  thought,  and  with  undazzled  eyes  ; — 
Where  wealth  and  power  with  glare  and  splendor  rise, 

Let  fools  and  slaves  disgustful  incense  burn  ! 
Still  Memory's  moonlight  lustre  let  me  prize ; 

The  great,  the  good,  whose  course  is  o'er,  discern, 

And,  from  their  glories  past,  time's  mighty  lessons  learn ! 

From  "  Yamoyden." 

MONODY  ON  SAMUEL  PATCH.1 
"  By  water  shall  he  die,  and  take  his  end." — Shakspeare. 

Toll  for  Sam  Patch !    Sam  Patch,  who  jumps  no  more, 
This  or  the  world  to  come.    Sam  Patch  is  dead ! 

The  vulgar  pathway  to  the  unknown  shore 
Of  dark  futurity,  he  would  not  tread. 


1  Samuel  Patch  was  a  boatman  on  the  Erie  Canal,  in  New  York.  He  made 
himself  notorious  by  leaping  from  the  masts  of  ships,  from  the  Falls  of  Niagara, 


ROBERT  C.  SANDS. 


469 


No  friends  stood  sorrowing  round  his  dying  bed ; 
Nor,  with  decorous  woe,  sedately  stepp'd 

Behind  his  corpse,  and  tears  by  retail  shed  ; — ■ 
The  mighty  river,  as  it  onward  swept, 
In  one  great,  wholesale  sob,  his  body  drown'd  and  kept. 

Toll  for  Sam  Patch !  he  scorn'd  the  common  way 
That  leads  to  fame,  up  heights  of  rough  ascent, 

And  having  heard  Pope  and  Longinus  say, 

That  some  great  men  had  risen  to  falls,  he  went 
And  jurap'd  where  wild  Passaic's  waves  had  rent 

The  antique  rocks  ; — the  air  free  passage  gave, — 
And  graciously  the  liquid  element 

Upbore  him,  like  some  sea-god  on  itB  wave ; 

And  all  the  people  said  that  Sam  was  very  brave. 

Fame,  the  clear  spirit  that  doth  to  heaven  upraise, 

Led  Sam  to  dive  into  what  Byron  calls 
The  hell  of  waters.    For  the  sake  of  praise, 

He  woo'd  the  bathos  down  great  waterfalls ; 

The  dizzy  precipice,  which  the  eye  appalls 
Of  travellers  for  pleasure,  Samuel  found 

Pleasant,  as  are  to  women  lighted  halls 
Cramm'd  full  of  fools  and  fiddles ;  to  the  sound 
Of  the  eternal  roar,  he  timed  his  desperate  bound. 

Sam  was  a  fool.    But  the  large  world  of  such 

Has  thousands, — better  taught,  alike  absurd, 
And  less  sublime.    Of  fame  he  soon  got  much, 

Where  distant  cataracts  spout,  of  him  men  heard. 

Alas  for  Sam !    Had  he  aright  preferr'd 
The  kindly  element  to  which  he  gave 

Himself  so  fearlessly,  we  had  not  heard 
That  it  was  now  his  winding-sheet  and  grave, 
Nor  sung,  'twixt  tears  and  smiles,  our  requiem  for  the  brave. 

I  say,  the  muse  shall  quite  forget  to  sound 

The  chord  whose  music  is  undying,  if 
She  do  not  strike  it  when  Sam  Patch  is  drown'd. 

Leander  dived  for  love.    Leucadia's  cliff 

The  Lesbian  Sappho  leap'd  from  in  a  miff, 
To  punish  Phaon  ;  Icarus  went  dead, 

Because  the  wax  did  not  continue  stiff ; 
And,  had  he  minded  what  his  father  said, 
He  had  not  given  a  name  unto  his  watery  bed. 

And  Helle's  case  was  all  an  accident, 

As  everybody  knows.    Why  sing  of  these  ? 


and  from  the  Falls  in  the  Genesee  River,  at  Rochester.  He  did  this,  as  he  said, 
to  show  "  that  some  things  can  be  done  as  well  as  others and  hence  this,  now, 
proverbial  phrase.  His  last  feat  was  in  the  summer  of  1831,  when,  in  the  pre- 
sence of  many  thousands,  he  jumped  from  above  the  highest  rock  over  which  the 
water  falls  in  the  Genesee,  and  was  lost.  He  had  drank  too  freely  before 
going  upon  the  scaffold,  and  lost  his  balance  in  descending.  The  above  verses 
were  written  a  few  days  after  this  event. 

.  40 


ROBERT  C.  SANDS. 


Nor  -would  I  rank  with  Sam  that  man  who  went 
Down  into  ^Etna's  womb — Empedocles 
I  think  he  call'd  himself.    Themselves  to  please, 

Or  else  unwillingly,  they  made  their  springs; 
For  glory  in  the  abstract,  Sam  made  his, 

To  prove  to  all  men,  commons,  lords,  and  kings, 

That  "some  things  may  be  done  as  well  as  other  things." 

And  while  Niagara  prolongs  its  thunder, 

Though  still  the  rock  primeval  disappears, 
And  nations  change  their  bounds — the  theme  of  wonder 

Shall  Sam  go  down  the  cataract  of  long  years; 

And  if  there  be  sublimity  in  tears, 
Those  shall  be  precious  which  the  adventurer  shed 

When  his  frail  star  gave  way,  and  waked  his  fears 
Lest  by  the  ungenerous  crowd  it  might  be  said 
That  he  was  all  a  hoax,  or  that  his  pluck  had  fled. 

Who  would  compare  the  maudlin  Alexander, 

Blubbering,  because  he  had  no  job  in  hand, 
Acting  the  hypocrite,  or  else  the  gander, 

With  Sam,  whose  grief  we  all  can  understand  ? 

His  crying  was  not  womanish,  nor  plann'd 
For  exhibition  ;  but  his  heart  o'erswell'd 

With  its  own  agony,  when  he  the  grand 
Natural  arrangements  for  a  jump  beheld, 
And,  measuring  the  cascade,  found  not  his  courage  quell' d, 

But,  ere  he  leap'd,  he  begg'd  of  those  who  made 

Money  by  his  dread  venture,  that  if  he 
Should  perish,  such  collection  should  be  paid 

As  might  be  pick'd  up  from  the  "  company" 

To  his  mother.    This,  his  last  request,  shall  be — 
Though  she  who  bore  him  ne'er  his  fate  should  know — 

An  iris,  glittering  o'er  his  memory, 
When  all  the  streams  have  worn  their  barriers  low, 
And,  by  the  sea  drunk  up,  forever  cease  to  flow. 

Therefore  it  is  considered,  that  Sam  Patch 

Shall  never  be  forgot  in  prose  or  rhyme  ; 
His  name  shall  be  a  portion  in  the  batch 

Of  the  heroic  dough,  which  baking  Time 

Kneads  for  consuming  ages — and  the  chime 
Of  Fame's  old  bells,  long  as  they  truly  ring, 

Shall  tell  of  him :  he  dived  for  the  sublime, 
And  found  it.    Thou,  who  with  the  eagle's  wing, 
Being  a  goose,  wouldst  fly, — dream  not  of  such  a  thing! 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  DOANE. 


471 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  DOANE. 

George  Washington  Doane,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  Bishop  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal 
Church  of  the  Diocese  of  New  Jersey,  was  born  in  Trenton,  New  Jersey,  on  the 
27th  of  May,  1799.  At  the  age  of  nineteen,  he  graduated  at  Union  College,  and 
soon  after  commenced  the  study  of  theology.  He  officiated,  for  four  years,  as 
assistant  minister  in  Trinity  Church,  New  York,  and,  in  1824,  was  appointed 
Professor  of  Belles-Lettres  and  Oratory  in  Washington  College,  Hartford,  Con- 
necticut. This  chair  he  resigned  in  1828,  and  accepted  an  invitation  from  Trinity 
Church,  Boston,  as  an  assistant  minister.  The  next  year,  he  was  married  to  Mrs. 
Eliza  Greene  Perkins,  and,  in  1830,  was  elected  the  rector  of  the  church  in  which 
for  two  years  he  had  officiated  as  assistant.  On  the  31st  of  October,  1832,  he  was 
consecrated  Bishop  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  of  New  Jersey,  and  the 
next  year  became  rector  of  St.  Mary's  Church,  Burlington. 

Besides  attending  to  the  arduous  duties  of  his  official  position,  Bishop  Doanc 
has  interested, himself  very  much  in  the  cause  of  education,  and  has  labored  assi- 
duously to  promote  its  best  interests.  In  1837,  he  founded  St.  Mary's  Hall,  Bur- 
lington,— a  school  for  young  ladies ;  and,  in  1846,  Burlington  College, — both  of 
which  are  highly  flourishing. 

Bishop  Doane  has  published  no  large  work  upon  any  one  subject;  yet  his 
publications  have  been  numerous,  consisting  mostly  of  sermons,  charges,  and 
literary  addresses.  In  1824,  he  published  a  small  volume  of  poetry,  entitled 
Songs  by  the  Way,  chiefly  Devotional ;  and,  from  time  to  time,  occasional  pieces 
of  singular  beauty.  Indeed,  throughout  all  his  writings,  both  prose  and  poetry, 
there  is  seen  a  refined  taste  and  a  classic  finish,  that  give  him  a  rank  among  our 
purest  writers.    He  died  at  Burlington,  N.  J.  April  26th,  1859. 

ON  AN  OLD  WEDDING-RING. 

The  Device.— Two  hearts  united. 

The  Motto. — Dear  love  of  mine,  my  heart  is  thine. 

I  like  that  ring — that  ancient  ring, 

Of  massive  form,  and  virgin  gold, 
As  firm,  as  free  from  base  alloy 

As  were  the  sterling  hearts  of  old. 
I  like  it — for  it  wafts  me  back, 

Far,  far  along  the  stream  of  time, 
To  other  men,  and  other  days, 

The  men  and  days  of  deeds  sublime. 

But  most  I  like  it,  as  it  tells 

The  tale  of  well-requited  love ; 
How  youthful  fondness  persevered, 

And  youthful  faith  disdain'd  to  rove- — 
How  warmly  he  his  suit  preferr'd, 

Though  she,  unpitying,  long  denied, 
Till,  soften'd  and  subdued,  at  last, 

He  won  his  "  fair  and  blooming  bride."- 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  DOANE. 


How,  till  the  appointed  clay  arrived, 

They  blamed  the  lazy-footed  hours — 
How,  then,  the  white-robed  maiden  train 

Strew'd  their  glad  way  with  freshest  flowers — 
And  how,  before  the  holy  man, 

They  stood,  in  all  their  youthful  pride, 
And  spoke  those  words,  and  vow'd  those  vows, 

Which  bind  the  husband  to  his  bride : 

All  this  it  tells ;  the  plighted  troth— 

The  gift  of  every  earthly  thing — 
The  hand  in  hand — the  heart  in  heart — 

For  this  I  like  that  ancient  ring. 
I  like  its  old  and  quaint  device ; 

"Two  blended  hearts'' — though  time  may  wear  them, 
No  mortal  change,  no  mortal  chance, 

"  Till  death,"  shall  e'er  in  sunder  tear  them. 

Year  after  year,  'neath  sun  and  storm, 

Their  hope  in  heaven,  their  trust  in  God, 
In  changeless,  heartfelt,  holy,  love, 

These  two  the  world's  rough  pathway  trod. 
Age  might  impair  their  youthful  fires, 

Their  strength  might  fail,  'mid  life's  bleak  weather, 
Still,  hand  in  hand,  they  travell'd  on — ■ 

Kind  souls !  they  slumber  now  together. 

I  like  its  simple  poesy,  too : 

"  Mine  own  dear  love,  this  heart  is  thine  I" 
Thine,  when  the  dark  storm  howls  along, 

As  when  the  cloudless  sunbeams  shine, 
"  This  heart  is  thine,  mine  own  dear  love  !" 

Thine,  and  thine  only,  and  forever : 
Thine,  till  the  springs  of  life  shall  fail ; 

Thine,  till  the  cords  of  life  shall  sever. 

Remnant  of  days  departed  long, 

Emblem  of  plighted  troth  unbroken, 
Pledge  of  devoted  faithfulness, 

Of  heartfelt,  holy  love,  the  token : 
What  varied  feelings  round  it  cling ! — 
For  these,  I  like  that  ancient  ring. 


THAT  SILENT  MOON. 

That  silent  moon,  that  silent  moon, 
Careering  now  through  cloudless  sky, 

Oh,  who  shall  tell  what  varied  scenes 
Have  pass'd  beneath  her  placid  eye, 

Since  first,  to  light  this  wayward  earth, 

She  walk'd  in  tranquil  beauty  forth ! 

How  oft  has  guilt's  unhallow'd  hand, 
And  superstition's  senseless  rite, 

And  loud,  licentious  revelry 

Profaned  her  pure  and  holy  light : 


GRENVILLE  MELLEN. 


473 


Small  sympathy  is  hers,  I  ween, 

With  sights  like  these,  that  virgin  queen ! 

But  dear  to  her,  in  summer  eve, 
By  rippling  wave,  or  tufted  grove, 

When  hand  in  hand  is  purely  clasp'd, 
And  heart  meets  heart  in  holy  love, 

To  smile  in  quiet  loneliness, 

And  hear  each  whisper'd  vow,  and  bless. 

Dispersed  along  the  world's  wide  way, 
When  friends  are  far,  and  fond  ones  rove, 

How  powerful  she  to  wake  the  thought, 
And  start  the  tear  for  those  we  love, 

Who  watch  with  us  at  night's  pale  noon, 

And  gaze  upon  that  silent  moon ! 

How  powerful,  too,  to  hearts  that  mourn, 
The  magic  of  that  moonlight  sky, 

To  bring  again  the  vanish'd  scenes — 
The  happy  eves  of  days  gone  by ; 

Again  to  bring,  'mid  bursting  tears, 

The  loved,  the  lost,  of  other  years  ! 

And  oft  she  looks,  that  silent  moon, 
On  lonely  eyes  that  wake  to  weep 

In  dungeon  dark,  or  sacred  cell, 

Or  couch,  whence  pain  has  banish'd  sleep  : 

Oh,  softly  beams  her  gentle  eye 

On  those  who  mourn,  and  those  who  die ! 

But,  beam  on  whomsoe'er  she  will, 
And  fall  where'er  her  splendors  may, 

There's  pureness  in  her  chasten'd  light, 
There's  comfort  in  her  tranquil  ray  : 

What  power  is  hers  to  soothe  the  heart ! — 

What  power  the  trembling  tear  to  start ! 

The  dewy  morn  let  others  love, 
Or  bask  them  in  the  noontide  ray ; 

There's  not  an  hour  but  has  its  charm, 
From  dawning  light  to  dying  day  : — 

But,  oh,  be  mine  a  fairer  boon — 

That  silent  moon,  that  silent  moon  ! 


GRENVILLE  MELLEN,  1799—1841. 

^kenville  Mellek,  son  of  the  late  Chief-Justice  Prentiss  Mellen,  LL.D.,  of 
JMla'hh;,  was  born  in  the  town  of  Biddeford,  in  that  State,  on  the  19th  of  June, 
IV  5)9,  and  graduated  at  Harvard  University  in  1818.  He  entered  the  profession 
of  the  law,  but,  finding  it  not  suited  to  his  feelings,  abandoned  it  for  the  more  con- 
genial attractions  of  poetry  and  general  literature.  He  resided  five  or  six  years 
in  Boston,  and  afterwards  in  New  York.   His  health  had  always  been  rather  deli- 

40* 


474 


GRENVILLE  MELLEN. 


cate,  and  in  1840,  in  hopes  of  deriving  advantage  from  a  milder  climate,  he  made 
a  voyage  to  Cuba.  But  he  was  not  benefited  materially  by  the  change,  and,  learn- 
ing, the  next  spring,  of  the  death  of  his  father,  he  returned  home,  and  died  in  New 
York  on  the  5th  of  September,  1841. 

Mr.  Mellen  wrote  for  various  magazines  and  periodicals.  In  1826,  he  delivered, 
at  Portland,  before  the  Peace  Society  of  Maine,  a  poem,  entitled  The  Rest  of  Em- 
pires. In  1827,  he  published  Our  Chronicle  of  Twenty-Six,  a  satire;  and  in  1829, 
Glad  Talcs  and  Sad  Tales, — a  volume  in  prose,  from  his  contributions  to  the 
periodicals.  The  Martyr's  Triumph,  Buried  Valley,  and  other  Poems,  appeared  in 
1834.  The  first-named  poem  is  founded  on  the  history  of  Saint  Alban,  the  first 
Christian  martyr  in  England.  In  the  Buried  Valley  he  describes  the  terrible 
avalanche  at  The  Notch  in  the  White  Mountains,  in  1S26,  by  which  the  Willey 
family  was  destroyed.1 

THE  MARTYR. 

Not  yet,  not.  yet  the  martyr  dies.    He  sees 

His  triumph  on  its  way.    He  hears  the  crash 
Of  the  loud  thunder  round  his  enemies, 

And  dim  through  tears  of  blood  he  sees  it  dash 
His  dwelling  and  its  idols.    Joy  to  him ! 

The  Lord — the  Lord  hath  spoken  from  the  sky ! 
The  loftier  glories  on  his  eyeballs  swim ! 

He  hears  the  trumpet  of  Eternity! 

Calling  his  spirit  home — a  clarion  voice  on  high ! 

Yet,  yet  one  moment  linger !    Who  are  they 

That  sweep  far  off  along  the  quivering  air  ? 
It  is  God's  bright,  immortal  company — 

The  martyr  pilgrim  and  his  band  are  there ! 
Shadows  with  golden  crowns  and  sounding  lyres, 

And  the  white  royal  robes,  are  issuing  out, 
And  beckon  upwards  through  the  wreathing  fires, 

The  blazing  pathway  compassing  about, 

With  radiant  heads  unveird,  and  anthems  joyful  shout! 

He  sees,  he  hears !  upon  his  dying  gaze, 

Forth  from  the  throng  one  bright-hair'd  angel  near, 
Stoops  his  red  pinion  through  the  mantling  blaze — 

It  is  the  heaven-triumphing  wanderer  ! 
"I  come — we  meet  again!" — the  martyr  cries, 

And  smiles  of  deathless  gloiy  round  him  play : 
Then  on  that  flaming  cross  he  bows — and  dies ! 

His  ashes  eddy  on  the  sinking  day, 

While  through  the  roaring  oak  his  spirit  wings  its  way ! 


1  Upon  the  merits  of  Grenville  Mellen's  poetry,  a  writer  in  the  22d  vol.  of  the 
"American  Quarterly  Review"  thus  remarks: — "  There  is  in  these  poems  no  un- 
usual sublimity  to  awaken  surprise,  no  extreme  pathos  to  communicate  the  luxury 
of  grief,  no  chivalrous  narrative  to  stir  the  blood  to  adventure,  no  high-painted 
ardor  in  love  to  make  us  enraptured  with  beauty.  Yet  we  were  charmed ;  for  we 
love  purity  of  sentiment,  and  we  found  it- j  we  love  amiability  of  heart,  and  here 
we  could  perceive  it  in  every  stanza.  The  muse  of  Mellen  delights  in  the  beauties, 
not  in  the  deformities,  of  nature  :  she  is  more  inclined  to  celebrate  the  virtues  than 
denounce  the  vices  of  man." 


GRENVILLE  MELLEN. 


THE  EAGLE. 

OX  SEEING  AN  EAGLE  PASS  NEAR  ME  IN  AUTUMN  TWILIGHT. 

Sail  on,  thou  lone  imperial  bird, 

Of  quenchless  eye  and  tireless  wing  ; 
How  is  thy  distant  coming  heard 

As  the  night's  breezes  round  thee  ring ! 
Thy  course  was  'gainst  the  burning  sun 

In  his  extremest  glory  !    How ! 
Is  thy  unequall'd  daring  done, 

Thou  stoop'st  to  earth  so  lowly  now  ? 

Or  hast  thou  left  thy  rocking  dome, 

Thy  roaring  crag,  thy  lightning  pine, 
To  find  some  secret,  meaner  home, 

Less  stormy  and  unsafe  than  thine  ? 
Else  why  thy  dusky  pinions  bend 

So  closely  to  this  shadowy  world, 
And  round  thy  searching  glances  send, 

As  wishing  thy  broad  pens  were  furl'd  ? 

Yet  lonely  is  thy  shatter'd  nest, 

Thy  eyry  desolate,  though  high  ; 
And  lonely  thou,  alike,  at  rest, 

Or  soaring  in  thy  upper  sky. 
The  golden  light  that  bathes  thy  plumes, 

On  thine  interminable  flight, 
Falls  cheerless  on  earth's  desert  tombs, 

And  makes  the  North's  ice-mountains  bright. 

So  come  the  eagle-hearted  down, 

So  come  the  proud  and  high  to  earth, 
When  life's  night-gathering  tempests  frown 

Over  their  glory  and  their  mirth  ; 
So  quails  the  mind's  undying  eye, 

That  bore  unveil'd  fame's  noontide  sun  ; 
So  man  seeks  solitude,  to  die, 

His  high  place  left,  his  triumphs  done. 

So,  round  the  residence  of  power, 

A  cold  and  joyless  lustre  shines, 
And  on  life's  pinnacles  will  lower 

Clouds  dark  as  bathes  the  eagle's  pines. 
But,  oh,  the  mellow  light  that  pours 

From  God's  pure  throne — the  light  that  saves ! 
It  warms  the  spirit  as  it  soars, 

And  sheds  deep  radiance  round  our  graves. 


CONSCIENCE. 

Voice  of  the  viewless  spirit !  that  hast  rung 
Through  the  still  chambers  of  the  human  heart, 

Since  our  first  parents  in  sweet  Eden  sung 
Their  low  lament  in  tears — thou  voice,  that  art 


476 


WILLIAM  B.  O.  PEABODY. 


Around  us  and  above  us,  sounding  on 

With  a  perpetual  echo,  'tis  on  thee, 
The  ministry  sublime  to  wake  and  warn  ! — 

Full  of  that  high  and  wondrous  Deity, 
That  call'd  existence  out  from  Chaos'  lonely  sea ! 

Voice  that  art  heard  through  every  age  and  clime, 

Commanding  like  a  trumpet  every  ear 
That  lends  no  heeding  to  the  sounds  of  Time, 

Seal'd  up,  for  aye,  from  cradle  to  the  bier ! 
That  fallest,  like  a  watchman's  through  the  night, 

Round  those  who  sit  in  joy  and  those  who  weep, 
Yet  startling  all  men  with  thy  tones  of  might — 

0  voice,  that  dwellest  in  the  hallow'd  deep 
Of  our  own  bosom's  silence — eloquent  in  sleep ! 

That  comest  in  the  clearness  of  thy  power, 

Amid  the  crashing  battle's  wild  uproar, 
Stern  as  at  peaceful  midnight's  leaden  hour ; 

That  talkest  by  the  ocean's  bellowing  shore, 
When  surge  meets  surge  in  revelry,  and  lifts 

Its  booming  voice  above  the  weltering  sea ; 
That  risest  loudly  "mid  the  roaring  cliff's, 

And  o'er  the  deep-mouth'd  thunder  goest  free, 
E'en  as  the  silver  tones  of  quiet  infancy ! 

Spirit  of  God !  what  sovereignty  is  thine  ! 

Thine  is  no  homage  of  the  bended  knee ; 
Thou  hast  of  vassalage  no  human  sign  ; 

Yet  monarchs  hold  no  royal  rule  like  thee ! 
Unlike  the  crowned  idols  of  our  race, 

Thou  dost  no  earthly  pomp  about  thee  cast, 
Thou  tireless  sentinel  of  elder  days  !  — 

Who,  who  to  Conscience  doth  not  bow  at  last, 
Old  arbiter  of  Time — the  present  and  the  past ! 

Thou  wast  from  God  when  the  green  earth  was  young, 

And  man  enchanted  roved  amid  its  flowers, 
When  faultless  woman  to  his  bosom  clung, 

Or  led  him  through  her  paradise  of  bowers  ; 
Where  love's  low  whispers  from  the  Garden  rose, 

And  both  amid  its  bloom  and  beauty  bent, 
In  the  long  luxury  of  their  first  repose  ! 

When  the  whole  earth  was  incense,  and  there  went 
Perpetual  praise  from  altars  to  the  firmament. 


WILLIAM  B.  0.  PEABODY,  1799—1847. 

William  Bourne  Oliver  Peabody,  son  of  Judge  Oliver  Peabody,  of  Exeter, 
New  Hampshire,  was  born  in  that  town,  July  9,  1799, 1  and,  after  completing  his 
preparatory  studies  at  Phillips  Academy,  in  his  native  town,  he  entered  Harvard 


1  He  had  a  twin-brother,  Oliver  William  Bourne  Peabody:  the  two  fitted  for 
sollegc  together  at  Exeter  Academy,  and  graduated  together.    Oliver  studied  law 


WILLIAM  B.  O.  PEABODY. 


477 


College,  where  he  graduated  in  1816.  In  1820,  he  became  the  pastor  of  a  Uni- 
tarian congregation  at  Springfield,  Massachusetts,  -where  he  resided  till  his  death, 
on  the  28th  of  May,  1817. 1  Besides  the  faithful  discharge  of  his  parochial 
duties,  Mr.  Peabody  wrote  numerous  articles  for  the  "North  American  Review" 
and  the  "  Christian  Examiner,"  and  is  the  author  of  many  beautiful  occasional 
pieces  of  poetry,  of  which  none  deserves  more  to  be  remembered  than  his 

HYMN  OF  NATURE. 

God  of  the  earth's  extended  plains ! 

The  dark  green  fields  contented  lie : 
The  mountains  rise  like  holy  towers, 

Where  man  might  commune  with  the  sky : 
The  tall  cliff  challenges  the  storm 

That  lowers  upon  the  vale  below, 
Where  shaded  fountains  send  their  streams, 

With  joyous  music  in  their  flow. 

God  of  the  dark  and  heavy  deep  ! 

The  waves  lie  sleeping  on  the  sands, 
Till  the  fierce  trumpet  of  the  storm 

Hath  summon'd  up  their  thundering  bands ; 
Then  the  white  sails  are  dash'd  like  foam, 

Or  hurry,  trembling,  o'er  the  seas, 
Till,  calm'd  by  thee,  the  sinking  gale 

Serenely  breathes,  "Depart  in  peace." 

God  of  the  forest's  solemn  shade! 

The  grandeur  of  the  lonely  tree, 
That  wrestles  singly  with  the  gale, 

Lifts  up  admiring  eyes  to  thee  ; 
But  more  majestic  far  they  stand, 

When,  side  by  side,  their  ranks  they  form, 
To  wave  on  high  their  plumes  of  green, 

And  fight  their  battles  with  the  storm. 

God  of  the  light  and  viewless  air  ! 

Where  summer  breezes  sweetly  flow, 
Or,  gathering  in  their  angry  might, 

The  fierce  and  wintry  tempests  blow ; 
All — from  the  evening's  plaintive  sigh, 

That  hardly  lifts  the  drooping  flower, 
To  the  wild  whirlwind's  midnight  cry — 

Breathe  forth  the  language  of  thy  power. 

God  of  the  fair  and  open  sky  ! 
How  gloriously  above  us  springs 


at  first,  but  afterwards  turned  his  attention  more  to  literature,  and  assisted  Alex- 
ander H.  Everett,  in  1831,  in  the  editorship  of  the  "North  American  Review." 
Subsequently  he  studied  theologv,  settled  in  Burlington,  Vermont,  and  died 
July  6,  1848. 

1  Read  a  discourse  delivered  at  his  funeral  by  Rev.  Ezra  Stiles  Gannett,  D.D., 
and  an  article  in  the  "  Christian  Examiner,"  September,  1S47. 


478 


LYDIA  MARIA  CHILD. 


The  tented  dome,  of  heavenly  blue, 
Suspended  on  the  rainbow's  rings  ! 

Each  brilliant  star,  that  sparkles  through, 
Each  gilded  cloud,  that  wanders  free 

In  evening's  purple  radiance,  gives 
The  beauty  of  its  praise  to  thee. 

God  of  the  rolling  orbs  above  ! 

Thy  name  is  written  clearly  bright 
In  the  warm  day's  unvarying  blaze, 

Or  evening's  golden  shower  of  light. 
For  every  fire  that  fronts  the  sun, 

And  every  spark  that  walks  alone 
Around  the  utmost  verge  of  heaven, 

Were  kindled  at  thy  burning  throne. 

God  of  the  world !  the  hour  must  come, 

And  nature's  self  to  dust  return  ; 
Her  crumbling  altars  must  decay  ; 

Her  incense-fires  shall  cease  to  burn  ; 
But  still  her  grand  and  lovely  scenes 

Have  made  man's  warmest  praises  flow  ; 
For  hearts  grow  holier  as  they  trace 

The  beauty  of  the  world  below. 


LYDIA  MARIA  CHILD. 

Lydia  Maria  Francis,  though  born  in  Massachusetts,  spent  the  early  portion 
of  her  youth  in  Maine.  While  on  a  visit  to  her  brother,  the  Rev.  Convers  Fran- 
cis, of  Watertown,  in  the  latter  part  of  1S23,  she  was  prompted  to  write  her  first 
work  by  reading,  in  the  "  North  American  Review,"  an  article  on  Yamoyden,  in 
which  the  writer  (John  G.  Palfrey,  D.D.)  eloquently  describes  the  adaptation  of 
early  New  England  history  to  the  purposes  of  fiction ;  and  in  less  than  two 
months  her  first  work,  Hobomok,  appeared, — a  tale  founded  upon  the  early  history 
of  New  England,  which  was  received  with  very  great  favor.  The  next  year 
appeared  the  Rebels,  a  tale  of  the  Revolution.  In  1828,  she  was  married  to 
David  Lee  Child,  Esq.,  a  lawyer  of  Boston,  and  subsequently  the  editor  of  the 
"National  Anti-Slavery  Standard."  In  1827,  she  commenced  the  Juvenile  Mis- 
cellany, a  monthly  magazine  for  children.  It  was  an  admirable  work,  and  sonic 
of  Mrs.  Child's  best  pieces  are  to  be  found  in  it.  She  next  issued  the  Frugal 
Housewife,  a  work  on  domestic  economy,  designed  for  families  of  limited  means, 
and  a  most  useful  book  for  all.  In  1831  appeared  The  3fother's  Book,  full  of 
excellent  counsel  for  training  children;  and,  in  1832,  The  Girl's  Book.  Soon 
after,  she  prepared  the  lives  of  Madame  dc  Stael,  Madame  Roland,  Madame 
Guyon,  and  Lady  Russell,  for  the  Ladies'  Family  Library,  which  were  followed 
by  the  Biography  of  Good  Wives,  and  The  History  of  the  Condition  of  Women 
in  all  Ages,  in  two  volumes. 

The  year  1833  is  an  important  era  in  the  history  of  this  accomplished  lady,  as 


LYDIA  MARIA  CHILD. 


479 


in  it  she  took  her  stand,  nobly  and  ably,  upon  the  side  of  the  great  anti-slavery 
movement,  and  published  An  Appeal  for  that  Class  of  Americans  called  Africans, 
a  work  of  great  power,  and  which  produced  much  sensation.1  In  1835  appeared 
Philothea,  a  classical  romance  of  the  days  of  Pericles  and  Aspasia.  This  is  the 
most  scholarly  and  elaborate  of  her  productions,  and  shows  an  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  the  history  and  the  literature  of  that  most  brilliant  age. 

In  1841,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Child  removed  from  Boston  to  New  York,  and  became 
the  editors  of  the  "National  Anti-Slavery  Standard."  In  the  same  year  she  com- 
menced a  series  of  letters  for  the  "Boston  Courier,"  which  were  afterwards 
republished  in  two  volumes,  with  the  title  of  Letters  from  New  York  ;  a  pleasant 
series  of  descriptions  of  every-day  life  in  that  great  city,  and  abounding  with 
philosophical  and  thoughtful  truth.  In  1816,  Mrs.  Child  published  a  collection 
of  her  magazine-stories  under  the  title  of  Fact  and  Fiction.  Her  last  work,  one 
of  the  most  elaborate  she  has  undertaken,  is  entitled  The  Progress  of  Religions 
Ideas,  embracing  a  View  of  every  Form  of  Belief,  from  the  most  Ancient  Hindoo 
Records,  to  the  Complete  Establishment  of  the  Papcd  Church.2 

MARIUS. 

SUGGESTED   BY   A   PAINTING   BY  VANDERLYN,  OF    MARIUS    SEATED   AMONG  THE 
RUINS  OP  CARTHAGE. 

Pillars  are  fallen  at  thy  feet, 

Fanes  quiver  in  the  air, 
A  prostrate  city  is  thy  seat — 

And  thou  alone  art  there. 

No  change  comes  o'er  thy  noble  brow, 

Though  ruin  is  around  thee  ; 
Thine  eye-beam  burns  as  proudly  now, 

As  when  the  laurel  crown'd  thee. 

It  cannot  bend  thy  lofty  soul, 

Though  friends  and  fame  depart ; 
The  car  of  fate  may  o'er  thee  roll, 

Nor  crush  thy  Roman  heart. 

And  Genius  hath  electric  power, 
Which  earth  can  never  tame ; 


1  When  this  work  of  Mrs.  Child's  appeared,  Dr.  Channing,  it  is  said,  was  so 
delighted  with  it  that  he  at  once  walked  from  Boston  to  Roxbury  to  see  the 
author,  though  a  stranger  to  him,  and  to  thank  her  for  it. 

2  Of  Mrs.  Child's  Avritings  an  English  reviewer  thus  speaks : — "  Whatever 
comes  to  her  from  without,  whether  through  the  eye  or  the  ear,  whether  in  nature 
or  art,  is  reflected  in  her  writings  with  a  halo  of  beauty  thrown  about  it  by  her 
own  fancy;  and,  thus  presented,  it  appeals  to  our  sympathies  and  awakens  an 
interest  which  carves  it  upon  the  memory  in  letters  of  gold.  But  she  has  yet 
loftier  claims  to  respect  than  a  poetical  nature.  She  is  a  philosopher,  and,  better 
still,  a  religious  philosopher.  Every  page  presents  to  us  scraps  of  wisdom,  not 
pedantically  put  forth,  as  if  to  attract  admiration,  but  thrown  out  by  the  way,  in 
seeming  unconsciousness,  and  as  part  of  her  ordinary  thoughts." 


480 


LYDIA  MARIA  CHILD. 


Bright  suns  may  scorch,  and  dark  clouds  lower — - 
Its  flash  is  still  the  same. 

The  dreams  we  loved  in  early  life 

May  melt  like  mist  away ; 
High  thoughts  may  seem,  'mid  passion's  strife, 

Like  Carthage  in  decay. 

And  proud  hopes  in  the  human  heart 

May  be  to  ruin  hurl'd, 
Like  mouldering  monuments  of  art 

Heap'd  on  a  sleeping  world. 

Yet  there  is  something  will  not  die, 

Where  life  hath  once  been  fair; 
Some  towering  thoughts  still  rear  on  high, 

Some  Roman  lingers  there  ! 


A  STREET  SCENE. 

The  other  day,  as  I  came  down  Broome  Street,  I  saw  a  street- 
musician  playing  near  the  door  of  a  genteel  dwelling.  The  organ 
was  uncommonly  sweet  and  mellow  in  its  tones,  the  tunes  were 
slow  and  plaintive,  and  I  fancied  that  I  saw  in  the  woman's 
Italian  face  an  expression  that  indicated  sufficient  refinement  to 
prefer  the  tender  and  the  melancholy  to  the  lively  u  trainer  tunes" 
in  vogue  with  the  populace.  She  looked  like  one  who  had  suf- 
fered much,  and  the  sorrowful  music  seemed  her  own  appropriate 
voice.  A  little  girl  clung  to  her  scanty  garments,  as  if  afraid  of 
all  things  but  her  mother.  As  I  looked  at  them,  a  young  lady 
of  pleasing  countenance  opened  the  window,  and  began  to  sing 
like  a  bird,  in  keeping  with  the  street-organ.  Two  other  young 
girls  came  and  leaned  on  her  shoulder  ;  and  still  she  sang  on. 
Blessings  on  her  gentle  heart !  It  was  evidently  the  spontaneous 
gush  of  human  love  and  sympathy.  The  beauty  of  the  incident 
attracted  attention.  A  group  of  gentlemen  gradually  collected 
round  the  organist;  and  ever  as  the  tune  ended,  they  bowed  re- 
spectfully toward  the  window,  waved  their  hats,  and  called  out, 
"  More,  if  you  please  !"  One,  whom  I  knew  well  for  the  kindest 
and  truest  soul,  passed  round  his  hat;  hearts  were  kindled,  and 
the  silver  fell  in  freely.  In  a  minute,  four  or  five  dollars  were 
collected  for  the  poor  woman.  She  spoke  no  word  of  gratitude; 
but  she  gave  such  a  look  !  "  Will  you  go  to  the  next  street,  and 
play  to  a  friend  of  mine  ?"  said  my  kind-hearted  friend.  She 
answered,  in  tones  expressing  the  deepest  emotion,  "  No,  sir : 
God  bless  you  all;  God  bless  you  all"  (making  a  courtesy  to 
the  young  lady,  who  had  stepped  back,  and  stood  sheltered  by  the 
curtain  of  the  window:)  "I  will  play  no  more  to-day;  I  will  go 
home,  now."  The  tears  trickled  down  her  cheeks,  and,  as  she 
walked  away,  she  ever  and  anon  wiped  her  eyes  with  the  corner 


LYDIA  MARIA  CHILD. 


481 


of  her  shawl.  The  group  of  gentlemen  lingered  a  moment  to  look 
after  her ;  then,  turning  toward  the  now-closed  window,  they  gave 
three  enthusiastic  cheers,  and  departed,  better  than  they  came. 
The  pavement  on  which  they  stood  had  been  a  church  to  them ; 
and  for  the  next  hour,  at  least,  their  hearts  were  more  than  usually 
prepared  for  deeds  of  gentleness  and  mercy.  Why  are  such  scenes 
so  uncommon  t  Why  do  we  thus  repress  our  sympathies,  and 
chill  the  genial  current  of  nature,  by  formal  observances  and 
restraints  ? 

UNSELFISHNESS. 

found  the  Battery  unoccupied,  save  by  children,  whom  the 
weather  made  as  merry  as  birds.  Every  thing  seemed  moving  to 
the  vernal  tune  of 

"  Oh,  Brignall  banks  are  wild  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green." — Scott's  Rokeby. 

To  one  who  was  chasiug  her  hoop,  I  said,  smiling,  "  You  are  a 
nice  little  girl."  She  stopped,  looked  up  in  my  face,  so  rosy  and 
happy,  and,  laying  her  hand  on  her  brother's  shoulder,  exclaimed, 
earnestly,  "  And  he  is  a  nice  little  boy,  too  !"  It  was  a  simple, 
childlike  act,  but  it  brought  a  warm  gush  into  my  heart.  Bless- 
ings on  all  unselfishness  !  on  all  that  leads  us  in  love  to  prefer  one 
another!  Here  lies  the  secret  of  universal  harmony;  this  is  the 
diapason  which  would  bring  us  all  into  tune.  Only  by  losing 
ourselves  can  we  find  ourselves.  How  clearly  does  the  divine 
voice  within  us  proclaim  this,  by  the  hymn  of  joy  it  sings,  when- 
ever we  witness  an  unselfish  deed  or  hear  an  unselfish  thought. 
Blessings  on  that  loving  little  one !  She  made  the  city  seem  a 
garden  to  me.  I  kissed  my  hand  to  her,  as  I  turned  off  in  quest 
of  the  Brooklyn  ferry.  The  sparkling  waters  swarmed  with  boats, 
some  of  which  had  taken  a  big  ship  by  the  hand,  and  were  lead- 
ing her  out  to  sea,  as  the  prattle  of  childhood  often  guides  wisdom 
into  the  deepest  and  broadest  thought. 

POLITENESS. 

In  politeness,  as  in  many  other  things  connected  with  the 
formation  of  character,  people  in  general  begin  outside,  when 
they  should  begin  inside  j  instead  of  beginning  with  the  heart, 
and  trusting  that  to  form  the  manners,  they  begin  with  the  man- 
ners, and  trust  the  heart  to  chance  influences.  The  golden  rule 
contains  the  very  life  and  soul  of  politeness.  Children  may  be 
taught  to  make  a  graceful  courtesy,  or  a  gentlemanly  bow ;  but 
unless  they  have  likewise  been  taught  to  abhor  what  is  selfish,  and 
always  prefer  another's  comfort  and  pleasure  to  their  own,  their 

41 


482 


LYDIA  MARIA  CHILD. 


politeness  will  be  entirely  artificial,  and  used  only  when  it  is  their 
interest  to  use  it.  On  the  other  hand,  a  truly  benevolent,  kind- 
hearted  person  will  always  be  distinguished  for  what  is  called 
native  politeness,  though  entirely  ignorant  of  the  conventional 
forms  of  society. 

FLOWERS. 

How  the  universal  heart  of  man  blesses  flowers  !  They  are 
wreathed  round  the  cradle,  the  marriage-altar,  and  the  tomb. 
The  Persian  in  the  far  East  delights  in  their  perfume,  and  writes 
his  love  in  nosegays ;  while  the  Indian  child  of  the  far  West 
clasps  his  hands  with  glee,  as  he  gathers  the  abundant  blossoms, 
— the  illuminated  scripture  of  the  prairies.  The  Cupid  of  the 
ancient  Hindoos  tipped  his  arrows  with  flowers ;  and  orange-buds 
are  the  bridal  crown  with  us,  a  nation  of  yesterday.  Flowers  gar- 
landed the  Grecian  altar,  and  they  hang  in  votive  wreaths  before 
the  Christian  shrine. 

All  these  are  appropriate  uses.  Flowers  should  deck  the  brow 
of  the  youthful  bride ;  for  they  are  in  themselves  a  lovely  type 
of  marriage.  They  should  twine  round  the  tomb ;  for  their  per- 
petually renewed  beauty  is  a  symbol  of  the  resurrection.  They 
should  festoon  the  altar;  for  their  fragrance  and  their  beauty 
ascend  in  perpetual  worship  before  the  Most  High. 

WHERE  IS  THE  ENEMY  i 

I  have  somewhere  read  of  a  regiment  ordered  to  march  into  a 
small  town,  and  take  it.  I  think  it  was  in  the  Tyrol ;  but, 
wherever  it  was.  it  chanced  that  the  place  was  settled  by  a  colony 
who  believed  the  gospel  of  Christ,  and  proved  their  faith  by 
works.  A  courier  from  a  neighboring  village  informed  them  that 
troops  were  advancing  to  take  the  town.  They  quietly  answered, 
"  If  they  will  take  it,  they  must."  Soldiers  soon  came  riding  in, 
with  colors  flying,  and  fifes  piping  their  shrill  defiance.  They 
looked  round  for  an  enemy,  and  saw  the  farmer  at  his  plough,  the 
blacksmith  at  his  anvil,  and  the  women  at  their  churns  and  spin- 
ning-wheels. Babies  crowed  to  hear  the  music,  and  boys  ran  out 
to  see  the  pretty  trainers,  with  feathers  and  bright  buttons, — 
"  the  harlequins  of  the  nineteenth  century."  Of  course  none  of 
these  were  in  a  proper  position  to  be  shot  at.  "  Where  are  your 
soldiers  f"  they  asked. — "  We  have  none,"  was  the  brief  reply. — 
"But  we  have  come  to  take  the  town." — "Well,  friends,  it  lies 
before  you." — "  But  is  there  nobody  here  to  fight  ?" — "  No  :  we 
are  all  Christians." 

Here  was  an  emergency  altogether  unprovided  for, — a  sort  of 
resistance  which  no  bullet  could  hit,  a  fortress  perfectly  bomb- 


GEORGE  BANCROFT. 


483 


proof.  The  commander  was  perplexed.  "  If  there  is  nobody  to 
fight  with,  of  course  we  cannot  fight,"  said  he  :  "  it  is  impossible 
to  take  such  a  town  as  this."  So  he  ordered  the  horses'  heads  to 
be  turned  about,  and  they  carried  the  human  animals  out  of  the 
village  as  guiltless  as  they  entered,  and  perchance  somewhat 
wiser. 

This  experiment,  on  a  small  scale,  indicates  how  easy  it  would 
be  to  dispense  with  armies  and  navies,  if  men  only  had  faith  in 
the  religion  they  profess  to  believe. 


GEORGE  BANCROFT. 

This  eminent  historian  was  born  at  Worcester,  Massachusetts,  in  the  year 
1800.  His  father,  the  Rev.  Aaron  Bancroft,  was  the  minister  of  a  Congregational 
church,  in  that  town,  for  more  than  half  a  century,  and  bad  a  high  reputation  as 
a  theologian  of  learning  and  piety.  At  the  early  age  of  thirteen,  Mr.  Bancroft 
entered  Harvard  College,  and  was  graduated  in  1817,  with  the  highest  honors  of 
his  class.  His  first  inclinations  were  to  study  theology;  but  in  the  following  year 
he  went  to  Germany,  and  spent  two  years  at  Gottingen,  in  the  study  of  history 
and  philology,  and  obtained  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Philosophy.  He  then 
visited,  in  succession,  Berlin,  Heidelberg,  Italy,  France,  and  London,  and  re- 
turned home,  in  1822,  one  of  the  most  accomplished  scholars  for  his  age  our 
country  had  produced.  He  was  at  once  appointed  tutor  of  Greek  in  Harvard 
College;  and  those  who  had  the  benefit  of  his  instructions  remember  well  his  zeal, 
and  faithfulness,  and  varied  learning  as  a  teacher.  Desirous,  however,  to  intro- 
duce into  our  country  the  system  of  education  that  obtained  at  the  German  gym- 
nasia, he  established,  in  conjunction  with  Joseph  G.  Cogswell,1  a  school  of  a  high 
classical  character  at  "  Round  Hill,"  Northampton,  Massachusetts.  Here  he  pi*e- 
pared  many  admirable  Latin  text-books  for  schools,  much  in  advance  of  any 
thing  then  used  in  our  country.  In  1828,  he  gave  to  the  public  a  translation  of 
Heeren's  Histories  of  the  States  of  Antiquity.  Before  this,  he  had  given  some 
attention  to  politics,  and  ranked  himself  with  the  Whigs;  but  he  now  joined  the 
Democratic  party,  and  was  in  the  high-road  to  political  preferment. 

In  1834,  Mr.  Bancroft  published  the  first  volume  of  The  History  of  the  United 
States, — a  work  to  which  he  had  long  devoted  his  thoughts  and  researches.  The 
first  and  two  succeeding  volumes  of  the  work,  comprising  the  colonial  history  of 
the  country,  were  received  with  great  satisfaction  by  the  public,  as  being  in  ad- 
vance of  any  thing  that  had  been  written  on  the  subject  in  brilliancy  of  style, 
picturesque  sketches  of  character  and  incident,  compass  of  erudition,  and  gene- 
rally fair  reasoning. 

In  1838,  Mr.  Bancroft  received  from  President  Van  Buren  the  appointment  of 
Collector  of  the  Port  of  Boston,  which  situation  he  retained  till  1811.  During 


1  The  learned  librarian  of  the  Astor  Library,  New  York. 


484 


GEORGE  BANCROFT. 


this  time,  he  was  busily  engaged  upon  the  third  volume  of  his  history,  which  was 
published  in  1842.  In  1844,  he  was  the  "Democratic"  candidate  for  Governor 
of  Massachusetts,  but  was  unsuccessful.  At  the  close  of  that  year,  Mr.  Polk  was 
elected  President,  who,  early  the  next  year,  appointed  bim  Secretary  of  the  Navy. 
In  1846,  he  was  appointed  Minister-Plenipotentiary  to  Great  Britain,  and  there 
represented  tbe  United  States  until  succeeded  by  Mr.  Abbott  Lawrence,  in  1849. 
On  his  return,  this  year,  to  his  country,  he  made  New  York  his  place  of  re- 
sidence, and  resumed  more  actively  the  prosecution  of  his  historical  labors.  The 
fourth  volume  of  his  history  appeared  in  1852,  and  comprises  a  period  of  fifteen 
years, — from  174S  to  1763.  The  next  year  the  fifth  volume  was  published,  com- 
prising the  years  1763,  1764,  and  1765.  The  sixth  volume  brings  us  down  to 
1774, — the  verge  of  the  Revolution;  and  the  seventh,  published  in  1858,  enters 
upon  the  stirring  scenes  of  the  Revolution  itself.1 


CHARACTER  OF  ROGER,  WILLIAMS. 

While  the  state  was  thus  connecting  by  the  closest  bonds  the 
energy  of  its  faith  with  its  form  of  government,  there  appeared  in 
its  midst  one  of  those  clear  minds  which  sometimes  bless  the  world 
by  their  power  of  receiving  moral  truth  in  its  purest  light,  and  of 
reducing  the  just  conclusions  of  their  principles  to  a  happy  and 
consistent  practice.  In  February  of  the  first  year  of  the  colony, 
but  a  few  months  after  the  arrival  of  Winthrop,  and  before  either 
Cotton  or  Hooker  had  embarked  for  New  England,  there  arrived 
at  Nantasket,  after  a  stormy  passage  of  sixty-six  days,  "  a  young 
minister,  godly  and  zealous,  having  precious"  gifts.  It  was  Roger 
Williams.  He  was  then  but  a  little  more  than  thirty  years  of  age ; 
but  his  mind  had  already  matured  a  doctrine  which  secures  him 
an  immortality  of  fame,  as  its  application  has  given  religious  peace 
to  the  American  world.  He  was  a  Puritan,  and  a  fugitive  from 
English  persecution ;  but  his  wrongs  had  not  clouded  his  accurate 
understanding;  in  the  capacious  recesses  of  his  mind  he  had  re- 
volved the  nature  of  intolerance,  and  he,  and  he  alone,  had  arrived 
at  the  great  principle  which  is  its  sole  effectual  remedy.  He 
announced  his  discovery  under  the  simple  proposition  of  the 
sanctity  of  conscience.  The  civil  magistrate  should  restrain 
crime,  but  never  control  opinion ;  should  punish  guilt,  but  never 
violate  the  freedom  of  the  soul.    The  doctrine  contained  within 


1  The  "London  Monthly  Review"  thus  speaks  of  Mr.  Bancroft : — "He  possesses 
the  best  qualities  of  an  historian.  His  diligent  research,  his  earnest  }ret  tolerant 
spirit,  and  the  sustained  accuracy  and  dignity  of  his  style,  have  been  nobly 
brought  to  bear  upon  one  of  the  grandest  subjects  that  ever  engaged  the  study  of 
the  philosopher,  the  legislator,  or  the  historian." 


GEORGE  BANCROFT. 


485 


itself  an  entire  reformation  of  theological  jurisprudence;  it  would 
blot  from  the  statute-book  the  felony  of  non-conformity ;  would 
quench  the  fires  that  persecution  had  so  long  kept  burning; 
would  repeal  every  law  compelling  attendance  on  public  worship; 
would  abolish  tithes  and  all  forced  contributions  to  the  main- 
tenance of  religion  j  would  give  an  equal  protection  to  every  form 
of  religious  faith;  and  never  suffer  the  authority  of  the  civil 
government  to  be  enlisted  against  the  mosque  of  the  Mussulman 
or  the  altar  of  the  fire-worshipper,  against  the  Jewish  synagogue 
or  the  Roman  cathedral.  It  is  wonderful  with  what  distinctness 
Roger  Williams  deduced  these  inferences  from  his  great  prin- 
ciple; the  consistency  with  which,  like  Pascal  and  Edwards, — 
those  bold  and  profound  reasoners  on  other  subjects, — he  accepted 
every  fair  inference  from  his  doctrines ;  and  the  circumspection 
with  which  he  repelled  every  unjust  imputation.  In  the  unwaver- 
ing assertion  of  his  views  he  never  changed  his  position  ;  the 
sanctity  of  conscience  was  the  great  tenet  which,  with  all  its  con- 
sequences, he  defended,  as  he  first  trod  the  shores  of  New  Eng- 
land ;  and  in  his  extreme  old  age  it  was  the  last  pulsation  of  his 
heart.  But  it  placed  the  young  emigrant  in  direct  opposition  to 
the  whole  system  on  which  Massachusetts  was  founded ;  and, 
gentle  and  forgiving  as  was  his  temper,  prompt  as  he  was  to  con- 
cede every  thing  which  honesty  permitted,  he  always  asserted  his 
belief  with  temperate  firmness  and  unbending  benevolence. 

DESTRUCTION  OF  THE  TEA  IN  BOSTON  HARBOR.1 

The  morning  of  Thursday,  the  16th  of  December,  1773,  dawned 
apon  Boston, — a  day  by  far  the  most  momentous  in  its  annals. 
Beware,  little  town  ;  count  the  cost,  and  know  well  if  you  dare 
defy  the  wrath  of  G-reat  Britain,  and  if  you  love  exile,  and 
poverty,  and  death,  rather  than  submission.  At  ten  o'clock,  the 
people  of  Boston,  with  at  least  two  thousand  men  from  the 
country,  assembled  in  the  Old  South.    A  report  was  made  that 


1  On  the  2Sth  day  of  November.  1773,  the  ship  Dartmouth  appeared  in  Boston 
Harbor,  with  one  hundred  and  fourteen  chests  of  tea.  The  ship  was  owned  by  Mr. 
Roteh,  a  Quaker  merchant.  In  a  few  days  after,  two  more  tea-ships  arrived. 
They  were  all  put  under  strict  guard  by  the  citizens,  acting  under  the  lead  of  a 
committee  of  correspondence,  of  which  Samuel  Adams  was  the  controlling  spirit. 
The  people  of  the  neighboring  towns  were  organized  in  a  similar  manner,  and 
sustained  the  spirit  of  Boston.  The  purpose  of  the  citizens  was  to  have  the  tea 
sent  back  without  being  landed;  but  the  collector  and  comptroller  refused  to  give 
the  ships  a  clearance  unless  the  teas  were  landed,  and  Governor  Hutchinson  also 
relived  his  permit,  without  which  they  could  not  pass  the  "Castle,"  as  the  fort  at 
the  entrancj  of  Boston  Harbor  was  called.  The  ships  were  also  liable  to  seizure 
if  the  teas  wore  not  landed  on  the  twentieth  day  after  their  arrival,  and  the  16th 
day  of  December  was  the  eighteenth  day  after. 

41* 


486 


GEORGE  BANCROFT. 


Rotch  had  been  refused  a  clearance  from  the  collector.  "  Then," 
said  they  to  him,  "protest  immediately  against  the  custom-house, 
and  apply  to  the  governor  for  his  pass,  so  that  your  vessel  may 
this  very  day  proceed  on  her  voyage  to  London." 

The  governor  had  stolen  away  to  his  country-house  at  Milton. 
Bidding  Rotch  make  all  haste,  the  meeting  adjourned  to  three  in 
the  afternoon.  At  that  hour  Rotch  had  not  returned.  It  was 
incidentally  voted,  as  other  towns  had  done,  to  abstain  wholly 
from  the  use  of  tea ;  and  every  town  was  advised  to  appoint  its 
committee  of  inspection,  to  prevent  the  detested  tea  from  coming 
within  any  of  them.  Then,  since  the  governor  might  refuse  his 
pass,  the  momentous  question  recurred,  whether  it  be  the  sense 
and  determination  of  this  body  to  abide  by  their  former  resolu- 
tions with  respect  to  not  suffering  the  tea  to  be  landed.  On  this 
question,  Samuel  Adams  and  Young1  addressed  the  meeting, 
which  was  become  far  the  most  numerous  ever  held  in  Boston, 
embracing  seven  thousand  men.  There  was  among  them  a  patriot 
of  fervent  feeling;  passionately  devoted  to  the  liberty  of  his 
country ;  still  y oung,  his  eye  bright,  his  cheek  glowing  with 
hectic  fever.  He  knew  that  his  strength  was  ebbing.  The  work 
of  vindicating  American  freedom  must  be  done  soon,  or  he  will  be 
no  party  to  the  great  achievement.  He  rises,  but  it  is  to  restrain ; 
and,  being  truly  brave  and  truly  resolved,  he  speaks  the  language 
of  moderation.  "  Shouts  and  hosannas  will  not  terminate  the 
trials  of  this  day,  nor  popular  resolves,  harangues,  and  acclama- 
tions vanquish  our  foes.  We  must  be  grossly  ignorant  of  the 
value  of  the  prize  for  which  we  contend,  of  the  power  combined 
against  us,  of  the  inveterate  malice  and  insatiable  revenge  which 
actuate  our  enemies,  public  and  private,  abroad  and  in  our  bosom, 
if  we  hope  that  we  shall  end  this  controversy  without  the  sharpest 
conflicts.  Let  us  consider  the  issue  before  we  advance  to  those 
measures  which  must  bring  on  the  most  trying  and  terrible 
struggle  this  country  ever  saw."  Thus  spoke  the  younger 
Quincy.  "  Now  that  the  hand  is  to  the  plough,"  said  others, 
"  there  must  be  no  looking  back and  the  whole  assembly  of 
seven  thousand  voted  unanimously  that  the  tea  should  not  be 
landed. 

It  had  been  dark  for  more  than  an  hour.  The  church  in  which 
they  met  was  dimly  lighted  j  when,  at  a  quarter  before  six,  Rotch 
appeared,  and  satisfied  the  people  by  relating  that  the  governor 
had  refused  him  a  pass,  because  his  ship  was  not  properly  cleared. 
As  soon  as  he  had  finished  his  report,  Samuel  Adams  rose  and 
gave  the  word, — "  This  meeting  can  do  nothing  more  to  save  the 


1  Dr.  Thomas  Young,  a  physician,  and  afterwards  an  army-surgeon,  was  a 
zealous  patriot,  and  a  ieading  speaker  and  writer  of  the  time. 


GEORGE  BANCROFT. 


487 


country."  On  the  instant,  a  shout  was  heard  at  the  porch  ;  the 
war-whoop  resounded  ;  a  body  of  men,  forty  or  fifty  in  number, 
disguised  as  Indians,  passed  by  the  door,  and,  encouraged  by 
Samuel  Adams,  Hancock,  and  others,  repaired  to  Griffin's  Wharf, 
posted  guards  to  prevent  the  intrusion  of  spies,  took  possession  of 
the  three  tea-ships,  and  in  about  three  hours,  three  hundred  and 
forty  chests  of  tea — being  the  whole  quantity  that  had  been  im- 
ported— were  emptied  into  the  bay,  without  the  least  injury  to 
other  property.  "  All  things  were  conducted  with  great  order, 
decency,  and  perfect  submission  to  government/'  The  people 
around,  as  they  looked  on,  were  so  still  that  the  noise  of  breaking 
open  the  tea-chests  was  distinctly  heard.  A  delay  of  a  few  hours 
would  have  placed  the  tea  under  the  protection  of  the  admiral  at 
the  Castle.  After  the  work  was  done,  the  town  became  as  still 
and  calm  as  if  it  had  been  holy  time.  The  men  from  the  country 
that  very  night  carried  back  the  great  news  to  their  villages. 

CHIVALRY  AND  PURITANISM. 

Historians  have  loved  to  eulogize  the  manners  and  virtues,  the 
glory  and  the  benefits,  of  chivalry.  Puritanism  accomplished  for 
mankind  far  more.  If  it  had  the  sectarian  crime  of  intolerance, 
chivalry  had  the  vices  of  dissoluteness.  The  knights  were  brave 
from  gallantry  of  spirit ;  the  Puritans,  from  the  fear  of  God.  The 
knights  were  proud  of  loyalty;  the  Puritans,  of  liberty.  The 
knights  did  homage  to  monarchs,  in  whose  smile  they  beheld 
honor,  whose  rebuke  was  the  wound  of  disgrace ;  the  Puritans, 
disdaining  ceremony,  would  not  bow  at  the  name  of  Jesus,  nor 
bend  the  knee  to  the  King  of  kings.  Chivalry  delighted  in  out- 
ward show,  favored  pleasure,  multiplied  amusement,  and  degraded 
the  human  race  by  an  exclusive  respect  for  the  privileged  classes; 
Puritanism  bridled  the  passions,  commanded  the  virtues  of  self- 
denial,  and  rescued  the  name  of  man  from  dishonor.  The  former 
valued  courtesy;  the  latter,  justice.  The  former  adorned  society 
by  graceful  refinements ;  the  latter  founded  national  grandeur  on 
universal  education.  The  institutions  of  chivalry  were  subverted 
by  the  gradually  increasing  weight,  and  knowledge,  and  opulence 
of  the  industrious  classes;  the  Puritans,  rallying  upon  those 
classes,  planted  in  their  hearts  the  undying  principles  of  demo- 
cratic liberty. 

THE  POSITION  OF  THE  PURITANS. 

To  the  colonists  the  maintenance  of  their  religious  unity 
seemed  essential  to  their  cordial  resistance  to  English  attempts 
at  oppression.    And  why,  said  they,  should  we  not  insist  upon 


488 


JAMES  G.  BROOKS. 


this  union  ?  We  have  come  to  the  outside  of  the  world  for  the 
privilege  of  living  by  ourselves :  why  should  we  open  our  asylum 
to  those  in  whom  we  can  repose  no  confidence  ?  The  world  can- 
not call  this  persecution.  We  have  been  banished  to  the  wilder- 
ness :  is  it  an  injustice  to  exclude  our  oppressors,  and  those  whom 
we  dread  as  their  allies,  from  the  place  which  is  to  shelter  us  from 
their  intolerance  ?  Is  it  a  great  cruelty  to  expel  from  our  abode 
the  enemies  of  our  peace,  or  even  the  doubtful  friend  ?  Will  any 
man  complain  at  being  driven  from  among  banished  men,  with 
whom  he  has  no  fellowship  ?  of  being  refused  admittance  to  a 
gloomy  place  of  exile  ?  The  wide  continent  of  America  invited 
colonization ;  they  claimed  their  own  narrow  domains  for  "  the 
brethren."  Their  religion  was  their  life :  they  welcomed  none 
but  its  adherents  j  they  could  not  tolerate  the  scoffer,  the  infidel, 
or  the  dissenter;  and  the  presence  of  the  whole  people  was  re- 
quired in  their  congregation.  Such  was  the  system  inflexibly 
established  and  regarded  as  the  only  adequate  guarantee  of  the 
rising  liberties  of  5lassachusetts. 


JAMES  G.  BROOKS,  1801—1841. 

James  Gordon  Brooks,  the  son  of  an  officer  in  the  Revolutionary  army,  was 
born  at  Red  Hook,  near  New  York,  on  the  3d  of  September,  1801.  He  was  graduated 
at  Union  College,  Schenectady,  in  1819,  and  studied  law,  though  he  never  entered 
upon  its  practice.  In  1823,  he  removed  to  New  York,  and  was  for  several  years 
editor  of  the  "Morning  Courier," — an  able  and  influential  paper.  In  1828,  he 
was  married  to  Miss  Mary  Elizabeth  Aiken,  of  Poughkeepsie,  who  had  for  many 
years  been  a  writer  of  verse  for  periodicals,  under  the  signature  of  "Norma;" 
and  the  next  year  a  collection  of  his  and  his  wife's  poetry  was  published,  entitled 
The  Rivals  of  Esfe,  and  other  Poems,  b>/  James  G.  and  Mary  E.  Brooks.  In  1831, 
he  went  to  Winchester,  Virginia,  where  he  edited  a  newspaper  for  a  few  years. 
In  1838,  he  removed  to  Rochester,  and  then  to  Albany,  New  York,  where  he  died 
in  1841. 

Mr.  Brooks  was  quite  popular  as  a  poet  in  his  day,  and  he  deserves  to  bo 
remembered  as  the  author  of  the  following  spirited  ode  on 

GREECE,  1832. 

Land  of  the  brave!  where  lie  inurn'd 

The  shrouded  forms  of  mortal  clay, 
In  whom  the  fire  of  valor  burn'd, 

And  blazed  upon  the  battle's  fray : 
Land,  where  the  gallant  Spartan  few 

Bled  at  Thermopylas  of  yore, 


JAMES  G.  BROOKS. 


When  death  his  purple  garment  threw 
On  Helle's  consecrated  shore  ! 

Land  of  the  Muse !  within  thy  bowers 

Her  soul-entrancing  echoes  rung, 
While  on  their  course  the  rapid  hours 

Paused  at  the  melody  she  sung — 
Till  every  grove  and  every  hill, 

And  every  stream  that  flow'd  along, 
From  morn  to  night  repeated  still 

The  winning  harmony  of  song. 

Land  of  dead  heroes  !  living  slaves 

Shall  glory  gild  thy  clime  no  more  ? 
Her  banner  float  above  thy  waves 

"Where  proudly  it  hath  swept  before  ? 
Hath  not  remembrance,  then  a  charm 

To  break  the  fetters  and  the  chain, 
To  bid  thy  children  nerve  the  arm, 

And  strike  for  freedom  once  again  ? 

No !  coward  souls,  the  light  which  shone 

On  Leuctra's  war-empurpled  day, 
The  light  which  beam'd  on  Marathon 

Hath  lost  its  splendor,  ceased  to  play  ; 
And  thou  art  but  a  shadow  now, 

"With  helmet  shatter'd — spear  in  rust — 
Thy  honor  but  a  dream — and  thou 

Despised — degraded  in  the  dust ! 

"Where  sleeps  the  spirit  that  of  old 

Dash'd  down  to  earth  the  Persian  plume, 
"When  the  loud  chant  of  triumph  told 

How  fatal  was  the  despot's  doom? — 
The  bold  three  hundred — where  are  they, 

Who  died  on  battle's  gory  breast  ? 
Tyrants  have  trampled  on  the  clay 

Where  death  hath  hush'd  them  into  rest. 

Yet,  Ida,  yet  upon  thy  hill 

A  glory  shines  of  ages  fled ; 
And  Fame  her  light  is  pouring  still, 

Not  on  the  living,  but  the  dead ! 
But  'tis  the  dim,  sepulchral  light, 

Which  sheds  a  faint  and  feeble  ray, 
As  moonbeams  on  the  brow  of  night, 

When  tempests  sweep  upon  their  way. 

Greece  !  yet  awake  thee  from  thy  trance, 

Behold,  thy  banner  waves  afar ; 
Behold,  the  glittering  weapons  glance 

Along  the  gleaming  front  of  war  ! 
A  gallant  chief,  of  high  emprize, 

Is  urging  foremost  in  the  field, 
Who  calls  upon  thee  to  arise 

In  might — in  majesty  reveal'd. 

In  vain,  in  vain  the  hero  calls — 
In  vain  he  sounds  the  trumpet  loud  ! 


490 


MARY  E.  BROOKS. 


His  banner  totters — see  !  it  falls 
In  ruin,  Freedom's  battle-shroud : 

Thy  children  have  no  soul  to  dare 
Such  deeds  as  glorified  their  sires ; 

Their  valor's  but  a  meteor's  glare, 

Which  gleams  a  moment,  and  expires. 

Lost  land !  where  Genius  made  his  reign, 

And  rear'd  his  golden  arch  on  high ; 
Where  Science  raised  her  sacred  fane, 

Its  summits  peering  to  the  sky  ; 
Upon  thy  clime  the  midnight  deep 

Of  ignorance  hath  brooded  long, 
And  in  the  tomb,  forgotten,  sleep 

The  sons  of  science  and  of  song. 

Thy  sun  hath  set — the  evening  storm 

Hath  pass'd  in  giant  fury  by, 
To  blast  the  beauty  of  thy  form, 

And  spread  its  pall  upon  the  sky  ! 
Gone  is  thy  glory's  diadem, 

And  freedom  never  more  shall  cease 
To  pour  her  mournful  requiem 

O'er  blighted,  lost,  degraded  Greece  ! 


MARY  E.  BROOKS. 

Mrs.  Mary  E.  Brooks,  the  wife  of  James  G.  Brooks,  was  born  in  New  York, 
in  which  city  she  has  resided  since  the  death  of  her  husband.  Besides  her  pro- 
ductions in  the  volume  mentioned  in  the  notice  of  her  husband,  she  has  contributed 
some  beautiful  poetry  to  a  number  of  periodicals,  from  which  we  select  the  follow- 
ing little  gem : — 

WEEP  NOT  FOR  THE  DEAD. 

Oh,  weep  not  for  the  dead ! 
Rather,  oh,  rather  give  the  tear 
To  those  who  darkly  linger  here, 

When  all  besides  are  fled ! 
Weep  for  the  spirit  withering, 
In  its  cold,  cheerless  sorrowing  ; 
Weep  for  the  young  and  lovely  one 
That  ruin  darkly  revels  on, 

But  never  be  a  tear-drop  shed 

For  them,  the  pure  enfranchised  dead. 

Oh,  weep  not  for  the  dead ! 
No  more  for  them  the  blighting  chill, 
The  thousand  shades  of  earthly  ill, 

The  thousand  thorns  we  tread  ; 


MARK  HOPKINS. 


491 


Weep  for  the  life-charm  early  flown, 
The  spirit  broken,  bleeding,  lone  ; 
Weep  for  the  death-pangs  of  the  heart, 
Ere  being  from  the  bosom  part ; 
But  never  be  a  tear-drop  given 

To  those  that  rest  in  yon  blue  heaven. 


MARK  HOPKINS. 

Rev.  Mark  Hopkins,  D.D.,  son  of  Archibald  Hopkins,  of  Stockbridge,  Massa- 
chusetts, was  born  on  the  4th  of  February,  1802,  and  graduated  at  Williams 
College  in  1821,  with  the  highest  honors  of  his  class.  He  entered  at  once  upon 
the  study  of  medicine,  but  the  next  year  was  appointed  tutor  in  Williams  College, 
and  filled  the  office  for  two  years,  devoting  his  leisure  time  to  the  profession  he 
had  chosen.  In  1829,  the  degree  of  M.D.  was  conferred  upon  him  by  the  Pitts- 
field  Medical  College,  and  he  went  to  New  York  to  settle  as  a  physician.  The  next 
year,  however,  he  was  elected  to  the  Professorship  of  Rhetoric  and  Moral  Philo- 
sophy in  Williams  College,  and  entered  upon  the  discharge  of  its  duties.  In 
May,  1833,  he  was  licensed  to  preach.  In  1836,  Dr.  Griffin  having  resigned  the 
Presidency  of  Williams  College,  Dr.  Hopkins  was  elected  his  successor.  He  has 
continued  to  fill  that  important  post  ever  since,  and  with  an  efficiency  and  ability 
that  have  made  him  second  to  no  one  who  ever  presided  over  a  New-England 
college.  His  peculiar  tact  in  imparting  instruction, — his  powerful  influence  over 
young  men,  exciting  both  their  reverence  and  their  love, — his  dignified  yet  affable 
manners,  his  kind  and  sympathizing  heart,  make  him  peculiarly  fitted  for  the 
position  he  occupies.  And  when  to  these  characteristics  is  added  an  intellect  of 
great  strength,  as  well  as  great  breadth  of  view,  combined  with  a  rare  fertility 
of  illustration,  we  can  readily  conceive  what  an  influence  he  must  exert  in  giving 
"form  and  pressure"  to  hundreds  of  minds  that  are,  in  their  turn,  to  take  a  lead- 
ing part  in  moulding  and  directing  public  opinion. 

Dr.  Hopkins's  published  works  are, — Lectures  on  the'  Evidences  of  Christianity, 
delivered  before  the  Lowell  Institute  in  1844;  a  volume  of  Miscellaneous  Essays 
and  Discourses,  in  1847;  and  a  large  number  of  orations,  sermons,  and  addresses, 
delivered  on  various  occasions.  Of  the  latter,  the  "Baccalaureates,"  delivered 
every  year  at  commencement,  to  the  senior  class,  deserve  especial  commendation 
for  their  wise  counsel,  their  winning  eloquence,  and  their  glowing  exhortations  to 
young  men  to  pursue  through  life  "  whatsoever  things  are  true,  just,  pure,  lovely, 
and  of  good  report." 

CHRISTIANITY  NOT  ORIGINATED  BY  MAN. 

I  would  here  observe,  that  the  question  concerning  the  origin 
of  Christianity  cannot  be  disposed  of  by  a  general  reference  to  the 


492 


MARK  HOPKINS. 


facility  with  which  mankind  are  deluded,  and  the  frequency  of 
impostures  in  the  world.  To  put  aside  the  question  of  its  origin 
by  telling  us  that  mankind  are  easily  deceived,  is  much  the  same 
as  it  would  be  to  put  aside  the  question  about  the  origin  of  the 
Gulf  Stream  by  telling  us  that  water  is  an  element  very  easily 
moved  in  different  directions.  Certainly,  water  is  a  fluctuating 
and  unstable  element ;  but  to  say  this,  is  not  to  account  for  a  broad 
current  in  mid-ocean  that  has  been  uniform  since  time  began  •  nor 
is  it  any  account  of  a  uniform  current  of  thought  and  feeling,  set- 
ting in  one  direction  for  eighteen  hundred  years,  to  say  that  the 
human  mind  is  fluctuating  and  unstable ;  that  man  has  been  often 
deceived;  and  that  there  have  been  great  extravagances  in  belief. 
The  origin  of  such  a  movement  is  to  be  investigated,  and  not  to 
be  shrouded  in  mist.  The  New  Testament  gives  a  full  and  satis- 
factory account  of  it ;  and  it  behooves  those  who  do  not  receive  that 
account,  to  substitute  some  other  that  shall,  at  least,  be  plausible. 
This  they  have  failed  to  do.  Perhaps  no  one  was  more  competent 
to  do  this,  or  has  been  more  successful,  than  Gibbon ;  and  yet  the 
five  causes  which  he  assigns  for  the  spread  of  Christianity — 
namely,  "  the  zeal  of  Christians/'  "  their  doctrine  of  a  future  life," 
"  the  miraculous  powers  ascribed  to  the  primitive  church,"  "  their 
pure  and  austere  morals,"  and  "  their  union" — are  obviously 
effects  of  that  very  religion  of  which  they  are  assigned  as  the  cause. 

To  me,  when  I  look  at  this  religion,  taking  its  point  of  de- 
parture from  the  earliest  period  in  the  history  of  the  race ;  when 
I  see  it  analogous  to  nature  j  when  I  see  it  comprising  all  that 
natural  religion  teaches,  and  introducing  a  new  system  in  entire 
harmony  with  it,  but  which  could  not  have  been  deduced  from  it; 
when  I  see  it  commending  itself  to  the  conscience  of  man,  con- 
taining a  perfect  code  of  morals,  meeting  all  his  moral  wants,  and 
embosoming  the  only  true  principles  of  economical  and  political 
science  j  when  I  see  in  it  the  best  possible  system  of  excitement 
and  restraint  for  all  the  faculties ;  when  I  see  how  simple  it  is  in 
its  principle,  and  yet  in  how  many  thousand  ways  it  mingles  in 
with  human  affairs  and  modifies  them  for  good,  so  that  it  is 
adapted  to  become  universal ;  when  I  see  it  giving  an  account  of 
the  termination  of  all  things,  worthy  of  God  and  consistent  with 
reason ; — to  me,  when  I  look  at  all  these  things,  it  no  more  seems 
possible  that  the  system  of  Christianity  should  have  been  ori- 
ginated or  sustained  by  man,  than  it  does  that  the  ocean  should 
have  been  made  by  him.        •  Lowell  Lectures. 

FAITH.  THE  RACE  FOR  THE  YOUNG. 

And  now,  my  beloved  friends,  in  bringing  to  a  close  my  rela- 
tions to  you  as  an  instructor,  what  can  I  wish  better  for  you  per- 


MARK  HOPKINS. 


493 


sonally,  or  for  the  world  in  your  relations  to  it,  than  that  you 
should  take  for  your  actuating  and  sustaining  principle,  faith  in 
God  ?  Without  this,  you  will  lack  the  highest  element  of  happi- 
ness, and  the  only  adequate  ground  of  support ;  life  will  be  with- 
out dignity,  and  death  without  hope.  Only  by  faith  can  you  run 
that  race  which  is  set  before  you,  as  before  those  of  old.  In  this 
world  your  courses  may  be  different :  you  will  choose  different 
professions,  and  diverge  widely  in  your  lines  of  life.  To  some  of 
you,  the  race  here  may  be  brief.  One  whom  I  addressed  the  last 
year,  as  I  do  you  to-day,  now  sleeps  in  death.  But  whatever  this 
may  be,  and  whether  longer  or  shorter,  before  you  all  there  is  set 
the  same  race  under  the  moral  government  of  God  j  to  you  all  is 
held  out  the  same  prize.  Why  should  you  not  run  this  race  ? 
Never  was  there  a  time  in  the  history  of  the  world  when  moral 
heroes  were  more  needed.  The  world  waits  for  such.  The  pro- 
vidence of  God  has  commanded  science  to  labor  and  prepare  the 
way  for  such.  For  them  she  is  laying  her  iron  tracks,  and  stretch- 
ing her  wires,  and  bridging  the  oceans.  But  where  are  they  ? 
Who  shall  breathe  into  our  civil  and  political  relations  the  breath 
of  a  higher  life  ?  Who  shall  couch  the  eyes  of  a  paganized 
science,  and  of  a  pantheistic  philosophy,  that  they  may  see  God  ? 
Who  shall  consecrate  to  the  glory  of  God  the  triumphs  of  science  ? 
Who  shall  bear  the  life-boat  to  the  stranded  and  perishing  nations  ? 
Who  should  do  these  things,  if  not  you  ? — not  in  your  relations 
to  time  only,  but  to  eternity  and  to  the  universe  of  God. 

And,  as  seen  in  the  light  of  faith,  what  a  race  !  what  an  arena ! 
what  a  prize  ! 

Gird  yourselves,  then,  for  this  race  \  run  it  with  patience, 
"  looking  unto  Jesus."  The  world  may  not  notice  or  know  you, 
for  it  knew  him  not.  It  may  persecute  you,  for  it  persecuted 
him ;  but  in  the  Lord  Jehovah  is  everlasting  strength.  He  will 
be  with  you )  he  will  sustain  you  j — the  great  cloud  of  witnesses  will 
encompass  you j  they  will  wait  to  hail  you  with  acclamation  as 
you  shall  reach  the  goal  and  receive  the  prize.  That  goal  may 
you  all  reach  ! — that  prize  may  you  all  receive  ! 

Close  of  the  Baccalaureate  for  1850. 

TRUE  WORSHIP. 

Would  you,  then,  it  may  be  asked,  exclude  the  imagination  and 
the  class  of  emotions  excited  by  the  fine  arts  from  divine  worship? 
I  answer,  No.  But  I  would  have  them  called  forth  by  the  attri- 
butes, and  by  the  present  or  the  remembered  works,  of  God, 
rather  than  by  the  works  of  man.  If  I  cannot  worship  in  the 
broad  temple  of  God's  works ;  if  I  cannot,  like  the  Saviour,  pray 
upon  a  mountain,  where,  it  may  be,  the  starry  heavens  are  above 

42 


494 


MARK  HOPKINS. 


me  and  the  breathing  stillness  of  nature  is  around  me,  or  where, 
it  may  be,  the  voice  of  the  tempest  is  in  the  top  of  the  great  oak. 
by  which  I  kneel,  and  its  roar  is  among  the  hills,  while  the  light- 
ning writes  the  name  of  God  on  the  sky,  and  the  thunder  speaks 
of  his  majesty;  if  I  cannot  stand  by  the  sea-shore  and  hear  the 
bass  of  nature's  great  anthem,  yet  let  no  poor  work  of  man  come 
between  me  and  the  remembered  emotions  which  such  scenes 
excite  in  the  hour  of  my  worship  before  the  great  and  holy  God, 
whose  hand  made  all  these  things.  "  Where  is  the  house  that  ye 
build  for  me  V  says  God,  "  and  where  is  the  place  of  my  rest  V 
"  Heaven  is  my  throne,  and  the  earth  is  my  footstool."  Far 
rather  would  I  find  in  the  simplicity  of  the  place  of  worship  a  con- 
fession of  its  inadequacy  to  lead  the  mind  up  to  God,  than  to  find 
any  beauty  of  architecture,  or  any  gorgeousness  of  decoration  that 
would  lead  me  to  admire  the  work  of  man,  and  draw  the  mind 
from  God. 

Here,  however,  God  has  left  man  at  liberty  ;  and  much  is  to  be 
allowed. for  the  influence  of  education,  and  constitutional  pecu- 
liarity, and  early  associations  and  impressions.  I  have  no  sym- 
pathy with  that  state  of  mind  which  would  prevent  worship  in  a 
cathedral.  God  is  there.  But  I  would  have  it  forgotten  that  it 
is  a  cathedral,  and  remembered  that  God  is  there.  I  would  so 
magnify  God,  and  bring  his  spiritual  presence  so  near,  that  those 
things  should  be  indifferent,  and  that  in  the  cathedral,  as  well  as 
in  the  plain  church  or  under  the  open  heaven,  men  should 
equally  worship  God  in  spirit  and  in  truth.  There  is,  however, 
great  danger  that  the  excitement  of  what  is  poetical  and  imagina- 
tive in  man  by  architecture  and  music,1  considered  simply  as 
music,  and  painting,  and  statuary,  should  be  substituted  and  mis- 
taken for  the  pure  and  holy  worship  of  God. 

On  this  point  the  simplicity  of  Puritanism  has  been  regarded 
as  austere.  But  so  has  the  true  worship  of  God  always  been  re- 
garded by  the  many.  While,  therefore,  we  find  in  our  Bibles, 
and  in  the  works  of  God,  the  motives  and  the  media  of  worship, 
while  we  are  willing  and  desirous  that  the  fine  arts  should  have 
their  appropriate  temples  and  be  cultivated  as  they  ought  to  be 
among  a  refined  people,  we  yet  remember  that  even  under  the 
old  dispensation,  the  acceptable  worship  went  up  from  an  altar 
of  unhewn  stone;  and  we  think  it  best  accords  with  the  spirit  of 
the  New  Testament,  and  is  shown  by  history  to  be  safest,  and  is 
most  conducive  to  the  worship  of  God  in  spirit  and  in  truth,  that 
a  chaste  simplicity  should  characterize  all  the  structures  and  all 


1  "On  no  account  would  I  say  any  thing  to  discourage  tbo  universal  and  high 
cultivation  of  sacred  music.  This  differs  from  the  other  tine  arts,  because  i'.s 
appropriate  office  is  not  impression,  but  expression.  Where  it  is  regarded  and 
admired  for  its  own  sake,  it  obstructs  instead  of  promoting  the  Avorship  of  God." 


MARK  HOPKINS. 


495 


the  forms  of  our  religion.  We  think  that  the  appropriate  object 
of  religious  services  is  to  cultivate  the  moral  and  religious  nature, 
and  that  there  should  be  no  attempt  to  produce  an  effect  upon  the 
mind  by  forms,  or  to  blend  the  emotions  appropriate  to  the  fine 
arts  with  those  higher  emotions  that  belong  to  the  worship  of 
God. 

Perhaps  our  Puritan  ancestors  carried  their  feelings  on  these 
points  too  far ;  but  we  think  it  can  be  shown,  from  the  nature  of 
things  and  from  the  developments  of  the  times,  that  they  were 
substantially  right; — and  we  abide  in  their  faith.  I  would  rather 
have  joined  in  one  prayer  with  the  simple  pastor  and  his  perse- 
cuted flock  among  the  glens  and  fastnesses  of  the  rocks  in  the 
highlands  of  Scotland;  I  would  rather  have  heard  one  song  of 
praise  rise  and  float  upon  those  free  breezes  in  the  day  when  the 
watch  was  set,  and  the  bloody  trooper  was  abroad,  set  on  by  those 
who  worshipped  in  cathedrals ;  I  would  rather  have  kneeled  upon 
the  beach  with  the  company  of  the  Mayflower  when  persecution 
was  driving  them  into  the  wilderness,  than  to  have  listened  to  all 
the  rituals  and  Te  Deums  in  every  cathedral  in  Europe. 

ATTRACTIVENESS  OF  IRREGULAR  ACTION. 

If  it  be  inquired  how  the  impression  of  intellectual  power  has 
come  to  be  associated  with  skepticism  and  wickedness,  an  answer 
may  be  found,  first,  in  the  fields  of  literature  and  speculation  com- 
monly entered  by  the  skeptical  and  licentious.  These  are  those  of 
imagination,  wit,  ridicule,  and  transcendental  metaphysics.  Their 
object,  the  last  excepted,  is  not  truth,  but  impression ;  and  this 
last  is  as  yet  so  overrun  with  strange  terms — is  so  the  common 
ground  of  truth,  falsehood,  and  nonsense,  each  aping  the  pro- 
found— that  it  is  difficult  to  say  whether  it  is  better  as  a  hunting- 
ground  for  truth,  or  a  stalking-ground  for  vanity,  or  a  hiding-place 
for  falsehood.  That  there  is  power  in  this  literature,  is  not  denied; 
but  the  power  of  imagination,  wit,  assumption,  and  even  of  bathos, 
is  not  distinguished  from  that  of  fair  and  searching  investigation. 

A  second  answer  we  find  in  the  effect  upon  the  mind  of  all  irre- 
gular action,  especially  when  combined  with  daring  or  fool-hardi- 
ness. The  utmost  power  of  a  horse,  exerted  in  the  true  line  of 
draught,  will  excite  no  attention.  Half  the  power  put  forth  in 
rearing  and  plunging  will  draw  a  crowd  about  him.  A  cheap 
method  of  notoriety,  the  world  over,  is  this  rearing  and  plunging. 
Sam.  Patch,1  leaping  over  Genesee  Falls,  could  gather  a  greater 
crowd  than  Daniel  Webster.  The  great  powers  of  nature — those 
by  which  she  wheels  up  her  sun,  and  navigates  her  planets,  and 


1  See  page  468. 


496 


ALBERT  G.  GREENE. 


lifts  vegetation,  and  circulates  her  waters,  by  which  she  holds  her- 
self in  her  unity  and  manifests  her  diversity — are  regular,  quiet, 
within  the  traces  of  law,  and  excite  no  attention.  Here  and  there 
the  quiet  eye  of  a  philosopher  expands  in  permanent  wonder ;  but 
from  the  very  fact — the  greatest  wonder  of  all — that  these  forces 
are  so  clothed  in  order  and  tempered  with  gentleness,  they  are  to 
the  multitude  nothing.  Not  so  with  volcanoes  and  earthquakes, 
with  hurricanes  and  thunder-storms,  with  water-spouts  and  cata- 
racts. These  are  irregular  manifestations  of  the  great  forces  that 
lie  back  of  them.  Compared  with  those  forces,  they  are  only  as 
the  eddy  to  the  river;  only  as  the  opening  of  the  side-valve  and 
the  hiss  of  the  steam  compared  with  the  force  of  the  engine  that 
is  bearing  on  the  long  train ;  and  yet  these  are  the  wonders  of  the 
world.  So  with  the  mind.  When  it  respects  order  and  law,  when 
it  seeks  the  ends  and  moves  in  the  channels  appointed  by  God,  its 
mightiest  and  most  beneficent  movements  excite  comparatively 
little  attention.  But  combine  now  irregularity  with  audacity ; 
open  a  side-valve ;  assail  the  foundations  of  belief ;  make  it  im- 
possible'for  God  to  work  a  miracle,  or  to  prove  it  if  he  should; 
turn  history  into  a  myth ;  show  your  consciousness  of  power  by 
setting  yourself  against  the  race  ;  flatter  the  nineteenth  century; 
dethrone  God  ; — if  you  make  the  universe  God,  yourself  being  a 
part  of  it,  so  much  the  better, — do  thus,  and  there  will  not  be 
wanting  those  who  will  despise  the  plodders,  and  hail  you  as 
"  the  comino-  man."  Baccalaureate  Address,  1858. 


ALBERT  G.  GREENE 

Was  born  in  Providence,  Rhode  Island,  February  10,  1802,  and  was  graduated  at 
Brown  University  in  1820.  He  studied  law,  was  admitted  to  the  bar,  and,  after 
some  years  of  practice,  was  elected  Clerk  of  the  Municipal  Court  of  the  city  of 
Providence,  and  Clerk  of  the  Common  Council,  which  offices  he  now  holds.  He 
has  written  many  beautiful  fugitive  pieces  of  poetry,  but  deserves  especial  remem- 
brance for  his  humorous  elegy  on 

OLD  GRIMES.1 

Old  Grimes  is  dead — that  good  old  man — 

AVe  ne'er  shall  see  him  more : — 
He  used  to  wear  a  long,  black  coat 

All  button'd  down  before. 


1  This  is  not  so  much  an  imitation  as  it  is  a  successful  rival  of  Goldsmith's 
"  Elegy  on  the  Glory  of  her  Sex:  Mrs.  Mary  Blaize :"  and,  as  our  literature  baa, 
comparatively,  but  little  humorous  poetry,  I  am  glad  to  enliven  my  book  with 
what  I  can  find  of  it  that  is  good. 


ALBERT  G.  GREENE. 


His  heart  was  open  as  the  day, 
His  feelings  all  were  true  ; — 

His  hair  was  some  inclined  to  gray, 
He  wore  it  in  a  queue. 

"Whene'er  he  heard  the  voice  of  pain, 
His  breast  with  pity  burn'd ; — 

The  large,  round  head  upon  his  cane 
From  ivory  was  turn'd. 

Kind  words  he  ever  had  for  all; 

He  knew  no  base  design  : — 
His  eyes  were  dark  and  rather  small, 

His  nose  was  aquiline. 

He  lived  at  peace  with  all  mankind, 
In  friendship  he  was  true : — 

His  coat  had  pocket-holes  behind, 
His  pantaloons  were  blue. 

Unharm'd,  the  sin  which  earth  pollutes 

He  pass'd  securely  o'er, — 
And  never  wore  a  pair  of  boots 

For  thirty  years  or  more. 

But  good  old  Grimes  is  now  at  rest, 
Nor  fears  misfortune's  frown:  — 

He  wore  a  double-breasted  vest, 
The  stripes  ran  up  and  down. 

He  modest  merit  sought  to  find, 

And  pay  it  its  desert: — 
He  had  no  malice  in  his  mind, 

No  ruffles  on  his  shirt. 

His  neighbors  he  did  not  abuse, 

Was  sociable  and  gay  : — 
He  wore  large  buckles  on  his  shoes, 

And  changed  them  every  day. 

His  knowledge,  hid  from  public  gaze, 
He  did  not  bring  to  view, — 

Nor  make  a  noise,  town-meeting  days, 
As  many  people  do. 

His  worldly  goods  he  never  threw 
In  trust  to  fortune's  chances, — 

But  lived  (as  all  his  brothers  do) 
In  easy  circumstances. 

Thus  undisturb'd  by  anxious  cares, 
His  peaceful  moments  ran  ; — 

And  everybody  said  he  was 
A  fine  old  gentleman. 


42* 


498 


LEONARD  BACON. 


LEONARD  BACON. 

Rev.  Leonard  Bacon,  D.D.,1  was  born  in  Detroit,  Michigan,  on  the  19th  of 
February,  1802.  His  father  was  for  several  years  a  missionary  among  the  In- 
dians, to  whom  he  was  sent  by  the  Missionary  Society  of  Connecticut.  He 
died  in  1817,  leaving  three  sons  and  four  daughters.  At  the  age  of  ten,  Dr. 
Bacon  was  sent  to  Hartford,  to  prepare  for  college,  and,  in  the  fall  of  1817, 
entered  the  sophomore  class  in  Yale  College,  where  he  so  distinguished  himself  as 
a  scholar  and  writer  that  a  high  position  was  predicted  for  him  in  the  profession 
he  had  chosen, — that  of  the  ministry.  In  the  autumn  of  1820,  he  entered  the 
theological  seminary  at  Andover,  Massachusetts,  where  he  prosecuted  his  studies 
for  four  years.  Soon  after  leaving  Andover,  he  was  invited  by  the  First  Congre- 
gational Church  of  New  Haven,  whose  building  is  known  by  the  name  of  the 
"  Centre  Church,"  to  preach  to  them.  Over  this  church  he  was  ordained  pastor 
in  March,  1S25,  when  he  was  but  twenty-three  years  of  age;  and  at  this  im- 
portant post  he  has  remained  ever  since. 

Though  Dr.  Bacon's  life  has  been  a  quiet  one,  and  barren  of  incident,  he  has 
filled  a  large  space  in  the  eye  of  the  Christian  public,  especially  of  the  Congrega- 
tional Church  in  New  England;  and  the  high  estimation  in  which  he  is  there 
held  is  evident  from  the  frequency  with  which  he  is  invited  to  deliver  addresses 
before  literary  societies  or  sermons  at  ordinations.  He  embodies,  in  a  remarkable 
degree,  the  distinctive  features  of  New-England  character  and  theology,  having 
the  reliance,  energy,  and  adaptation  peculiar  to  its  people.  He  gives  his  time 
and  energies  to  the  discussion  of  a  great  variety  of  topics,  and  seldom  assumes  a 
position  without  triumphantly  maintaining  it.  To  great  firmness  and  compact- 
ness of  mental  structure  he  adds  high  polish  and  purity  of  style;  and  occasionally, 
where  the  subject  demands  it,  he  calls  to  his  aid  a  playful  ridicule  and  keen  sar- 
casm that  set  forth  the  object  of  them  in  its  true  light.  It  is  astonishing  how,  with 
such  laborious  pastoral  duties,  he  accomplishes  so  much  in  the  field  of  literature.2 


1  For  a  more  extended  account  of  this  distinguished  clergyman,  read  "Fowler's 
American  Pulpit." 

2  The  following  are  his  chief  published  works : — Select  Practical  Writings  of 
Richard  Baxter,  with  a  Life  of  the  Author,  2  vols.  8vo,  New  Haven,  1831 ;  Manual 
forYoung  Church  Members,  18mo,  New  Haven,  1833;  (this  is  an  exposition  of  the 
principles  of  Congregational  Church  order;)  Thirteen  Historical  Discourses  on  the 
Completion  of  Two  Hundred  Years  from  the  Beginning  of  the  First  Church  in  New 
Haven,  8vo,  New  Haven,  1839.  Besides  these  volumes,  about  twenty-five  of  his 
sermons  and  addresses  have  been  published,  delivered  on  various  public  occa- 
sions, such  as  ordinations,  meetings  of  temperance  societies,  literary  societies, 
&c. ;  among  which  are  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  at  Yale  and  at  Harvard.  His  first 
contribution  to  the  "  Christian  Spectator,"  on  "  The  Peculiar  Characteristics  of 
'he  Benevolent  Spirit  of  our  Age,"  was  in  March,  1822,  when  he  was  a  student  at 
Andover ;  and  during  every  year  down  to  1838,  there  was  scarcely  a  number  of  that 
celebrated  magazine  that  was  not  enriched  by  his  pen.  To  the  "  New  Englander," 
also,  since  its  commencement  in  1843,  he  has  been  a  constant  contributor,  and  all 
his  papers  are  marked  with  an  ability,  earnestness,  and  directness  that  make 
them  among  the  most  readable  articles  of  that  able  review.  He  is  now  one  of  the 
editors  of  the  New  York  "  Independent," — one  of  the  most  ably  conducted  reli- 
gious journals  in  our  country. 


LEONARD  BACON. 


499 


john  Davenport's1  influence  upon  new  haven. 

If  we  of  this  city2  enjoy,  in  this  respect,  any  peculiar  privileges, 
— if  it  is  a  privilege  that  any  poor  man  here,  with  ordinary  health 
in  his  family,  and  the  ordinary  blessing  of  God  upon  his  industry, 
may  give  to  his  son,  without  sending  him  away  from  home,  the 
best  education  which  the  country  affords, — if  it  is  a  privilege  to 
us  to  live  in  a  city  in  which  learning,  sound  and  thorough  educa- 
tion, is,  equally  with  commerce  and  the  mechanic  arts,  a  great 
public  interest, — if  it  is  a  privilege  to  us  to  record  among  our 
fellow-citizens  some  of  the  brightest  names  in  the  learning  and 
science,  not  of  our  country  only,  but  of  the  age,  and  to  be  con- 
versant with  such  men,  and  subject  to  their  constant  influence  in 
the  various  relations  of  society, — if  it  is  a  privilege  that  our 
young  mechanics,  in  their  associations,  can  receive  instruction  in 
popular  lectures  from  the  most  accomplished  teachers,3 — if,  in  a 
word,  there  is  any  privilege  in  having  our  home  at  one  of  the 
fountains  of  light  for  this  vast  confederacy, — the  privilege  may  be 
traced  to  the  influence  of  John  Davenport,  to  the  peculiar  charac- 
ter which  he,  more  than  any  other  man,  gave  to  this  community 
in  its  very  beginning.  Every  one  of  us  is  daily  enjoying  the  effects 
of  his  wisdom  and  public  spirit.  Thus  he  is  to-day  our  bene- 
factor; and  thus  he  is  to  be  the  benefactor  of  our  posterity 
through  ages  to  come.  How  aptly  might  that  beautiful  apos- 
trophe of  one  of  our  poets  have  been  addressed  to  him  : — 

"  The  good  begun  by  thee  shall  onward  flow 
In  many  a  branching  stream,  and  wider  grow  ; 
The  seed  that  in  these  few  and  fleeting  hours, 
Thy  hands,  unsparing  and  unwearied,  sow, 
Shall  deck  thy  grave  with  amaranthine  flowers, 
And  yield  thee  fruit  divine  in  heaven's  immortal  bowers." 


1  This  holy  and  fearless  man  was  not  afraid  of  "preaching  politics,"  nor  of 
counselling  his  people  to  give  succor  to  the  fugitive  from  tyranny  and  oppression. 
Among  those  who  signed  the  death-warrant  of  Charles  I.,  who  was  found  guilty 
of  treason  against  his  people,  were  Edward  Whalley  and  William  Goffe.  On  the 
Restoration  they  fled  to  this  country,  and  came  first  to  Boston  and  then  to  New 
Haven.  On  the  Sunday  after  they  arrived  at  the  latter  place,  Mr.  Davenport, 
knowing  that  they  would  be  pursued  by  the  king's  officers,  boldly  went  into  the 
pulpit,  and  instructed  his  people  in  their  duties  in  the  matter,  from  the  following 
text, — a  text  which  was  of  itself  a  sermon  for  the  occasion  : — "  Take  counsel, 
execute  judgment ;  make  thy  shadow  as  the  night  in  the  midst  of  the  noonday; 
hide  the  outcasts;  bewray  not  him  that  wandereth  :  let  mine  outcasts  dwell  with 
tbee,  Moab  ;  be  thou  a  covert  to  them  from  the  face  of  the  spoiler."  Isa.  xvi.  3,  4. 

2  New  Haven. 

3  This  al'udes  to  the  munificence  of  James  Brewster,  Esq.,  of  New  Haven, 
whose  heart  to  do  good  equals  his  means  of  doing  it, — a  rare  union  in  men  of 
wealth, — and  who  founded  with  his  own  means  an  institute  for  popular  instruction, 
for  the  intellectual  and  moral  improvement  of  the  mechanics  of  the  place. 


500 


LEONARD  BACON. 


THE  PRESENT  AGE. 

The  present  age  is  eminently  an  age  of  progress,  and  therefore 
of  excitement  and  change.  It  is  an  age  in  which  the  great  art  of 
printing  is  beginning  to  manifest  its  energy  in  the  diffusion  of 
knowledge  and  the  excitement  of  bold  inquiry ;  and  therefore  it 
is  an  age  when  all  opinions  walk  abroad  in  quest  of  proselytes.  It 
is  an  age  of  liberty,  and  therefore  of  the  perils  incidental  to  liberty. 
It  is  an  age  of  peace  and  enterprise,  and  therefore  of  prosperity, 
and  of  all  the  perils  incidental  to  prosperity.  It  is  an  age  of  great 
plans  and  high  endeavors  for  the  promotion  of  human  happiness ; 
and  therefore  it  is  an  age  in  which  daring  but  ill-balanced  minds 
are  moved  to  attempt  impracticable  things,  or  to  aim  at  practicable 
ends  by  impracticable  measures.  And  so  long  as  we  have  liberty, 
civil,  intellectual,  and  religious  j  so  long  as  we  have  enterprise  and 
prosperity  j  so  long  as  the  public  heart  is  warm  with  solicitude  for 
human  happiness ;  so  long  we  must  make  up  our  minds  to  encoun- 
ter something  of  error  and  extravagance ;  and  our  duty  is  not  to 
complain  or  despair,  but  to  be  thankful  that  we  live  in  times  so 
auspicious,  and  to  do  what  we  can,  in  patience  and  love,  to  guide 
the  erring  and  check  the  extravagant. 

When  the  car  rushes  with  swift  motion,  he  who  looks  only 
downward  upon  the  track,  to  catch  if  he  can  some  glimpses  of  the 
glowing  wheel,  or  to  watch  the  rocks  by  the  wayside,  that  seem 
whirling  from  their  places,  soon  grows  sick  and  faint.  Look 
up,  man  !  Look  abroad  !  The  earth  is  not  dissolved,  nor  yet 
dissolving.  Look  on  the  tranquil  heavens  and  the  blue  moun- 
tains. Look  on  all  that  fills  the  range  of  vision, — the  bright, 
glad  river,  the  smooth  meadow,  the  village  spire  with  the  cluster- 
ing homes  around  it,  and  yonder  lonely,  quiet  farmhouse  far  up 
among  the  hills.  You  are  safe ;  all  is  safe ;  and  the  power  that 
carries  you  is  neither  earthquake  nor  tempest,  but  a  power  than 
which  the  gentlest  palfrey  that  ever  bore  a  timid  maiden  is  not 
more  obedient  to  the  will  that  guides  it. 

What  age,  since  the  country  was  planted,  has  been  more  favor- 
able to  happiness  or  to  virtue  than  the  present  ?  Would  you 
rather  have  lived  in  the  age  of  the  Kevolution  ?  If  in  this  age 
you  are  frightened,  in  that  age  you  would  have  died  with  terror. 
Would  you  rather  have  lived  in  the  age  of  the  old  French  wars, 
when  religious  enthusiasm  and  religious  contention  ran  so  high 
that  ruin  seemed  impending  ?  How  would  your  sensibilities  have 
been  tortured  in  such  an  age  !  Would  you  rather  have  lived  in 
those  earlier  times,  when  the  savage  still  built  his  wigwam  in  the 
woody  valleys,  and  the  wolf  prowled  on  our  hills  ?  Those  days, 
so  Arcadian  to  your  fancy,  were  days  of  darkness  and  tribulation. 


LEONARD  BACON. 


501 


The  u  temptations  in  the  wilderness"  were  as  real  and  as  terrible 
as  any  which  your  virtue  is  called  to  encounter.  *  *  * 

The  scheme  of  Divine  Providence  is  one  from  the  beginning  to 
the  end,  and  is  ever  in  progressive  development.  Every  succeed- 
ing age  helps  to  unfold  the  mighty  plan.  There  are,  indeed, 
times  of  darkness;  but  even  then  it  is  light  to  faith,  and  lighter 
to  the  eve  of  God ;  and  even  then  there  is  progress,  though  to 
sense  and  fear  all  motion  seems  retrograde.  To  despond  now,  is 
not  cowardice  merely,  but  atheism  •  for  now,  as  the  world  in  its 
swift  progress  brings  us  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  latter  day,  faith, 
instructed  by  the  signs  of  the  times,  and  looking  up  in  devotion, 
sees  on  the  blushing  sky  the  promise  of  the  morning. 

CHRISTIANITY  IN  HISTORY. 

The  more  we  study  Christ  and  the  influence  of  Christianity  in 
history,  the  deeper,  also,  and  more  cheering  will  be  our  conviction 
that  Christianity,  as  one  of  the  forces  that  control  the  progress  of 
nations  and  of  the  human  race,  has  never  demonstrated  all  its 
efficacy.  In  the  ages  past,  the  various  and  complicated  moral 
forces  that  move  the  world  have  been  in  opposition  to  its  in- 
fluence, or  have  acted  to  corrupt  it.  Its  mission  in  the  world  is 
to  work  itself  free  from  the  corruptions  that  have  soiled  its  purity 
and  impaired  its  efficacy,  and  mingling  itself  with  all  that  acts  on 
human  character, — literature,  art,  philosophy,  education,  law, 
statesmanship,  commerce, — -to  bring  all  things  into  subordination 
to  itself,  and  to  sway  all  the  complicated  elements  of  power  for  the 
renovation  of  the  world. 

We,  brethren  in  the  commonwealth  of  letters,  all  of  us,  from 
the  most  gifted  to  the  humblest,  are  workers  in  history.  Chris- 
tianity, if  we  are  true  to  our  position  and  our  nurture,  is  working- 
through  us  upon  the  destinies  of  our  country  and  of  our  race. 
INot  the  missionary  only  who  goes  forth,  in  the  calm  glow  of  apos- 
tolic zeal,  to  labor  and  to  die  in  barbarous  lands  for  the  extension 
of  Christ's  empire, — not  the  theologian  only  who  devotes  himself 
to  the  learned  investigation  and  the  scientific  exposition  of  the 
Christian  faith, — not  the  preacher  and  the  pastor  only, — but  all 
who  act  in  any  manner  or  in  any  measure  on  the  character  and 
moral  destiny  of  their  fellow-men,  are  privileged  to  be  the  organs 
and  the  functionaries  of  Christianity.  The  senator,  whose  fear- 
less voice  and  vote  turn  back  from  the  yet  uncontaminated  soil  of 
his  country  the  polluting  and  blighting  barbarism  of  slavery,  and 
consecrate  that  soil  eternally  to  freedom  ;  the  patriot  statesman, 
who,  in  defiance  of  the  ardor  civiuni  ^>m*;<2  jubentium,  lifts  up 
his  voice  like  a  prophet's  cry  against  the  barbarous  and  pagan 
policy  of  war  and  conquest  ;  the  jurist,  who,  like  Granville  Sharp. 


502 


EDWARD  C.  PINKNEY. 


by  long  and  patient  years  of  toil,  forces  the  law  to  recognise  at 
last  some  disregarded  principle  of  justice ;  the  teacher,  the  author, 
the  artist,  the  physician,  and  the  man  of  business,  who,  in  their 
various  places  of  duty  and  of  influence,  are  serving  their  genera- 
tion under  the  influence  of  Christian  principles; — these  all  are  in 
their  several  functions  the  anointed  ministers  of  Christianity, — ■ 
"  kings  and  priests  to  Grod." 

In  the  all-embracing  scheme  of  the  eternal  Providence,  no  act, 
or  effort,  or  aspiration  of  goodness  shall  be  in  vain.  No  rain-drop 
mingles  with  the  ocean  or  falls  upon  the  desert  sand,  no  particle 
of  dew  moistens  the  loneliest  and  baldest  cliff,  but  God  sees  it  and 
saves  it  for  the  uses  of  his  own  beneficence.  The  vanished  aspira- 
tions of  the  youth  who  fell  and  was  forgotten — whose  early  pro- 
mise sparkled  for  a  moment  and  exhaled — are  not  wholly  lost; 
he  has  not  lived  nor  died  in  vain. 

Let  these  thoughts  cheer  us  as  we  labor,  and  bear  us  up  in  our 
discouragements. 

"Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow, 
Is  our  destined  end  or  way  ; 
But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 
Find  us  farther  than  to-day. 

"  Let  us,  then,  be  up  and  doing, 
With  a  heart  for  any  fate; 
Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 
Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait." 

Phi  Beta  Kappa  Oration. 


EDWARD  C.  PINKNEY,  1802—1828. 

Edward  Coate  Pinkney,  son  of  Hon.  William  Pinkney,1  of  Baltimore,  Mary- 
land, was  born  in  London  in  October,  1802,  bis  father  being  at  that  time  minister 
at  tbe  Court  of  St.  James.  On  the  return  of  the  family,  he  entered  "St.  Mary'3 
College"  about  1S12,  and,  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  was  appointed  midshipman  in  the 
navy.  After  a  varied  service  of  nine  years,  he  resigned  his  place  in  the  navy,  was 
married,  and  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  1821.  But  his  previous  habits  of  life  were 
not  favorable  to  the  steady  and  earnest  pursuit  of  legal  investigations,  and  his 
poetic  temperament  did  not  suit  well  with  the  contentions  of  the  court-room: 
consequently  he  had  but  little  success  as  a  lawyer.    His  health,  too,  had  been  for 


1  William  Pinkney  was  a  native  of  Annapolis. — born  1764,  died  1822. — Ho 
was  appointed  to  various  European  missions  by  our  Government,  and  held  other 
eminent  public  stations.  His  greatest  celebrity,  however,  was  attained  at  the  bar, 
where  he  was  distinguished  alike  for  learning  and  eloquence.  He  it  was  who,  in 
the  House  of  Delegates  in  Maryland,  in  1789,  uttered  the  noble  sentiment, — ■ 
"Sir,  by  the  eternal  principles  of  natural  justice,  no  master  in  this  State  has  a 
right  to  hold  his  slave  for  a  single  hour." 


EDWARD  C.  PINKNEY. 


503 


some  time  feeble,  so  that  he  had  hardly  the  physical  powers  necessary  to  attain 
distinction  in  any  profession.  He  had  been  for  some  years  known  as  a  poet  to  his 
circle  of  friends;  and  in  1825  a  small  volume  appeared,  entitled  Rodolph,  and 
other  Poems.  Rodotyh — his  longest  work — has  not  much  merit;  but  some  of  his 
minor  pieces  are  very  beautiful,  and  richly  merit  preservation.  Had  his  life  been 
spared,  he  would  doubtless  have  trodden  a  higher  walk;  but  he  died  on  the  11th 
of  April,  1828,  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-five. 

ITALY. 

Know'st  thou  the  land  which  lovers  ought  to  choose  ? 

Like  blessings  there  descend  the  sparkling  dews  ; 

In  gleaming  streams  the  crystal  rivers  run, 

The  purple  vintage  clusters  in  the  sun  ; 

Odors  of  flowers  haunt  the  balmy  breeze, 

Rich  fruits  hang  high  upon  the  verdant  trees ; 

And  vivid  blossoms  gem  the  shady  groves, 

Where  bright-plumed  birds  discourse  their  careless  loves. 

Beloved ! — speed  we  from  this  sullen  strand, 

Until  thy  light  feet  press  that  green  shore's  yellow  sand. 

Look  seaward  thence,  and  naught  shall  meet  thine  eye 

But  fairy  isles,  like  paintings  on  the  sky; 

And,  flying  fast  and  free  before  the  gale, 

The  gaudy  vessel  with  its  glancing  sail ; 

And  waters  glittering  in  the  glare  of  noon, 

Or  touch'd  with  silver  by  the  stars  and  moon, 

Or  fleck'd  with  broken  lines  of  crimson  light, 

When  the  far  fisher's  fire  affronts  the  night. 

Lovely  as  loved !  toward  that  smiling  shore 

Bear  we  our  household  god-s,  to  fix  forever  more. 

It  looks  a  dimple  on  the  face  of  earth, 

The  seal  of  beauty,  and  the  shrine  of  mirth : 

Nature  is  delicate  and  gi-aceful  there, 

The  place's  genius,  feminine  and  fair ; 

The  winds  are  awed,  nor  dare  to  breathe  aloud; 

The  air  seems  never  to  have  borne  a  cloud, 

Save  where  volcanoes  send  to  heaven  their  curl'd 

And  solemn  smokes,  like  altars  of  the  world. 

Thrice  beautiful! — to  that  delightful  spot 

Carry  our  married  hearts,  and  be  all  pain  forgot. 

There  Art,  too,  shows,  when  Nature's  beauty  palls, 
Her  sculptured  marbles,  and  her  pictured  walls ; 
And  there  are  forms  in  which  they  both  conspire 
To  whisper  themes  that  know  not  how  to  tire ; 
The  speaking  ruins  in  that  gentle  clime 
Have  but  been  hallow'd  by  the  hand  of  Time, 
And  each  can  mutely  prompt  some  thought  of  flame: 
The  meanest  stone  is  not  without  a  name. 
Then  come,  beloved! — hasten  o'er  the  sea, 
To  build  our  happy  hearth  in  blooming  Italy. 


504 


EDWARD  C.  PINKNEY. 


A  HEALTH. 

I  fill  this  cup  to  one  made  up  of  loveliness  alone, 

A  -woman,  of  her  gentle  sex  the  seeming  paragon ; 

To  whom  the  better  elements  and  kindly  stars  have  given 

A  form  so  fair,  that,  like  the  air,  'tis  less  of  earth  than  heaven. 

Her  every  tone  is  music's  own,  like  those  of  morning  birds, 
And  something  more  than  melody  dwells  ever  in  her  words ; 
The  coinage  of  her  heart  are  they,  and  from  her  lips  each  flows. 
As  one  may  see  the  burden'd  bee  forth  issue  from  the  rose. 

Affections  are  as  thoughts  to  her,  the  measures  of  her  hours; 
Her  feelings  have  the  fragrance  and  the  freshness  of  young  flowers; 
And  lovely  passions,  changing  oft,  so  fill  her,  she  appears 
The  image  of  themselves  by  turns, — the  idol  of  past  years ! 

Of  her  bright  face  one  glance  will  trace  a  picture  on  the  brain, 
And  of  her  voice  in  echoing  hearts  a  sound  must  long  remain ; 
But  memory,  such  as  mine  of  her,  so  very  much  endears, 
When  death  is  nigh,  my  latest  sigh  will  not  be  life's,  but  hers. 

1  fill'd  this  cup  to  one  made  up  of  loveliness  alone, 

A  woman,  of  her  gentle  sex  the  seeming  paragon, — 

Her  health  !  and  would  on  earth  there  stood  some  more  of  such  a  frame, 

That  life  might  be  all  poetry,  and  weariness  a  name. 


A  SERENADE. 

Look  out  upon  the  stars,  my  love, 

And  shame  them  with  thine  eyes, 
On  which,  than  on  the  lights  above, 

There  hang  more  destinies. 
Night's  beauty  is  the  harmony 

Of  blending  shades  and  light ; 
Then,  lady,  up, — look  out,  and  be 

A  sister  to  the  night ! — 

Sleep  not ! — thine  image  wakes  for  aye 

Within  my  watching  breast: 
Sleep  not  ! — from  her  soft  sleep  should  fly, 

Who  robs  all  hearts  of  rest. 
Nay,  lady,  from  thy  slumbers  break, 

And  make  this  darkness  gay 
With  looks,  whose  brightness  well  might  make 

Of  darker  nights  a  day. 


GEORGE  P.  MORRIS. 


505 


GEORGE  P.  MORRIS. 

George  P.  Morris,  to  -whom  the  common  voice  of  the  country  has  given  the 
title  of  The  Song-Writer  op  America,  was  born  in  Philadelphia  in  1802.  Ho 
early  commenced  his  literary  career,  and  in  1S22  became  the  editor  of  "The  New 
York  Mirror,"  which  remained  under  his  control  till  1843,  when  pecuniary  diffi- 
culties, occasioned  by  the  storm  of  financial  embarrassment  which  had  but  shortly 
before  passed  over  the  country,  compelled  him  to  relinquish  its  publication. 
During  this  long  period,  this  periodical  was  very  ably  conducted,  and  became  the 
vehicle  of  introduction  to  the  public  of  some  of  the  best  writers  in  the  country. 
In  1844,  he  established  "The  New  Mirror,"  in  conjunction  with  his  friend  N.  P. 
Willis,  which  was  soon  after  changed  into  "The  Evening  Mirror."  This,  after 
being  continued  a  year  as  a  daily  paper,  with  great  spirit  and  taste,  was  sold  out, 
and  in  November,  1846,  these  two  gifted  authors  started  a  weekly  paper,  called 
"  The  Home  Journal,"  which  has  been  continued  from  year  to  year,  with  in- 
creasing popularity, — a  popularity  richly  deserved,  from  the  taste,  elegance,  and 
enterprise  with  which  it  is  conducted. 

General  Morris  has  published  the  following  works  : — The  Deserted  Bride,  and 
other  Poems,  1843;  The  Whip-poor-will ,  a  Poem;  American  Melodies;  two  or 
three  dramas;  and,  in  conjunction  with  his  friend  Willis,  an  admirable  book 
entitled  The  Prose  and  Poetry  of  Europe  and  America.  But  it  is  as  a  writer 
of  songs,  which  exert  no  little  influence  upon  national  character  and  manners, 
and  of  a  few  short  pieces  which,  by  their  elevated  moral  sentiment  and  touching 
pathos,  go  right  to  the  heart,  that  General  Morris  will  hold  an  enduring  place  in 
American  literature.1 


1  "  General  Morris's  fame  as  '  The  Song-Writer  of  America'  belongs  to  two 
hemispheres,  and  is  greater  now  than  it  has  ever  been  before.  'You  ask  me,' 
says  a  recent  letter  from  an  English  gentleman,  now  representing  in  the  House 
of  Commons  one  of  the  most  ancient  of  the  English  boroughs,  'whether  I  have 
seen  General  Morris's  last  song,  "Jenny  Marsh  of  Cherry  Valley."  You  can 
hardly  know,  when  you  put  such  a  question,  the  place  he  has  built  himself  in  the 
hearts  of  all  classes  here.  His  many  songs  and  ballads  are  household  words  in 
every  home  in  England,  and  have  a  dear  old  chair  by  every  circle  in  which 
kindly  friends  are  gathered;  and  parents  smile  with  pleasure  to  see  brothers  and 
sisters  join  their  voices  in  the  evening  song,  and  twine  closer  those  loving  chords, 
— the  tenderest  of  the  human  heart.  It  is  no  mean  reward  to  feel  that  the  child 
of  one's  brain  has  a  chair  in  such  circles,  and  that  the  love  for  the  child  passes  in 
hundreds  of  hearts  into  love  for  its  unseen  parent.  After  all,  what  are  all  the 
throat-warblings  in  the  world  to  one  such  heart-song  as  "  My  Mother's  Bible"  ? 
It  possesses  the  true  test  of  genius,  touching  with  sympathy  the  human  heart 
equally  in  the  palace  and  the  cottage.' " 

For  a  most  beautifully-written  critical  essay  upon  General  Morris's-  genius  and 
poems,  read  "Literary  Criticisms,  and  other  Papers,  by  the  late  Horace  Binney 
Wallace,  Esq.,  of  Philadelphia," — a  volume  which  does  the  highest  credit  to  the 
author  as  a  man  of  pure  taste,  correct  judgment,  and  finished  scholarship. 


*  He  receives  the  title  ot  General  from  his  holding  the  rank  of  brigadier-general  in  the 
military  organization  of  New  York. 

43 


GEORGE  P.  MORRIS. 


LIFE  IN  THE  WEST. 

Ho  !  brothers, — come  hither  and  list  to  my  story, — 

Merry  and  brief  will  the  narrative  be : 
Here,  like  a  monarch,  I  reign  in  my  glory — 

Master  am  I,  boys,  of  all  that  I  see. 
Where  once  frown'd  a  forest  a  garden  is  smiling, — 

The  meadow  and  moorland  are  marshes  no  more ; 
And  there  curls  the  smoke  of  my  cottage,  beguiling 

The  children  who  cluster  like  grapes  at  the  door. 
Then  enter,  boys  ;  cheerly,  boys,  enter  and  rest, 
The  land  of  the  heart  is  the  land  of  the  West. 
Oho,  boys  ! — oho,  boys ! — oho  ! 

Talk  not  of  the  town,  boys, — give  me  the  broad  prairie, 

Where  man,  like  the  wind,  roams  impulsive  and  free ; 
Behold  how  its  beautiful  colors  all  vary, 

Like  those  of  the  clouds,  or  the  deep-rolling  sea. 
A  life  in  the  woods,  boys,  is  even  as  changing ; 

With  proud  independence  we  season  our  cheer, 
And  those  who  the  world  are  for  happiness  ranging 

Won't  find  it  at  all,  if  they  don't  find  it  here. 
Then  enter,  boys ;  cheerly,  boys,  enter  and  rest ; 
I'll  show  you  the  life,  boys,  we  live  in  the  West. 
Oho,  boys ! — oho,  boys  ! — oho  ! 

Here,  brothers,  secure  from  all  turmoil  and  danger, 

We  reap  what  we  sow,  for  the  soil  is  our  own ; 
We  spread  hospitality's  board  for  the  stranger, 

And  care  not  a  fig  for  the  king  on  his  throne. 
We  never  know  want,  for  we  live  by  our  labor, 

And  in  it  contentment  and  happiness  find ; 
We  do  what  we  can  for  a  friend  or  a  neighbor, 

And  die,  boys,  in  peace  and  good  will  to  mankind. 
Then  enter,  boys  ;  cheerly,  boys,  enter  and  rest ; 
You  know  how  we  live,  boys,  and  die  in  the  West ! 
Oho,  boys ! — oho,  boys ! — oho  ! 


WHEN  OTHER  FRIENDS  ARE  ROUND  THEE. 

When  other  friends  are  round  thee, 

And  other  hearts  are  thine, 
When  other  bays  have  crown'd  thee, 

More  fresh  and  green  than  mine, 
Then  think  how  sad  and  lonely 

This  doating  heart  will  be, 
Which,  while  it  throbs,  throbs  only, 

Beloved  one,  for  thee  ! 

Yet  do  not  think  I  doubt  thee, 

I  know  thy  truth  remains  ; 
I  would  not  live  without  thee, 

For  all  the  world  contains. 


GEORGE  P.  MORRIS. 


507 


Thou  art  the  star  that  guides  me 
Along  life's  changing  sea  ; 

And  whate'er  fate  betides  me, 
This  heart  still  turns  to  thee. 


UP  WITH  THE  SIGNAL. 

Up,  tip  ivith  the  signal!    The  land  is  in  sight  ! 

We;ll  be  happy,  if  never  again,  boys,  to-night ! 

The  cold,  cheerless  ocean  in  safety  we've  pass'd, 

And  the  warm  genial  earth  glads  our  vision  at  last. 

In  the  land  of  the  stranger  true  hearts  we  shall  find, 

To  soothe  us  in  absence  of  those  left  behind. 

Land! — land-ho  !    All  hearts  glow  with  joy  at  the  sight! 

We'll  be  happy,  if  never  again,  boys,  to-night ! 

The  signal  is  leaving!    Till  morn  we'll  remain, 

Then  part  in  the  hope  to  meet  one  day  again 

Round  the  hearthstone  of  home  in  the  land  of  our  birth, 

The  holiest  spot  on  the  face  of  the  earth ! 

Dear  country !  our  thoughts  are  as  constant  to  thee 

As  the  steel  to  the  star,  or  the  stream  to  the  sea. 

Ho  ! — land-ho  !    We  near  it, — we  bound  at  the  sight. 

Then  be  happy,  if  never  again,  boys,  to-night ! 

The  signal  is  answered!    The  foam-sparkles  rise 

Like  tears  from  the  fountain  of  joy  to  the  eyes! 

May  rain-drops  that  fall  from  the  storm-clouds  of  care 

Melt  away  in  the  sun-beaming  smiles  of  the  fair ! 

One  health,  as  chime  gayly  the  nautical  bells, 

To  woman — God  bless  her ! — wherever  she  dwells ! 

The  pilot's  on  board  ! — and,  thank  Heaven  !  all's  right ! 

So  be  happy,  if  never  again,  boys,  to-night ! 


WOODMAN;  SPARE  THAT  TREE.1 

Woodman,  spare  that  tree  !  That  old  familiar  tree, 

Touch  not  a  single  bough :  Whose  glory  and  renown 

In  youth  it  shelter'd  me,  Are  spread  o'er  land  and  sea, 

And  I'll  protect  it  now.  And  wouldst  thou  hack  it  down? 

'Twas  my  forefather's  hand  Woodman,  forbear  thy  stroke ! 

That  placed  it  near  his  cot ;  Cut  not  its  earth-bound  ties ; 

There,  woodman,  let  it  stand,  Oh,  spare  that  aged  oak, 

Thy  axe  shall  harm  it  not.  Noav  towering  to  the  skies. 


1  "After  I  had  sung  the  noble  ballad  of  'Woodman,  Spare  that  Tree,'  at 
Boulogne,"  says  Mr.  Henry  Russell,  the  vocalist,  "an  old  gentleman  among  the 
audience,  who  was  greatly  moved  by  the  simple  and  touching  beauty  of  the 
words,  rose  and  said,  '  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Russell ;  but  was  the  tree  really 
spared  ?'  '  It  was,'  said  I.  '  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,'  said  he,  as  he  took  his 
seat  amidst  the  unanimous  applause  of  the  whole  assembly.  I  never  taw  such 
excitement  in  a  concert-room." 


508 


GEORGE  DENISON  PRENTICE. 


When  but  an  idle  boy, 

I  sought  its  grateful  shade ; 
In  all  t,.eir  gushing  joy, 

Here,  too,  my  sisters  play'd- 
My  mother  kiss'd  me  here; 

My  father  press'd  my  hand  : 
Forgive  this  foolish  tear, — 

But  let  that  old  oak  stand ! 


My  heart-strings  round  thee  cling, 

Close  as  thy  bark,  old  friend ! 
Here  shall  the  wild-bird  sing, 

And  still  thy  branches  bend. 
Old  tree  !  the  storm  still  brave ! 

And,  woodman,  leave  the  spot; 
While  I've  a  hand  to  save, 

Thy  axe  shall  harm  it  not. 


MY  MOTHER'S  BIBLE. 

This  book  is  all  that's  left  me  now  ! 

Tears  will  unbidden  start, — 
With  faltering  lip  and  throbbing  brow, 

I  press  it  to  my  heart. 
For  many  generations  past, 

Here  is  our  family  tree ; 
My  mother's  hands  this  Bible  clasp'd  ; 

She,  dying,  gave  it  me. 

Ah  !  well  do  I  remember  those 

Whose  names  these  records  bear, 
Who  round  the  hearthstone  used  to  close 

After  the  evening  prayer, 
And  speak  of  what  these  pages  said, 

In  tones  my  heart  would  thrill ! 
Though  they  are  with  the  silent  dead, 

Here  are  they  living  still ! 

My  father  read  this  holy  book 

To  brothers,  sisters  dear  ; 
How  calm  was  my  poor  mother's  look, 

Who  lean'd  God's  word  to  hear! 
Her  angel  face — I  see  it  yet ! 

What  thronging  memories  come  ! 
Again  that  little  group  is  met 

Within  the  halls  of  home ! 

Thou  truest  friend  man  ever  knew, 

Thy  constancy  I've  ti-ied  ; 
Where  all  were  false  I  found  thee  true, 

My  counsellor  and  guide. 
The  mines  of  earth  no  treasure  give 

That  could  this  volume  buy  : 
In  teaching  me  the  way  to  live, 

It  taught  me  how  to  die. 


GEORGE  DENTSON  PRENTICE, 

The  accomplished  editor  of  the  "Louisville  Journal,"  was  born  at  Preston,  Connec- 
ticut, December  18,  1802.  He  was  graduated  at  Brown  University,  1823,  and  then 
studied  law;  but  he  never  practised  his  profession,  preferring  to  devote  himself  U 
editorial  labors.   In  1S2S,  he  established  "  The  New  England  Weeidy  Review,"  ut 


GEORGE  DENISON  PRENTICE. 


509 


Hartford,  and  conducted  it  for  two  years,  when  he  resigned  it  to  the  poet  Whittier, 
and  removed  to  the  West,  where  he  assumed  the  charge  of  the  "  Louisville  Jour- 
nal," which  he  soon  raised  to  a  first-class  journal,  and  which  has  continued  to  the 
present  time  to  maintain  its  character  for  solid  ability  and  playful  wit  united, 
scarcely  second  to  that  of  any  other  journal  in  the  country. 

Mr.  Prentice  has  written  some  very  beautiful  poetry  for  his  own  journal  and  for 
other  periodicals ;  but  his  compositions  have  never  been  collected  in  a  volume. 
The  following  pieces  have  been  much  admired  : — 

SABBATH  EVENING. 

How  calmly  sinks  the  parting  sun ! 

Yet  twilight  lingers  still ; 
And  beautiful  as  dream  of  heaven 

It  slumbers  on  the  hill ; 
Earth  sleeps,  with  all  her  glorious  things, 
Beneath  the  Holy  Spirit's  wings, 
And,  rendering  back  the  hues  above, 
Seems  resting  in  a  trance  of  love. 

Round  yonder  rocks  the  forest-trees 

In  shadowy  groups  recline, 
Like  saints  at  evening  bow'd  in  prayer 

Around  their  holy  shrine  ; 
And  through  their  leaves  the  night-winds  blow, 
So  calm  and  still,  their  music  low 
Seems  the  mysterious  voice  of  prayer, 
Soft  echoed  on  the  evening  air. 

And  yonder  western  throng  of  clouds, 

Retiring  from  the  sky, 
So  calmly  move,  so  softly  glow, 

They  seem  to  Fancy's  eye 
Bright  creatures  of  a  better  sphere, 
Come  down  at  noon  to  worship  here, 
And,  from  their  sacrifice  of  love, 
Returning  to  their  home  above. 

The  blue  isles  of  the  golden  sea, 

The  night-arch  floating  high, 
The  flowers  that  gaze  upon  the  heavens, 

The  bright  streams  leaping  by, 
Are  living  with  religion, — deep 
On  earth  and  sea  its  glories  sleep, 
And  mingle  with  the  starlight  rays, 
Like  the  soft  light  of  parted  days. 

The  spirit  of  the  holy  eve 

Comes  through  the  silent  air 
To  feeling's  hidden  spring,  and  wakes 

A  gush  of  music  there ! 
And  the  far  depths  of  ether  beam 
So  passing  fair,  we  almost  dream 
That  we  can  rise,  and  wander  through 
Their  open  paths  of  trackless  blue. 

43* 


510 


RUFUS  DAWES. 


Each  soul  is  fill'd  with  glorious  dreams, 

Each  pulse  is  beating  wild  ; 
And  thought  is  soaring  to  the  shrine 

Of  glory  undefiled ! 
And  holy  aspirations  start, 
Like  blessed  angels,  from  the  heart, 
And  bind — for  earth's  dark  ties  are  riven — 
Our  spirits  to  the  gates  of  heaven. 


I  THINK  OF  THEE. 
TO  A  LADY. 

I  think  of  thee  when  morning  springs 
From  sleep,  with  plumage  bathed  in  dew, 

And,  like  a  young  bird,  lifts  her  wings 
Of  gladness  on  the  welkin  blue. 

And  when,  at  noon,  the  breath  of  love 
O'er  flower  and  stream  is  wandering  free, 

And  sent  in  music  from  the  grove, 
I  think  of  thee, — I  think  of  thee. 

I  think  of  thee,  when,  soft  and  wide, 
The  evening  spreads  her  robes  of  light, 

And,  like  a  young  and  timid  bride, 
Sits  blushing  in  the  arms  of  night. 

And  when  the  moon's  sweet  crescent  springs 
In  light  o'er  heaven's  deep,  waveless  sea, 

And  stars  are  forth,  like  blessed  things, 
I  think  of  thee, — I  think  of  thee. 

I  think  of  thee ; — that  eye  of  flame, 
Those  tresses,  falling  bright  and  free, 

That  brow,  where  "Beauty  writes  her  name,'' 
I  think  of  thee, — I  think  of  thee. 


RUFUS  DAWES. 

Rufus  Dawes  was  born  in  Boston,  on  the  26th  of  January,  1803.  His  father, 
Thomas  Dawes,  was  a  member  of  the  State  Convention  called  to  ratify  the  Con- 
stitution, and  was  for  'many  years  one  of  the  Judges  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
Massachusetts,  distinguished  for  his  learning,  eloquence,  wit,'  and  spotless  in- 
tegrity.   Our  poet  entered  Harvard  College  in  1820.    On  leaving  it,  he  entered 


1  He  was  remarkable  not  only  "for  his  great  reach  of  mind/*  (to  use  Daniel 
Webster's  words  respecting  him,)  but  for  his  quickness  of  repartee.  He  was  very 
short  in  stature;  and  one  day,  standing  in  State  Street,  Boston,  with  six  very  tall 
men,  among  whom  were  Harrison  Gray  Otis  and  Josiah  Quiney,  Mr.  Otis  said, 
"  Judge  Dawes,  how  do  you  feel"  (looking  down  on  him  at  the  same  time  very 
significantly)  "when  in  the  company  of  such  great  men  as  we?"  "Just  like  | 
fourpence  halfpenny  among  six  cents,"  was  his  prompt  reply. 


RUFUS  DAWES. 


511 


the  office  of  General  William  Sullivan  as  a  law-student,  and,  after  completing  his 
studies,  was  admitted  a  member  of  the  Suffolk  County  bar.  The  profession,  how- 
ever, was  not  congenial  to  his  feelings,  and  he  has  never  pursued  its  practice. 
Early  in  1S28,  he  published  a  prospectus  of  "  The  Emerald  and  Baltimore  Lite- 
rary Gazette,"  of  which  he  was  to  be  the  editor,  and  on  the  29th  of  March  of  that 
year  appeared  the  first  number.  In  1829,  he  was  married  to  a  daughter  of  Chief- 
Justice  Crunch,  of  Washington.  In  1830,  he  published  The  Valley  of  the  Nasha- 
way,  and  other  Poems ;  and  in  ]S39,  Athenia  of  Damascus;  Geraldine;  and  his 
miscellaneous  poetical  writings.  In  the  winter  of  1840-41,  he  delivered  a  course 
of  literary  lectures  in  Xew  York,  before  the  American  Institute.  He  now  resides 
in  Washington,  D.C. 

SPIRIT  OF  BEAUTY. 

The  Spirit  of  Beauty  unfurls  her  light, 
And  wheels  her  course  in  a  joyous  flight ; 
I  know  her  track  through  the  balmy  air, 
By  the  blossoms  that  cluster  and  whiten  there ; 
She  leaves  the  tops  of  the  mountains  green, 
And  gems  the  valley  with  crystal  sheen. 

At  morn,  I  know  where  she  rested  at  night, 
For  the  roses  are  gushing  with  dewy  delight : 
Then  she  mounts  again,  and  round  her  flings 
A  shower  of  light  from  her  crimson  wings  ; 
Till  the  spirit  is  drunk  with  the  music  on  high, 
That  silently  fills  it  with  ecstasy. 

At  noon  she  hies  to  a  cool  retreat, 

Where  bowering  elms  over  waters  meet ; 

She  dimples  the  wave  where  the  green  leaves  dip, 

As  it  smilingly  curls  like  a  maiden's  lip 

When  her  tremulous  bosom  would  hide,  in  vain, 

From  her  lover,  the  hope  that  she  loves  again. 

At  eve  she  hangs  o'er  the  western  sky 
Dark  clouds  for  a  glorious  canopy, 
And  round  the  skirts  of  their  deepen'd  fold 
She  paints  a  border  of  purple  and  gold, 
Where  the  lingering  sunbeams  love  to  stay 
When  their  god  in  his  glory  has  pass'd  away. 

She  hovers  around  us  at  twilight  hour, 

When  her  presence  is  felt  with  the  deepest  power ; 

She  silvers  the  landscape,  and  crowds  the  stream 

With  shadows  that  flit  like  a  faii-y  dream ; 

Then  wheeling  her  flight  through  the  gladden'd  air, 

The  Spirit  of  Beauty  is  everyAvhere. 


SUNRISE,  FROM  MOUNT  WASHINGTON. 

The  laughing  hours  have  chased  away  the  night, 
Plucking  the  stars  out  from  her  diadem:  — 


512 


RUFUS  DAWES. 


And  now  the  blue-eyed  Morn,  with  modest  grace, 
Looks  through  her  half-drawn  curtains  in  the  east, 
Blushing  in  smiles,  and  glad  as  infancy. 
And  see,  the  foolish  Moon,  but  now  so  vain 
Of  borrow'd  beauty,  how  she  yields  her  charms, 
And,  pale  with  envy,  steals  herself  away ! 
The  clouds  have  put  their  gorgeous  livery  on, 
Attendant  on  the  day  :  the  mountain-tops 
Have  lit  their  beacons,  and  the  vales  below 
Send  up  a  welcoming :  no  song  of  birds, 
Warbling  to  charm  the  air  with  melody, 
Floats  on  the  frosty  breeze  ;  yet  Nature  hath 
The  very  soul  of  music  in  her  looks  ! 
The  sunshine  and  the  shade  of  poetry. 

I  stand  upon  thy  lofty  pinnacle, 
Temple  of  Nature !  and  look  down  with  awe 
On  the  wide  world  beneath  me,  dimly  seen ; 
Around  me  crowd  the  giant  sons  of  earth, 
Fix'd  on  their  old  foundations,  unsubdued; 
Firm  as  when  first  rebellion  bade  them  rise 
Unrifted  to  the  Thunderer :  now  they  seem 
A  family  of  mountains,  clustering  round 
Their  hoary  patriarch,  emulously  watching 
To  meet  the  partial  glances  of  the  day. 
Far  in  the  glowing  east  the  flickering  light, 
Mellow'd  by  distance,  with  the  blue  sky  blending, 
Questions  the  eye  with  ever-varying  forms. 

The  sun  comes  up  !  away  the  shadows  fling 
From  the  broad  hills;  and,  hurrying  to  the  west, 
Sport  in  the  sunshine  till  they  die  away. 
The  many  beauteous  mountain-streams  leap  down, 
Out-welling  from  the  clouds,  and  sparkling  light 
Dances  along  with  their  perennial  flow. 
And  there  is  beauty  in  yon  river's  path, 
The  glad  Connecticut !  I  know  her  well, 
By  the  white  veil  she  mantles  o'er  her  charms : 
At  times  she  loiters  by  a  ridge  of  hills, 
Sportfully  hiding ;  then  again  with  glee 
Out-rushes  from  her  wild-Avood  lurking-place. 
Far  as  the  eye  can  bound,  the  ocean-waves, 
And  hills  and  rivers,  mountains,  lakes,  and  woods, 
And  all  that  hold  the  faculty  entranced, 
Bathed  in  a  flood  of  glory,  float  in  air, 
And  sleep  in  the  deep  quietude  of  joy. 

There  is  an  awful  stillness  in  this  place, 
A  Presence  that  forbids  to  break  the  spell, 
Till  the  heart  pour  its  agony  in  tears. 
But  I  must  drink  the  vision  while  it  lasts ; 
For  even  now  the  curling  vapors  rise, 
Wreathing  their  cloudy  coronals,  to  grace 
These  towering  summits — bidding  me  away  ; 
But  often  shall  my  heart  turn  back  again, 
Thou  glorious  eminence  !  and  when  oppress'd, 
And  aching  with  the  coldness  of  the  world, 
Find  a  sweet  resting-place  and  home  with  thee. 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 


513 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  one  of  the  most  original  writers  in  our  country,  was 
born  in  Boston  in  the  year  1803,  and  was  graduated  at  Harvard  College  in  1S21. 
On  leaving  college,  he  devoted  his  time  to  theological  studies,  and  was  settled  as 
pastor  of  the  Second  Unitarian  Church  in  his  native  city.  But,  his  views  respecting 
some  of  the  Christian  ordinances  undergoing  a  change,  he  gave  up  the  ministry, 
and  retired  to  the  quiet  village  of  Concord,  Mass.,  devoting  himself  to  his  favorite 
studies, — the  nature  of  man  and  hi?  relations  to  the  universe. 

The  following  are  Mr.  Emerson's  chief  publications:  Man  Thinking,  an  oration 
delivered  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  in  1837;  Literary  Ethics,  an  oration; 
and  Nature — an  Essay,  in  1838;  The  Dial,  a  magazine  of  literature,  philosophy, 
and  history,  which  he  commenced  in  1840  and  cuntinued  for  four  years ;  The 
Method  of  Nature,  Man  the  Reformer,  three  lectures  on  the  times,  and  the  first 
series  of  his  essays,  in  1841  ;  lectures  on  the  New  England  Reformers,  the  Young 
American,  and  Negro  Emancipation  in  the  West  Indies,  in  1844;  a  volume  of 
Poems,  in  1846,  and  the  lectures,  delivered  during  his  visit  to  England  in  1849, 
which  form  the  volume  called  Representative  Men. 

Such  are  Mr.  Emerson's  principal  writings.  As  an  author  he  never  can  be 
popular,  for  he  is  too  abstruse  and  too  metaphysical,  and  has  too  little  of  human 
sympathy  to  reach  the  heart;  while  he  is  at  times  so  quaint  or  so  obscure  that 
one  is  no  little  puzzled  to  find  out  his  meaning.1 


THE  COMPENSATIONS  OF  CALAMITY. 

We  cannot  part  with  our  friends.  We  cannot  let  our  angels 
go.  We  do  not  see  that  they  only  go  out,  that  archangels  may 
come  in.  We  are  idolaters  of  the  old.  We  do  not  believe  in  the 
riches  of  the  soul,  in  its  proper  eternity  and  omnipresence.  We 
do  not  believe  there  is  any  force  in  to-day  to  rival  or  recreate  that 
beautiful  yesterday.  We  linger  in  the  ruins  of  the  old  tent,  where 
once  we  had  bread  and  shelter  and  organs,  nor  believe  that  the 
spirit  can  feed,  cover,  and  nerve  us  again.  We  cannot  again  find 
aught  so  dear,  so  sweet,  so  graceful.  But  we  sit  and  weep  in  vain. 
The  voice  of  the  Almighty  saith,  "Up  and  onward  for  evermore!" 
We  cannot  stay  amid  the  ruins.  Neither  will  we  rely  on  the  new; 
and  so  we  walk  ever  with  reverted  eyes,  like  those  monsters  who 
look  backwards. 


1  An  English  critic  thus  speaks  of  him: — "Mr.  Emerson  possesses  so  many 
characteristics  of  genius  that  his  want  of  universality  is  the  more  to  be  regretted: 
the  leading  feature  of  his  mind  is  intensity;  he  is  deficient  in  heart-sympathy." 
Again,  "It  is  better  for  a  man  to  tell  his  story  as  Mr.  Irving,  Mr.  Hawthorne,  oi 
Mr.  Longfellow  does,  than  to  adopt  the  style  Emersonian,  in  which  thoughts  may 
be  buried  so  deep  that  common  seekers  shall  be  unable  to  find  them." 


514 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 


And  yet  the  compensations  of  calamity  are  made  apparent  to 
the  understanding  also,  after  long  intervals  of  time.  A  fever,  a 
mutilation,  a  cruel  disappointment,  a  loss  of  wealth,  a  loss  of  friends, 
seems  at  the  moment  unpaid  loss,  and  unpayable.  But  the  sure 
years  reveal  the  deep  remedial  force  that  underlies  all  facts.  The 
death  of  a  dear  friend,  wife,  brother,  lover,  which  seemed  nothing 
but  privation,  somewhat  later  assumes  the  aspect  of  a  guide  or 
genius  j  for  it  commonly  operates  revolutions  in  our  way  of  life, 
terminates  an  epoch  of  infancy  or  of  youth  which  was  waiting  to 
be  closed;  breaks  up  a  wonted  occupation,  or  a  household,  or  style 
of  living,  and  allows  the  formation  of  new  ones  more  friendly  to 
the  growth  of  character.  It  permits  or  constrains  the  formation 
of  new  acquaintances,  and  the  reception  of  new  influences  that 
prove  of  the  first  importance  to  the  next  years  j  and  the  man  or 
woman  who  would  have  remained  a  sunny  garden-flower,  with  no 
room  for  its  roots  and  too  much  sunshine  for  its  head,  by  the  fall- 
ing of  the  walls  and  the  neglect  of  the  gardener,  is  made  the 
banian  of  the  forest,  yielding  shade  and  fruit  to  wide  neighbor- 
hoods of  men. 

TRAVELLING. 

I  have  no  churlish  objection  to  the  circumnavigation  of  the 
globe,  for  the  purposes  of  art,  of  study,  and  benevolence,  so  that 
the  man  is  first  domesticated,  or  does  not  go  abroad  with  the  hope 
of  finding  somewhat  greater  than  he  knows.  He  who  travels  to 
be  amused,  or  to  get  somewhat  which  he  does  not  carry,  travels 
away  from  himself,  and  grows  old  even  in  youth  among  old  things. 
In  Thebes,  in  Palmyra,  his  will  and  mind  have  become  old  and 
dilapidated  as  they.    He  carries  ruins  to  ruins. 

Travelling  is  a  fool's  paradise.  We  owe  to  our  first  journeys 
the  discovery  that  place  is  nothing.  At  home  I  dream  that  at 
Naples,  at  Rome,  I  can  be  intoxicated  with  beauty,  and  lose  my 
sadness.  I  pack  my  trunk,  embrace  my  friends,  embark  on  the 
sea,  and  at  last  wake  up  at  Naples,  and  there  beside  me  is  the 
stern  fact,  the  sad  self,  unrelenting,  identical,  that  I  fled  from.  I 
seek  the  Vatican  and  the  palaces.  I  affect  to  be  intoxicated  with 
sights  and  suggestions;  but  I  am  not  intoxicated.  My  giant  goefc 
with  me  wherever  I  go. 

But  the  rage  of  travelling  is  itself  only  a  symptom  of  a  deeper 
unsoundness  affecting  the  whole  intellectual  action.  The  intellect 
is  vagabond,  and  the  universal  system  of  education  fosters  restless- 
ness. Our  minds  travel  when  our  bodies  are  forced  to  stay  at 
home.  We  imitate;  and  what  is  imitation  but  the  travelling  of 
the  mind?  Our  houses  are  built  with  foreign  taste;  our  shelves 
are  garnished  with  foreign  ornaments;  our  opinions,  our  tastes, 
our  whole  minds,  lean  to,  and  follow  the  past  and  the  distant  as  the 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 


515 


eyes  of  a  maid  follow  her  mistress.  The  soul  created  the  arts 
wherever  they  have  flourished.  It  was  in  his  own  mind  that  the 
artist  sought  his  model.  It  was  an  application  of  his  own  thought 
to  the  thing  to  be  done  and  the  conditions  to  be  observed.  And 
why  need  we  copy  the  Doric  or  the  Gothic  model  ?  Beauty,  con- 
venience, grandeur  of  thought,  and  quaint  expression  are  as  near 
to  us  as  to  any,  and  if  the  American  artist  will  study  with  hope 
and  love  the  precise  thing  to  be  done  by  him,  considering  the 
climate,  the  soil,  the  length  of  the  day,  the  wants  of  the  people, 
the  habit  and  form  of  the  government,  he  will  create  a  house  in 
which  all  these  will  find  themselves  fitted,  and  taste  and  sentiment 
will  be  satisfied  also. 

SELF-RELIANCE. 

Insist  on  yourself ;  never  imitate.  Your  own  gift  you  can  pre- 
sent every  moment  with  the  cumulative  force  of  a  whole  life's 
cultivation ;  but  of  the  adopted  talent  of  another  you  have  only 
an  extemporaneous,  half  possession.  That  which  each  can  do 
best,  none  but  his  Maker  can  teach  him.  No  man  yet  knows 
what  it  is,  nor  can,  till  that  person  has  exhibited  it.  Where  is 
the  master  who  could  have  taught  Shakspeare?  Where  is  the 
master  who  could  have  instructed  Franklin,  or  Washington,  or 
Bacon,  or  Newton?  Every  great  man  is  a  unique.  The  Seipion- 
ism  of  Scipio  is  precisely  that  part  he  could  not  borrow.  If  any- 
body will  tell  me  whom  the  great  man  imitates  in  the  original 
crisis  when  he  performs  a  great  act,  I  will  tell  him  who  else  than 
himself  can  teach  him.  Shakspeare  will  never  be  made  by  the 
study  of  Shakspeare.  Do  that  which  is  assigned  thee,  and  thou 
canst  not  hope  too  much  or  dare  too  much. 


GOOD-BYE,  PROUD  WORLD. 

Good-bye,  proud  world  !  I'm  going  home : 
Thourt  not  my  friend,  and  I'm  not  thine. 

Long  through  thy  weary  crowds  I  roam ; 
A  river-ark  on  the  ocean's  brine, 

Long  I've  been  toss'd  like  the  driven  foam; 

But  now,  proud  world !  I'm  going  home. 

Good-bye  to  Flattery's  fawning  face  ; 

To  Grandeur,  with  his  wise  grimace; 

To  upstart  Wealth's  averted  eye; 

To  supple  Office,  low  and  high; 

To  crowded  halls,  to  court  and  street; 

To  frozen  hearts  and  hasting  feet; 

To  those  who  go,  and  those  who  come; 

Good-bye,  proud  world  !  I'm  going  home. 


516 


JACOB  ABBOTT. 


I  am  going  to  my  own  hearth-stone, 
Bosom'd  in  yon  green  hills  alone — 
A  secret  nook  in  a  pleasant  land, 
Whose  groves  the  frolic  fairies  plann'd; 
Where  arches  green,  the  livelong  day, 
Echo  the  blackbird's  roundelay, 
And  vulgar  feet  have  never  trod 
A  spot  that  is  sacred  to  thought  and  God. 

Oh,  when  I  am  safe  in  my  sylvan  home, 
I  tread  on  the  pride  of  Greece  and  Rome ; 
And  when  I  am  stretch'd  beneath  the  pines, 
Where  the  evening  star  so  holy  shines, 
I  laugh  at  the  lore  and  the  pride  of  man, 
At  the  sophist  schools,  and  the  learned  clan ; 
For  what  are  they  all  in  their  high  conceit, 
AVhen  man  in  the  bush  with  God  may  meet! 


JACOB  ABBOTT. 

Jacob  Abbott  was  born  in  Hallowell,  Maine,  in  1S03,  and,  at  the  age  of  twelve, 
entered  Bowdoin  College.  After  graduating,  he  studied  theology  at  Andover, 
and,  on  completing  his  three  years'  course  there,  was  appointed  tutor,  and  after- 
wards Professor  of  Mathematics,  in  Amherst  College,  which  station  he  filled  with 
great  success.  Thence  he  was  called  to  the  pastoral  charge  of  the  Elliot  Street 
Congregational  Church,  Boston. 

His  first  important  literary  work — The  Young  Christian — appeared  in  Boston 
in  1825;  since  which  time  he  has  written  many  works,  mostly  intended  for  tho 
instruction  of  the  young,  in  which  branch  of  literature  he  has  been  remarkably 
successful.  The  Young  Christian  series  (comprising  The  Young  Christian,  Corner- 
stone, Wa}j  to  do  Good,  Hoary  Head,  and  McDonner)  has  enjo3Ted  not  only  a 
wide  circulation  in  this  country,  but  numerous  editions  have  been  issued  in  Eng- 
land, Scotland,  France,  and  Germany. 

Besides  his  literary  works,  Mr.  Abbott  was  very  successful  as  a  teacher  in  his 
well-known  Mount  Vernon  School  for  Young  Ladies,  in  Boston ;  and  at  a  later 
period,  when  associated  with  his  brother,  John  S.  C.  Abbott,  in  the  Houston  and 
Bleecker  Street  schools,  in  New  York.  During  the  last  eight  or  ten  years  he  has 
devoted  his  time  entirely  to  writing,1  and  now  resides  in  New  York  City. 

INTELLECTUAL  IMPROVEMENT. 

The  great  mass  of  mankind  consider  the  intellectual  powers  as 
susceptible  of  a  certain  degree  of  development  in  childhood,  to 


1  His  works  have  been  very  numerous, — more  than  sixty  volumes  in  all, — in- 
cluding a  series  of  biographies  of  distinguished  characters  ;  and  the  Hollo  BooJcs. 
More  interesting  and  instructive  works,  especially  for  the  young,  can  hardly  else  • 
where  be  found. 


JACOB  ABBOTT. 


517 


prepare  the  individual  for  the  active  duties  of  life.  This  degree 
of  progress  they  suppose  to  be  made  before  the  age  of  twenty  is 
attained,  and  hence  they  talk  of  an  education  being  finished  ! 
Now,  if  a  parent  wishes  to  convey  the  idea  that  his  daughter  has 
closed  her  studies  at  school,  or  that  his  son  has  finished  his  pre- 
paratory professional  course  and  is  ready  to  commence  practice, 
there  is  perhaps  no  strong  objection  to  his  using  the  common 
phrase  that  the  education  is  finished  ;  but  in  any  general  or  pro- 
per use  of  language,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  finished  educa- 
tion. The  most  successful  student  that  ever  left  a  school,  or  took 
his  degree  at  college,  never  arrived  at  a  good  place  to  stop  in  his 
intellectual  course.  In  fact,  the  farther  he  goes  the  more  de- 
sirous will  he  feel  to  go  on;  and  if  you  wish  to  find  an  instance 
of  the  greatest  eagerness  and  interest  with  which  the  pursuit  of 
knowledge  is  prosecuted,  you  will  find  it  undoubtedly  in  the  case 
of  the  most  accomplished  and  thorough  scholar  which  the  country 
can  furnish,  who  has  spent  a  long  life  in  study,  and  who  finds 
that  the  farther  he  goes  the  more  and  more  widely  does  the 
boundless  field  of  intelligence  open  before  him. 

Give  up,  then,  at  once,  all  idea  of  finishing  your  education. 
The  sole  object  of  the  course  of  discipline  at  any  literary  institu- 
tion in  our  land  is  not  to  finish,  but  just  to  show  you  how  to 
begin;  to  give  you  an  impulse  and  a  direction  upon  that  course 
which  you  ought  to  pursue  with  unabated  and  uninterrupted 
ardor  as  long  as  you  have  being.  *  *  * 

The  objects  of  study  are  of  several  kinds  :  one  is, — to  increase 
our  intellectual  powers.  Every  one  knows  that  there  is  a  difference 
of  ability  in  different  minds;  but  it  is  not  so  distinctly  understood 
that  every  one's  abilities  may  be  increased  or  strengthened  by  a 
kind  of  culture  adapted  expressly  to  this  purpose, — I  mean  a  cul- 
ture which  is  intended  not  to  add  to  the  stock  of  knowledge,  but 
only  to  increase  intellectual  power.  Scholars  very  often  ask, 
when  pursuing  some  difficult  study,  "  What  good  will  it  do  me  to 
know  this  ?"  But  that  is  not  the  question.  They  ought  to  ask, 
"  What  good  will  it  do  me  to  learn  it?  What  effect  upon  my 
habits  of  thinking,  and  upon  my  intellectual  powers,  will  be  pro- 
duced by  the  efforts  to  examine  and  to  conquer  these  difficulties  V 
Do  not  shrink,  then,  from  difficult  work  in  your  efforts  at  intel- 
lectual improvement.  You  ought,  if  you  wish  to  secure  the 
greatest  advantage,  to  have  some  difficult  work,  that  you  may 
acquire  habits  of  patient  research,  and  increase  and  strengthen 
your  intellectual  powers. 

Another  object  of  study  is, — the  acquisition  of  knowledge ;  and 
a  moment's  reflection  will  convince  any  one  that  the  acquisition 
of  knowledge  is  the  duty  of  all.  If  there  is  any  thing  clearly 
manifest  of  G-od's  intentions  in  regard  to  employment  for  man,  it 


518 


JACOB  ABBOTT. 


is  that  he  should  spend  a  very  considerable  portion  of  his  time 
upon  earth  in  acquiring  knowledge, — knowledge,  in  all  the  extent 
and  variety  in  which  it  is  offered  to  human  powers.  The  whole 
economy  of  nature  is  such  as  to  allure  man  to  the  investigation  of 
it,  and  the  whole  structure  of  his  mind  is  so  framed  as  to  qualify 
him  exactly  for  the  work.  If  now  a  person  begins  in  early  life, 
and  even  as  late  as  twenty,  and  makes  it  a  part  of  his  constant  aim 
to  acquire  knowledge, — endeavoring  every  day  to  learn  something 
which  he  did  not  know  before,  or  to  fix  something  in  the  mind 
which  was  before  not  familiar, — he  will  make  an  almost  insensible 
but  a  most  rapid  and  important  progress.  The  field  of  his  intel- 
lectual vision  will  widen  and  extend  every  year.  His  powers  of 
mind  as  well  as  his  attainments  will  be  increased;  and  as  he  can 
see  more  extensively,  so  he  can  act  more  effectually  ever}''  month 
than  he  could  in  the  preceding.  He  thus  goes  on  through  life, 
growing  in  knowledge  and  in  intellectual  and  moral  power;  and 
if  his  spiritual  progress  keeps  pace,  as  it  ought  to,  with  his  intel- 
lectual advancement,  he  is,  with  the  divine  assistance  and  blessing, 
exalting  himself  higher  and  higher  in  the  scale  of  being,  and  pre- 
paring himself  for  a  loftier  and  wider  field  of  service  in  the  world 
to  come.  Young  Christian. 


THE  THING  ESSENTIAL  TO  HAPPINESS. 

There  is  one  point  in  connection  with  the  subject  of  the  manage- 
ment of  worldly  affairs  which  ought  not  to  be  passed  by,  and  which 
is  yet  an  indispensable  condition  of  human  happiness.  I  mean 
the  duty  of  every  man  to  bring  his  expenses  and  his  pecuniary 
liabilities  fairly  within  his  control.  There  are  some  cases  of  a 
peculiar  character,  and  some  occasional  emergencies,  perhaps,  in 
the  life  of  every  man,  which  constitute  exceptions;  but  this  is 
the  general  rule. 

The  plentifulness  of  money  depends  upon  its  relation  to  our  ex- 
penditures. An  English  nobleman,  with  an  annual  income  of 
fifty  thousand  pounds  sterling,  may  be  pressed  for  money,  and  be 
harassed  by  it  to  such  a  degree  as  to  make  life  a  burden ;  while 
an  Irish  laborer  on  a  railroad  in  New  England,  with  eighty  cents 
a  day,  in  the  dead  of  winter,  may  have  a  plentiful  supply,  lle- 
duce,  then,  your  expenditures,  and  your  style  of  living,  and  your 
business  too,  so  far  below  your  pecuniary  means,  that  you  may 
have  money  in  plenty.  There  is,  perhaps,  nothing  wliich  so 
grinds  the  human  soul,  and  produces  such  an  insupportable  bur- 
den of  wretchedness  and  despondency,  as  pecuniary  pressure. 
Nothing  more  frequently  drives  men  to  suicide.  And  there  is, 
perhaps,  no  danger  to  which  men  in  an  active  and  enterprising 
community  are  more  exposed.    Almost  all  are  eagerly  reaching 


HORACE  BUSHNELL. 


519 


forward  to  a  station  in  life  a  little  above  what  they  can  well 
afford,  or  struggling  to  do  a  business  a  little  more  extensive  than 
they  have  capital  or  steady  credit  for;  and  thus  they  keep,  all 
through  life,  just  above  their  means; — and  just  above,  no  matter 
by  how  small  an  excess,  is  inevitable  misery. 

Be  sure,  then,  if  your  aim  is  happiness,  to  bring  clown,  at  all 
hazards,  your  style  of  living  and  your  responsibilities  of  business 
to  such  a  point  that  you  shall  easily  be  able  to  reach  it.  Do  this, 
I  say,  at  all  hazards.  If  you  cannot  have  money  enough  for  your 
purposes  in  a  house  with  two  rooms,  take  a  house  with  one.  It  is 
your  only  chance  for  happiness.  For  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
happiness  in  a  single  room,  with  plain  furniture  and  simple  fare ; 
but  there  is  no  such  thing  as  happiness  with  responsibilities 
which  cannot  be  met,  and  debts  increasing  without  any  prospect 
of  their  discharge.  Way  to  do  Good. 


HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

Horace  Bushnell,  D.D.,  was  born  in  Washington,  Litchfield  County,  Connec- 
ticut, in  1804,  and  was  graduated  at  Yale  College  in  1827.  After  leaving  college,  he 
became  the  literary  editor  of  the  New  York  Journal  of  Commerce,  and  in  1829  was 
appointed  tutor  in  Yale  College.  In  May,  1838,  he  was  called  to  be  the  pastor 
of  the  North  Congregational  Church  in  Hartford,  which  position  he  still  retains. 

Dr.  Bushnell  is  a  profound  and  therefore  an  independent  thinker,  and  has  con- 
sequently been  arraigned  by  some  of  his  clerical  brethren  as  not  soundby  "ortho- 
dox," because  he  does  not  choose  to  adopt  all  the  old  phraseology.  Those  who 
have  attacked  him,  however,  on  this  ground,  have  had  abundant  reason  to  repent 
of  their  rashness  :  for  he  has  vindicated  his  faith  in  a  manner  that  has  completely 
silenced  his  opponents.  His  writings  have  been  mainly  on  the  subject  of  theology, 
though  he  has  occasionally  stepped  aside  into  the  paths  of  literature.  In  1837  he 
delivered  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  oration  at  New  Haven,  On  the  Principles  of  National 
Greatness;  in  1848,  before  the  same  society,  at  Cambridge,  an  oration  entitled 
Work  and  Play;  and  in  1849  he  addressed  the  New  England  Society  of  New  York 
on  The  Fathers  of  New  England.  His  chief  theological  works  are  entitled  God  in 
Christ ;—  Views  of  Christian  Nurture; — and  Christ  in  Theology.  He  has  also  contri- 
buted largely  to  the  "New  Englander,"  and  published  several  occasional  sermons, 
entitled  Unconscious  Influence, —  The  Day  of  Roads,  tracing  the  progress  of  civili- 
zation by  the  character  and  condition  of  the  great  highways, — Barbarism  the  First 
Banger,  in  allusion  to  emigration  ;  Religious  Music  ;  and  Politics  under  the  Law  of 
God. 

His  latest  published  work — Nature  and  the  Supernatural  as  together  constituting 
the  One  System  of  God — is  one  of  profound  thought,  and  will  arrest  the  attention 
of  all  thinking  minds.  Its  starting-point  of  discussion,  its  definitions  4and  modes 
of  statement,  the  breadth  of  its  view,  the  terseness  of  its  language,  and  the  vigor  of 
its  logic,  give  it  a  grasp  and  power  over  the  main  issue  which  no  work  on  kindred 


520 


HORACE  BUSHNELL. 


themes  has  shown  since  Butler  wrote  his  "Analogy."  Besides,  too,  since  the 
"Analogy"  was  written,  the  ground  in  dispute  has  changed;  and  Dr.  Bushnell 
goes  beyond  Butler,  in  proving  not  only  an  analogy  of  Natural  and  Revealed 
religion,  but  the  unity  of  Nature  and  the  Supernatural  in  the  one  system  of  God. 


WORK  AND  PLAY. 

The  drama,  as  a  product  of  genius,  is,  within  a  certain  narrow 
limit,  the  realization  of  play.  But  far  less  effectively,  or  more 
faintly,  when  it  is  acted.  Then  the  counterfeit,  as  it  is  more 
remote,  is  more  feeble.  In  the  reading  we  invent  our  own 
sceneries,  clothe  into  form  and  expression  each  one  of  the  charac- 
ters, and  play  out  our  own  liberty  in  them  as  freely,  and  sometimes 
as  divinely,  as  they.  Whatever  reader,  therefore,  has  a  soul  of 
true  life  and  fire  within  him,  finds  all  expectation  balked  when  he 
becomes  an  auditor  and  spectator.  The  scenery  is  tawdry  and  flat, 
the  characters,  definitely  measured,  have  lost  their  infinity,  so  to 
speak,  and  thus  their  freedom,  and  what  before  was  play  descends 
to  nothing  better  or  more  inspired  than  work.  It  is  called  going 
to  the  play,  but  it  should  rather  be  called  going  to  the  Avork,  that 
is,  to  see  a  play  worked,  (yes,  an  opera  I  that  is  it !) — men  and 
women  inspired  through  their  memory,  and  acting  their  inspira- 
tions by  rote,  panting  into  love,  pumping  at  the  fountains  of  grief, 
whipping  out  the  passions  into  fury,  and  dying  to  fulfil  the  con- 
tract of  the  evening,  by  a  forced  holding  of  the  breath.  And  yet 
this  feeble  counterfeit  of  play,  which  some  of  us  would  call  only 
"  very  tragical  mirth,"  has  a  power  to  the  multitude.  They  are 
moved,  thrilled  it  may  be,  with  a  strange  delight.  It  is  as  if  a 
something  in  their  nature,  higher  than  they  themselves  know,  were 
quickened  into  power, — namely,  that  divine  instinct  of  play,  in 
which  the  summit  of  our  nature  is  most  clearly  revealed. 

In  like  manner,  the  passion  of  our  race  for  war,  and  the  eager 
admiration  yielded  to  warlike  exploits,  are  resolvable  principally 
into  the  same  fundamental  cause.  Mere  ends  and  uses  do  not 
satisfy  us.  We  must  get  above  prudence  and  economy,  into  some- 
thing that  partakes  of  inspiration,  be  the  cost  what  it  may.  Hence 
war,  another  and  yet  more  magnificent  counterfeit  of  play.  Thus 
there  is  a  great  and  lofty  virtue  that  we  call  courage,  (cour-agc,') 
taking  our  name  from  the  heart.  It  is  the  greatness  of  a  great 
heart,  the  repose  and  confidence  of  a  man  whose  soul  is  rested  in 
truth  and  principle.  Such  a  man  has  no  ends  ulterior  to  his  duty, 
— duty  itself  is  his  end.  He  is  in  it  therefore  as  in  play,  lives  it 
as  an  inspiration.  Lifted  thus  out  of  mere  prudence  and  contri- 
vance, he  is  also  lifted  above  fear.    Life  to  him  is  the  outgoing 


HORACE  BUSHNELL. 


521 


of  his  great  heart,  (he« rt-agr,')  action  from  the  heart.  And  because 
he  now  can  die  without  being  shaken  or  perturbed  by  any  of  the 
dastardly  feelings  that  belong  to  self-seeking  and  work,  because  he 
partakes  of  the  impassibility  of  his  principles,  we  call  him  a  hero, 
regarding  him  as  a  kind  of  God,  a  man  who  has  gone  up  into  the 
sphere  of  the  divine. 

Then,  since  courage  is  a  joy  so  high,  a  virtue  of  so  great  ma- 
jesty, what  could  happen  but  that  many  will  covet  both  the  inter- 
nal exaltation  and  the  outward  repute  of  it  ?  Thus  comes  bravery, 
which  is  the  counterfeit,  or  mock  virtue.  Courage  is  of  the  heart, 
as  we  have  said  j  bravery  is  of  the  will.  One  is  the  spontaneous 
joy  and  repose  of  a  truly  great  soul;  the  other,  bravery,  is  after 
an  end  ulterior  to  itself,  and,  in  that  view,  is  but  a  form  of  work, 
— about  the  hardest  work,  too,  I  fancy,  that  some  men  undertake. 
What  can  be  harder,  in  fact,  than  to  act  a  great  heart,  when  one 
has  nothing  but  a  will  wherewith  to  do  it  ? 

Thus  you  will  see  that  courage  is  above  danger,  bravery  in  it, 
doing  battle  on  a  level  with  it.  One  is  secure  and  tranquil,  the 
other  suppresses  agitation  or  conceals  it.  A  right  mind  fortifies 
one,  shame  stimulates  the  other.  Faith  is  the  nerve  of  one,  risk 
the  plague  and  tremor  of  the  other.  For,  if  I  may  tell  you  just 
here  a  very  important  secret,  there  be  many  that  are  called  heroes 
who  are  yet  without  courage.  They  brave  danger  by  their  will, 
when  their  heart  trembles.  They  make  up  in  violence  what  they 
want  in  tranquillity,  and  drown  the  tumult  of  their  fears  in  the 
rage  of  their  passions.  Enter  the  heart,  and  you  shall  find,  too 
often,  a  dastard  spirit  lurking  in  your  hero.  Call  him  still  a  brave 
man,  if  you  will;  only  remember  that  he  lacks  courage. 

No,  the  true  hero  is  the  great,  wise  man  of  duty, — he  whose 
soul  is  armed  by  truth  and  supported  by  the  smile  of  God, — he 
who  meets  life's  perils  with  a  cautious  but  tranquil  spirit,  gathers 
strength  by  facing  its  storms,  and  dies,  if  he  is  called  to  die,  as  a 
Christian  victor  at  the  post  of  duty.  And  if  we  must  have  heroes, 
and  wars  wherein  to  make  them,  there  is  no  so  brilliant  war  as  a 
war  with  wrong,  no  hero  so  fit  to  be  sung  as  he  who  has  gained 
the  bloodless  victory  of  truth  and  mercy. 

But  if  bravery  be  not  the  same  as  courage,  still  it  is  a  very  im- 
posing and  plausible  counterfeit.  The  man  himself  is  told,  after 
the  occasion  is  past,  how  heroically  he  bore  himself,  and  when 
once  his  nerves  have  become  tranquillized,  he  begins  even  to 
believe  it.  And  since  we  cannot  stay  content  in  the  dull,  unin- 
spired world  of  economy  and  work,  we  are  as  ready  to  see  a  hero 
as  he  to  be  one.  Nay,  we  must  have  our  heroes,  as  I  just  said, 
and  we  are  ready  to  harness  ourselves,  by  the  million,  to  any  man 
who  will  let  us  fight  him  out  the  name.  Thus  we  find  out  occa- 
sions for  war, — wrongs  to  be  redressed,  revenges  to  be  taken,  such 

44*  • 


522 


HORACE  BUSHNELL. 


as  we  may  feign  inspiration  and  play  the  great  heart  under.  We 
collect  armies,  and  dress  up  leaders  in  gold  and  high  colors, 
meaning,  by  the  brave  look,  to  inspire  some  notion  of  a  hero 
beforehand.  Then  we  set  the  men  in  phalanxes  and  squadrons, 
where  the  personality  itself  is  taken  away,  and  a  vast  impersonal 
person  called  an  army,  a  magnanimous  and  brave  monster,  is  all 
that  remains.  The  masses  of  fierce  color,  the  glitter  of  steel,  the 
dancing  plumes,  the  waving  flags,  the  deep  throb  of  the  music 
lifting  every  foot, — under  these  the  living  acres  of  men,  possessed 
by  the  one  thought  of  playing  brave  to-day,  are  rolled  on  to  battle. 
Thunder,  fire,  dust,  blood,  groans, — what  of  these  ? — nobody  thinks 
of  these,  for  nobody  dares  to  think  till  the  day  is  over,  and  then 
the  world  rejoices  to  behold  a  new  batch  of  heroes.  And  this  is 
the  devil's  play,  that  we  call  war. 

LIGHT. 

There  are  many  who  will  be  ready  to  think  that  light  is  a  very 
tame  and  feeble  instrument,  because  it  is  noiseless.  An  earth- 
quake, for  example,  is  to  them  a  much  more  vigorous  and  effective 
agency.  Hear  how  it  comes  thundering  through  the  solid  founda- 
tions of  nature.  It  rocks  a  whole  continent.  The  noblest  works 
of  man,  cities,  monuments,  and  temples,  are  in  a  moment  levelled 
to  the  ground,  or  swallowed  down  the  opening  gulfs  of  fire. 

Little  do  they  think  that  the  light  of  every  morning,  the  soft 
and  silent  light,  is  an  agent  many  times  more  powerful.  But  let 
the  light  of  the  morning  cease  and  return  no  more ;  let  the  hour 
of  morning  come,  and  bring  with  it  no  dawn ;  the  outcries  of  a 
horror-stricken  world  fill  the  air,  and  make,  as  it  were,  the  dark- 
ness audible.  The  beasts  go  wild  and  frantic  at  the  loss  of  the  sun. 
The  vegetable  growths  turn  pale  and  die.  A  chill  creeps  on,  and 
frosty  winds  begin  to  howl  across  the  freezing  earth.  Colder,  yet 
colder,  is  the  night.  The  vital  blood,  at  length,  of  all  creatures, 
stops  congealed. 

Down  goes  the  frost  to  the  earth's  centre.  The  heart  of  the  sea 
is  frozen,  nay,  the  earthquakes  are  themselves  frozen  in,  under 
their  fiery  caverns.  The  very  globe  itself,  too,  and  all  the  fellow- 
planets  that  have  lost  their  sun,  are  become  mere  balls  of  ice, 
swinging  silent  in  the  darkness.  Such  is  the  light  which  revisits 
us  in  the  silence  of  the  morning. — It  makes  no  shock  or  scar.  It 
would  not  wake  an  infant  in  the  cradle.  And  yet  it  perpetually 
new-creates  the  world,  rescuing  it  each  morning  as  a  prey  from 
night  and  chaos. 

So  the  true  Christian  is  a  light,  even  "the  light  of  the  world  ;'' 
and  we  must  not  think  that  because  he  shines  insensibly  or  silently, 
as  a  mere  object,  he  is  therefore  powerless.    The  greatest  powers 


GEORGE  W.  BETHUNE. 


523 


are  ever  those  which  lie  back  of  the  little  stirs  and  commotions  of 
nature;  and  I  verily  believe  that  the  insensible  influences  of  good 
men  are  as  much  more  potent  than  what  I  have  called  their 
voluntary  and  active,  as  the  great  silent  powers  of  nature  are  of 
greater  consequence  than  her  little  disturbances  and  tumults. 


GEORGE  W.  BETHUNE. 

This  graceful  scholar  and  eloquent  divine  was  born  in  New  York,  on  the  ISth 
of  March,  1805.  He  is  the  only  son  of  Mr.  Divie  Bethune,1  a  native  of  Ross- 
shire,  Scotland,  who  for  many  years  was  an  eminent  merchant  in  New  York, — 
eminent  not  only  for  business  qualifications,  but  for  an  intelligent,  ever-active 
piety.  In  1819,  he  entered  Columbia  College,  and,  three  years  afterwards,  the 
senior  class  of  Dickinson  College,  Carlisle,  Pennsylvania.  During  that  year  (1S22) 
he  was  the  subject  of  a  revival  of  religion  that  took  place  in  the  college,  and  he  re- 
solved to  devote  his  life  to  the  Christian  ministry.2  After  graduating,  he  entered 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary,  and,  in  1827,  was  settled  over  the  Reformed 
Dutch  Church  at  Rhinebeck,  Dutchess  County,  New  York.  In  1830,  he  removed  to 
Utica,  to  take  charge  of  the  new  Reformed  Dutch  Church,  which  he  gathered  and 
built  up;  and  in  1834,  he  was  called  to  the  First  Reformed  Dutch  Church,  Phila- 
delphia. After  laboring  in  this  field  two  years,  a  number  of  his  friends  in  that 
city  determined  to  build  a  new  house  of  worship  for  him ;  and  in  1837,  he  was 
settled  over  the  Third  Reformed  Dutch  Church,  worshipping  at  the  corner  of 
Tenth  and  Filbert  Streets.  Here  he  remained  twelve  years,  when  he  left  to  take 
charge  of  the  Reformed  Dutch  Church  on  Brooklyn  Heights,  New  York,  where 
he  now  resides. 

In  consequence  of  his  fine  scholarship,  and  his  power  as  a  writer  and  an  orator, 
Dr.  Bethune  has  received  many  invitations  to  posts  of  high  honor  and  trust. 
The  chair  of  Moral  Philosophy  at  West  Point  was  offered  to  him  by  President 
Polk;  and  he  was  elected  Chancellor  of  the  University  of  New  York,  to  succeed 


1  Dr.  Bethune's  mother,  Mrs.  Joanna  Bethune,  was  the  daughter  of  the  cele- 
brated Isabella  Graham,  and  inherited  much  of  her  mother's  spirit  of  earnest 
philanthropy.  She  was  very  active  in  founding  the  Widow's  Society  and 
Orphan's  Asylum  in  New  York,  and  was  among  the  first  in  laying  the  foundation 
of  many  benevolent  institutions,  such  as  the  Sunday-school,  the  Society  for  the 
Promotion  of  Industry,  <fcc.  <tc. 

2  Another  subject  of  that  revival  was  the  late  Erskine  Mason,  D.D.,  for  twenty- 
one  years  pastor  of  the  Bleecker  Street  Church,  who  died  May  14,  1851.  His 
sermons  were  distinguished  for  great  compactness  of  thought  and  severe  logical 
arrangement,  united  to  a  fervid  and  often  impassioned  eloquence,  that  gave  him 
a  very  high  rank  as  a  pulpit-orator.  An  octavo  volume  of  his  sermons,  entitled 
The  Pastor 8  Legacy,  has  been  published  siuce  his  death,  prefixed  to  which  is  an 
excellent  memoir,  by  Rev.  William  Adams,  D.D.  R,ead  also  a  very  discrimi- 
na'ing  and  beautifully-written  article  on  his  character,  by  the  late  Rev.  R.  S. 
Starrs  Dickinson,  for  two  years  assistant  pastor  of  the  First  Presbyterian  Church, 
Philadelphia,  whose  early  death  was  a  great  loss  to  the  Christian  church. 


524 


GEORGE  W.  BETHUNE. 


Mr.  Frelinghuysen.  But  these  and  other  honors  he  declined,  feeling  it  to  be  his 
duty  to  remain  in  the  pulpit  as  the  pastor  of  a  people  devotedly  attached  to  him. 
The  following  are  his  chief  publications  : — The  Fruits  of  the  Spirit,  a  volume  of 
Christian  ethical  essays,  published  in  1839 ;  Early  Lout,  Early  Saved,  on  the  death 
and  salvation  of  infants,  1846  5  a  volume  of  Sermons,  1847 ;  History  of  a  Penitent, 
or  Guide  to  an  Inquirer,  1847;  an  edition  of  Walton's  Angler,  with  copious  literary 
and  bibliographical  notes,  1848 ;  Lays  of  Love  and  Faith,  icith  other  Fugitive 
Poems,  1848 ;  The  British  Female  Poets,  with  biographical  and  critical  notices, 
1848. 

For  twenty  years  Dr.  Bethune  has  been  continually  invited  to  deliver  orations 
and  lectures  at  various  colleges,  and  before  societies  in  different  parts  of  the 
country;  and  of  these  the  following  have  been  published: — 1837,  On  Genius,  de- 
livered at  Union  College;  1839,  Leisure,  its  Uses  and  Abuses,  before  the  Mercan- 
tile Library,  and  The  Age  of  Pericles,  before  the  Athenian  Institute,  Phila- 
delphia ;  1840,  an  Oration  before  the  literary  societies  of  the  University  of  Penn- 
sylvania; and  the  Prospects  of  Art  in  the  United  States,  before  the  Artists'  Fund 
Society,  Philadelphia  ;  1842,  The  Eloquence  of  the  Pulpit,  at  Andover  Theological 
Seminary ;  and  The  Duties  of  Educated  Men,  at  Dickinson  College ;  1845,  Dis- 
course on  the  Death  of  Andrew  Jackson,  Philadelphia;  and  A  Plea  for  Study,  at 
Yale  College ;  1849,  The  Claims  of  our  Country  on  its  Literary  Men,  before  the 
Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  of  Harvard  College. 


OUR  COUNTRY. 

What  has  God  done,  what  is  he  doing,  what  is  he  about  to  do, 
in  this  land  ?  He  has  set  it  far  away  to  the  west,  and  made  it  so 
circumstantially  independent,  that,  if  all  the  rest  of  the  habitable 
earth  were  sunk,  we  should  feel  no  serious  curtailment  of  our 
comforts.  The  products  of  the  whole  world  are,  or  may  soon 
be,  found  within  our  confederate  limits.  He  brought  here  first 
the  sternest,  most  religious,  most  determined  representatives  of 
Europe's  best  blood,  best  faith,  best  intellect;  men,  ay,  and 
women  (it  is  the  mother  who  makes  the  child)  who,  because  they 
feared  God,  feared  no  created  power, — who,  bowing  before  his 
absolute  sovereignty,  would  kneel  to  no  lord  spiritual  or  temporal 
on  earth, — and  who,  believing  the  Bible  true,  demanded  its  sanc- 
tion for  all  law.  To  your  Pilgrim  Fathers  the  highest  place  may 
well  be  accorded ;  but  forget  not  that,  about  the  time  of  their 
landing  on  the  Rock,  there  came  to  the  mouth  of  the  Hudson 
men  of  kindred  faith  and  descent, — men  equally  loving  freedom, 
— men  from  the  sea-washed  cradle  of  modern  constitutional  free- 
dom, whose  union  of  free  burgher-cities  taught  us  the  lesson  of 
confederate  independent  sovereignties,  whose  sires  were  as  free, 
long  centuries  before  Magna  Charter,  as  the  English  are  now, 
and  from  whose  line  of  republican  princes  Britain  received  the 


GEORGE  W.  BETHUNE. 


525 


boon  of  religious  toleration, — a  privilege  the  States-General  had 
recognised  as  a  primary  article  of  their  government  when  first 
established ;  men  of  that  stock  which,  when  offered  their  choice 
of  favors  from  a  grateful  monarch,  asked  a  University;1  men  whose 
martyr-sires  had  baptized  their  land  with  their  blood ;  men  who 
had  flooded  it  with  ocean-waves  rather  than  yield  it  to  a  bigot- 
tyrant;  men  whose  virtues  were  sober  as  prose,  but  sublime  as 
poetry; — the  men  of  Holland!  Mingled  with  these,  and  still 
farther  on,  were  heroic  Huguenots,  their  fortunes  broken,  but 
their  spirit  unbending  to  prelate  or  prelate-ridden  king.  There 
were  others,  (and  a  dash  of  cavalier  blood  told  well  in  battle-field 
and  council;) — but  those  were  the  spirits  whom  God  had  made 
the  moral  substratum  of  our  national  character.  Here,  like  Israel 
in  the  wilderness,  and  thousands  of  miles  off  from  the  land  of 
bondage,  they  were  educated  for  their  high  calling,  until,  in  the 
fulness  of  times,  our  confederacy  with  its  Constitution  was  founded. 
Already  there  had  been  a  salutary  mixture  of  blood,  but  not 
enough  to  impair  the  Anglo-Saxon  ascendency.  The  nation  grew 
morally  strong  from  its  original  elements.  The  great  work  was 
delayed  only  by  a  just  preparation.  Now  God  is  bringing  hither 
the  most  vigorous  scions  from  all  the  European  stocks,  to  "make 
of  them  all  one  new  MAN ;"  not  the  Saxon,  not  the  German,  not 
the  Gaul,  not  the  Helvetian,  but  the  American.  Here  they 
will  unite  as  one  brotherhood,  will  have  one  law,  will  share  one 
interest.  Spread  over  the  vast  region  from  the  frigid  to  the 
torrid,  from  Eastern  to  Western  Ocean,  every  variety  of  climate 
giving  them  choice  of  pursuit  and  modification  of  temperament, 
the  ballot-box  fusing  together  all  rivalries,  they  shall  have  one 
national  will.  What  is  wanting  in  one  race  will  be  supplied  by 
the  characteristic  energies  of  the  others ;  and  what  is  excessive  in 
either,  checked  by  the  counter-action  of  the  rest.  Nay,  though 
for  a  time  the  newly-come  may  retain  their  foreign  vernacular, 
our  tongue,  so  rich  in  ennobling  literature,  will  be  the  tongue  of 
the  nation,  the  language  of  its  laws,  and  the  accent  of  its  majesty. 
Eternal  God  !  who  seest  the  end  with  the  beginning,  thou 
alone  canst  tell  the  ultimate  grandeur  of  this  people  ! 

Phi  Beta  Kappa  Oration. 


1  After  the  eventful  issue  of  the  siege  of  Leyden,  the  Prince  of  Orange  and  the 
States-General,  grateful  to  the  heroic  defenders  of  that  city,  offered  them  their 
choice  of  an  Annual  Fair  or  a  University.  They  chose  the  University;  but, 
struck  with  the  nobleness  of  the  choice,  the  high  authorities  granted  them  both. 
The  University  was  established  in  1575,  and  became  the  Alma  Mater  of  Grotius, 
Scaliger,  Boerhaave,  and  many  other  renowned  men.    Seepage  688. 


526 


GEORGE  W.  BETHUNE. 


VICTORY  OVER  DEATH. 

As  the  Redeemer  is  glorified  in  his  flesh,  so  shall  the  believer 
be  raised  up  to  glory  at  the  last  day.  What  then  to  him  whose 
faith  can  grasp  things  hoped  for  and  unseen,  are  all  the  passing 
ignominies,  and  pangs,  and  insults,  which  now  afflict  the  follower 
of  the  Man  of  sorrows,  the  Lord  of  life  and  glory  ?  Every  revo- 
lution of  the  earth  rolls  on  to  that  fulness  of  adoption,  "  when  this 
mortal  shall  put  on  immortality,  and  this  corruption  shall  put  on 
incorruption,  and  shall  be  brought  to  pass  this  saying,  Death  is 
swallowed  up  in  victory;"  when  these  eyes,  now  so  dim  and  soon 
to  be  closed  in  dust,  shall  behold  the  face  of  God  in  righteous- 
ness ;  when  these  hands,  now  so  weak  and  stained  with  sin,  shall 
bear  aloft  the  triumphant  palm,  and  strike  the  golden  harp  that 
seraphs  love  to  listen  to;  and  these  voices,  now  so  harsh  and 
tuneless,  shall  swell  in  harmony  ineffable  to  the  song  of  Moses 
and  the  Lamb,  responsive  to  the  Trisagion,  the  thrice  holy  of  the 
angels.  Yes,  beloved  Master,  we  see  thee,  "  who  wast  made  a 
little  lower  than  the  angels  for  the  suffering  of  death,  crowned  with 
glory  and  honor  j"  and  thou  hast  promised  that  we  shall  share  thy 
glory  and  thy  crown  ! 

"  Thanks  be  to  God;  which  giveth  us  the  victory,  through  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ!"  "Us!"  And  who  are  included  in  that 
sublime  and  multitudinous  plural  ?  "  Not  to  me  only,"  says  the 
Apostle,  "  but  to  all  them  that  love  his  appearing."  Ye  shall 
share  it,  ancient  believers,  who,  from  Adam  to  Christ,  worshipped 
by  figure,  and  under  the  shadow !  Ye  shall  share  it,  ye  prophets, 
who  wondered  at  the  mysterious  promises  of  glory  following  suf- 
fering !  Ye  shall  share  it,  ye  mighty  apostles,  though  ye  doubted 
when  ye  heard  of  the  broken  tomb  !  Ye,  martyrs,  whose  howling 
enemies  execrated  you,  as  they  slew  you  by  sword,  and  cross,  and 
famine,  and  rack,  and  the  wild  beast,  and  flame !  And  ye,  God's 
humble  poor,  whom  men  despised,  but  of  whom  the  world  was  not 
worthy,  God's  angels  are  watching,  as  they  watched  the  sepulchre 
in  the  garden,  over  your  obscure  graves,  keeping  your  sacred  dust 
till  the  morning  break,  when  it  shall  be  crowned  with  princely 
splendor  !  Yes,  thou  weak  one,  who  yet  hast  strength  to  embrace 
thy  Master's  cross  !  Thou  sorrowing  one,  whose  tears  fall  like 
rain,  but  not  without  hope,  over  the  grave  of  thy  beloved  !  Thou 
tempted  one,  who,  through  much  tribulation,  art  struggling  on  to 
the  kingdom  of  God  !  Ye  all  shall  be  there,  and  ten  thousand 
times  ten  thousand  more !  Hark !  the  trumpet !  The  earth 
groans  and  rocks  herself  as  if  in  travail !  They  rise,  the  sheeted 
dead ;  but  how  lustrously  white  are  their  garments !  How 
dazzling  their  beautiful  holiness  !  What  a  mighty  host !  They 
fill  the  air;  they  acclaim  hallelujahs;  the  heavens  bend  with 


GEORGE  W.  BETHUNE. 


527 


shouts  of  harmony ;  the  Lord  comes  down,  and  his  angels  are 
about  him ;  and  he  owns  his  chosen,  and  they  rise  to  meet  him, 
and  they  mingle  with  cherubim  and  seraphim,  and  the  shout- 
ings are  like  thunders  from  the  throne, — thunderings  of  joy : — 
"  O  Death,  where  is  thy  sting  ?  0  Grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ? 
Thanks  be  to  God,  which  giveth  us  the  victory,  through  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  I" 


CLING  TO  THY  MOTHER. 

Cling  to  thy  mother ;  for  she  was  the  first 
To  know  thy  being,  and  to  feel  thy  life ; 

The  hope  of  thee  through  many  a  pang  she  nurst ; 
And  when,  'midst  anguish  like  the  parting  strife, 

Her  babe  was  in  her  arms,  the  agony 

Was  all  forgot,  for  bliss  of  loving  thee. 

Be  gentle  to  thy  mother ;  long  she  bore 
Thine  infant  fretfulness  and  silly  youth ; 

Nor  rudely  scorn  the  faithful  voice  that  o'er 

Thy  cradle  pray'd,  and  taught  thy  lispings  truth. 

Yes,  she  is  old ;  yet  on  thine  adult  brow 

She  looks,  and  claims  thee  as  her  child  e'en  now. 

Uphold  thy  mother ;  close  to  her  warm  heart 
She  canned,  fed  thee,  lull'd  thee  to  thy  rest  ; — 

Then  taught  thy  tottering  limbs  their  untried  art, 
Exulting  in  the  fledgling  from  her  nest: 

And,  now  her  steps  are  feeble,  be  her  stay, 

Whose  strength  was  thine  in  thy  most  feeble  day. 

Cherish  thy  mother;  brief  perchance  the  time 
May  be  that  she  will  claim  t  he  care  she  gave ; 

Past  are  her  hopes  of  youth,  her  harvest  prime 
Of  joy  on  earth;  her  friends  are  in  the  grave: 

But  for  her  children,  she  could  lay  her  head 

Gladly  to  rest  among  her  precious  dead. 

Be  tender  with  thy  mother;  words  unkind, 
Or  light  neglect  from  thee,  will  give  a  pang 

To  that  fond  bosom,  where  thou  art  enshrined 
In  love  unutterable,  more  than  fang 

Of  venom'd  serpent.1    Wound  not  that  strong  trust, 

As  thou  wouldst  hope  for  peace  when  she  is  dust. 

0  mother  mine  !  God  grant  I  ne'er  forget, 
Whatever  be  my  grief,  or  what  my  joy, 

The  unmeasured,  unextinguishable  debt 

I  owe  thy  love ;  but  make  my  sweet  employ 

Ever  through  thy  remaining  days  to  be 

To  thee  as  faithful,  as  thou  wert  to  me. 


1  "  How  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth  it  is 
To  have  a  thankless  child  !" — Lear. 


528 


GEORGE  W. BETHUNE. 


LIVE  TO  DO  GOOD. 

Live  to  do  good ;  but  not  with  thought  to  win 
From  man  return  of  any  kindness  done  ; 

Remember  Him  who  died  on  cross  for  sin, 
The  merciful,  the  meek,  rejected  One ; 

When  He  was  slain  for  crime  of  doing  good, 

Canst  thou  expect  return  of  gratitude  ? 

Do  good  to  all ;  but  while  thou  servest  best, 
And  at  thy  greatest  cost,  nerve  thee  to  bear, 

When  thine  own  heart  with  anguish  is  opprest, 
The  cruel  taunt,  the  cold  averted  air, 

From  lips  which  thou  hast  taught  in  hope  to  pray, 

And  eyes  whose  sorrows  thou  hast  wiped  away. 

Still  do  thou  good ;  but  for  His  holy  sake 
Who  died  for  thine ;  fixing  thy  purpose  ever 

High  as  His  throne  no  wrath  of  man  can  shake; 
So  shall  He  own  thy  generous  endeavor, 

And  take  thee  to  His  conqueror's  glory  up, 

When  thou  hast  shared  the  Saviour's  bitter  cup. 

Do  naught  but  good ;  for  such  the  noble  strife 
Of  virtue  is,  'gainst  wrong  to  venture  love, 

And  for  thy  foe  devote  a  brother's  life, 
Content  to  wait  the  recompense  above  ; 

Brave  for  the  truth,  to  fiercest  insult  meek, 

In  mercy  strong,  in  vengeance  only  weak. 


EARLY  LOST,  EARLY  SAVED. 

Within  her  downy  cradle,  there  lay  a  little  child, 
And  a  group  of  hovering  angels  unseen  upon  her  smiled  ; 
When  a  strife  arose  among  them,  a  loving,  holy  strife, 
Which  should  shed  the  richest  blessing  over  the  new-born  life. 

One  breathed  upon  her  features,  and  the  babe  in  beauty  grew, 
With  a  cheek  like  morning's  blushes,  and  an  eye  of  azure  hue ; 
Till  every  one  who  saw  her  was  thankful  for  the  sight 
Of  a  face  so  sweet  and  radiant  with  ever  fresh  delight. 

Another  gave  her  accents  and  a  voice  as  musical 
As  a  spring-bird's  joyous  carol,  or  a  rippling  streamlet's  fall; 
Till  all  who  heard  her  laughing,  or  her  words  of  childish  grace, 
Loved  as  much  to  listen  to  her,  as  to  look  upon  her  face. 

Another  brought  from  heaven  a  clear  and  gentle  mind, 
And  within  the  lovely  casket  the  precious  gem  enshrined ; 
Till  all  who  knew  her  wonder' d  that  God  should  be  so  good 
As  to  bless  with  such  a  spirit  a  world  so  cold  and  rude. 

Thus  did  she  grow  in  beauty,  in  melody,  and  truth, 

The  budding  of  her  childhood  just  opening  into  youth  ; 

And  to  our  hearts  yet  dearer,  every  moment  than  before, 

She  became,  though  we  thought  fondly  heart  could  not  love  her  more. 


ELIZABETH  OAKES  SMITH. 


529 


Then  out  spake  another  angel,  nobler,  brighter  than  the  rest, 
As  with  strong  arm.  but  tender,  lie  caught  her  to  his  breast: — 
"  Ye  have  made  her  all  too  lovely  for  a  child  of  mortal  race, 
But  no  shade  of  human  sorrow  shall  darken  o'er  her  face : 

"Ye  have  tuned  to  gladness  only  the  accents  of  her  tongue, 
And  no  wail  of  human  anguish  shall  from  her  lips  be  wrung, 
Nor  shall  the  soul  that  shineth  so  purely  from  within 
Her  form  of  earth-born  frailty,  ever  know  a  sense  of  sin. 

"  Lull'd  in  my  faithful  bosom,  I  will  bear  her  far  away, 
Where  there  is  no  sin,  nor  anguish,  nor  sorrow,  nor  decay; 
And  mine  a  boon  more  glorious  than  all  your  gifts  shall  be — 
Lo !  I  crown  her  happy  spirit  with  immortality!" 

Then  on  his  heart  our  darling  yielded  up  her  gentle  breath ; 

For  the  stronger,  brighter  angel,  who  loved  her  best,  was  Death  ! 


ELIZABETH  OAKES  SMITH. 

This  accomplished  writer,  whose  maiden  name  was  Prince,  was  born  in  a  vil- 
lage near  Portland,  Maine,  and  traces  her  descent,  both  on  her  father's  and 
mother's  side,  to  the  early  Puritans.  She  early  showed  uncommon  powers  of 
mind,  and  before  she  could  write  she  would  compose  little  stories,  and  print  them 
in  her  rude  way.  At  an  early  age  she  was  married  to  Mr.  Seba  Smith,  editor  of 
the  "Portland  Advertiser,"  who  in  1S39  removed  to  New  York.1  Her  first  pub- 
lished book  was  entitled  Riches  icithont  Wings,  written  for  the  young,  but  interest- 
ing to  readers  of  all  ages.  In  1S42,  she  published  a  novel,  The  Western  Captive, 
founded  on  traditions  of  Indian  life.  In  1844  appeared  The  Sinless  Child,  and 
other  Poems,  which  was  very  favorably  received,  and  passed  through  several  edi- 
tions. She  then  turned  her  attention  to  tragedy,  and  published  The  Roman  Tribute, 
founded  on  a  period  in  the  history  of  Constantinople  when  Theodosius  saved  it 
from  being  sacked  by  paying  its  price  to  Attila,  the  Hun ;  and  Jacob  Leisler, 
founded  upon  a  dramatic  incident  in  the  colonial  history  of  New  York  in  1680. 
In  1848  appeared  a  fanciful  prose  tale,  The  Salamander,  a  Legend  for  Christinas  ; 
and  in  1851,  Woman  and  Her  Needs,  a  volume  on  the  "Woman's  Rights"  ques- 
tion, of  which  Mrs.  Smith  has  been  a  prominent  advocate.  Her  publication 
entitled  Bertha  and  Lily,  or  the  Parsonage  of  Beech  Glen,  a  Romance,  is  a  story  of 
American  country-life,  which  was  followed  by  The  Newsboy,  being  a  picture  of  the 
life  of  a  too  much  neglected  class.  This  work  was  the  first  public  appeal  in  their 
behalf,  and  led  to  efficient  measures  for  their  improvement  and  relief;  and  so 
popular  was  it  that  it  passed  through  a  dozen  editions  the  first  year.  Mrs.  Smith 
now  resides  in  New  York,  still  actively  employing  her  useful  pen  in  magazines 
and  other  periodicals. 


1  See  page  361. 
45 


530 


ELIZABETH  OAKES  SMITH. 


THE  DROWNED  MARINER. 

A  mariner  sat  in  the  shrouds  one  night, 

The  wind  Avas  piping  free  ; 
Now  bright,  now  dimm'd  was  the  moonlight  pale, 
And  the  phosphor  gleam'd  in  the  wake  of  the  whale, 

As  it  fiounder'd  in  the  sea; 
The  scud  was  flying  athwart  the  sky, 
The  gathering  winds  went  whistling  by, 
And  the  wave,  as  it  towcr'd,  then  fell  in  spray, 
Look'd  an  emerald  wall  in  the  moonlight  ray. 

The  mariner  sway'd  and  rock'd  on  the  mast, 

But  the  tumult  pleased  him  well : 
Down  the  yaAvning  wave  his  eye  he  cast, 
And  the  monsters  watch'd  as  they  hurried  past, 

Or  lightly  rose  and  fell — 
For  their  broad,  damp  fins  were  under  the  tide, 
And  they  lash'd  as  they  pass'd  the  vessel's  side, 
And  their  filmy  eyes,  all  huge  and  grim, 
Glared  fiercely  up,  and  they  glared  at  him. 

Now  freshens  the  gale,  and  the  brave  ship  goes 

Like  an  uncurb'd  steed  along ; 
A  sheet  of  flame  is  the  spi-ay  she  throws, 
As  her  gallant  prow  tke  water  ploughs, 

But  the  ship  is  fleet  and  strong ; 
The  topsails  are  reef  :d,  and  the  sails  are  furl'd, 
And  onward  she  sweeps  o;er  the  watery  world, 
And  dippeth  her  spars  in  the  surging  flood ; 
But  there  cometh  no  chill  to  the  mariner's  blood. 

Wildly  she  rocks,  but  he  swingeth  at  ease, 

And  holds  him  by  the  shroud ; 
And  as  she  careens  to  the  crowding  breeze, 
The  gaping  deep  the  mariner  sees, 

And  the  surging  heareth  loud. 
Was  that  a  face,  looking  up  at  him, 
With  its  pallid  cheek,  and  its  cold  eyes  dim? 
Did  it  beckon  him  down  ?    Did  it  call  his  name  ? 
Now  rolleth  the  ship  the  way  whence  it  came. 

The  mariner  look'd,  and  he  saw,  with  dread, 

A  face  he  knew  too  well ; 
And  the  cold  eyes  glared,  the  eyes  of  the  dead, 
And  its  long  hair  out  on  the  waves  was  spread — 

Was  there  a  tale  to  tell  ? 
The  stout  ship  rock'd  with  a  reeling  speed, 
And  the  mariner  groan*d,  as  well  he  need — 
For  ever  down,  as  she  plunged  on  her  side, 
The  dead  face  gleam'd  from  the  briny  tide. 

Bethink  thee,  mariner,  well  of  the  past : 
A  voice  calls  loud  for  thee : 


ELIZABETH  OAKES  SMITH. 


There's  a  stifled  prayer,  the  first,  the  last ; 
The  plunging  ship  on  her  beam  is  cast — 

Oh,  where  shall  thy  burial  be  ? 
Bethink  thee  of  oaths,  that  were  lightly  spoken ; 
Bethink  thee  of  vows,  that  were  lightly  broken ; 
Bethink  thee  of  all  that  is  dear  to  thee, 
For  thou  art  alone  on  the  raging  sea. 

Alone  in  the  dark,  alone  on  the  wave, 

To  buffet  the  storm  alone ; 
To  struggle  aghast  at  thy  watery  grave, 
To  struggle  and  feel  there  is  none  to  save ! 

God  shield  thee,  helpless  one! 
The  stout  limbs  yield,  for  their  strength  is  past ; 
The  trembling  hands  on  the  deep  are  cast ; 
The  white  brow  gleams  a  moment  more, 
Then  slowly  sinks — the  struggle  is  o'er. 

Down,  down  where  the  storm  is  hush'd  to  sleep, 
Where  the  sea  its  dirge  shall  swell ; 

Where  the  amber-drops  for  thee  shall  weep, 

And  the  rose-lipp'd  shell  its  music  keep ; 
There  thou  shalt  slumber  well. 

The  gem  and  the  pearl  lie  heap'd  at  thy  side ; 

They  fell  from  the  neck  of  the  beautiful  bride, 

From  the  strong  man's  hand,  from  the  maiden's  brow, 

As  they  slowly  sunk  to  the  wave  below. 

A  peopled  home  is  the  ocean-bed ; 

The  mother  and  child  are  there  : 
The  fervent  youth  and  the  hoary  head, 
The  maid,  with  her  floating  locks  outspread, 

The  babe,  with  its  silken  hair : 
As  the  water  moveth,  they  lightly  sway, 
And  the  tranquil  lights  on  their  features  play  : 
And  there  is  each  cherish'd  and  beautiful  form, 
Away  from  decay,  and  away  from  the  storm. 


THE  WIFE. 

All  day,  like  some  sweet  bird,  content  to  sing 

In  its  small  cage,  she  moveth  to  and  fro — 
And  ever  and  anon  will  upward  spring 

To  her  sweet  lips,  fresh  from  the  fount  below, 
The  murmur' d  melody  of  pleasant  thought, 

Unconscious  utter'd,  gentle-toned  and  low. 
Light  household  duties,  evermore  inwrought 

With  placid  fancies  of  one  trusting  heart 
That  lives  but  in  her  smile,  and  turns 

From  life's  cold  seeming  and  the  busy  mart, 
With  tenderness,  that  heavenward  ever  yearns 
To  be  refreshed  where  one  pure  altar  burns. 

Shut  out  from  hence  the  mockery  of  life, 

Thus  liveth  she  content,  the  meek,  fond,  trusting  wife. 


532 


CAROLINE  M.  KIRKLAND. 


CAROLINE  M.  KIRKLAND. 

Caroline  M.  Kirkland,  whose  maiden  name  was  Stansbury,  is  a  native  of  the 
city  of  New  York,  where  her  father  was  a  bookseller  and  publisher.  After  his 
death  the  family  removed  to  the  western  part  of  the  State,  where  she  was  married 
to  Mr.  William  Kirkland.1  After  residing  in  Geneva  for  some  years,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Kirkland  removed  to  Detroit,  Michigan,  where  they  resided  for  two  years,  and  for 
six  more  in  the  interior,  about  sixty  miles  west  of  Detroit.  This  gave  our  authoress 
an  opportunity  to  observe  Western  life  and  manners;  and  how  well  she  improved 
it  was  soon  seen  in  her  New  Home,  Who'll  Follow?  or  Glimpses  of  Western  Life,  by 
Mrs.  Mary  Clovers',  published  in  1839,  which  made  an  immediate  impression  upon 
the  public,  by  its  keen  observation  and  delightful  humor.  In  1842  appeared 
Forest  Life,  soon  after  which  she  returned  with  her  husband  to  New  York,  where 
he  commenced,  in  conjunction  with  Rev.  II.  W.  Bellows,  a  weekly  journal,  called 
the  "Christian  Inquirer."  Early  in  1S4G  appeared  Western  Clearings,  a  collection 
of  tales  and  sketches  illustrative  of  Western  life.  After  publishing  An  Essay  on  the 
Life  and  Writings  of  Spenser,  Mrs.  Kirkland  undertook,  in  July,  1S47,  the  editor- 
ship of  the  "  Union  Magazine,"  which  the  next  year  was  transferred  to  Phila- 
delphia, where  it  was  published  under  the  title  of  "  Sartain's  Magazine,"  edited 
jointly  by  Prof.  John  S.  Hart  and  Mrs.  Kirkland.  In  1848,  she  visited  Europe, 
and  has  recorded  her  impressions  in  a  work  entitled  Holidays  Abroad,  or  Europe 
from  the  West.  In  1853  she  published  successively  The  Evening  Book,  or  Fireside 
Talk  on  Morals  and  Manners,  with  Sketches  of  Western  Life  ;  Autumn  Hours  ;  and 
The  Home  Circle  ;  and  the  same  year  appeared  The  Book  of  Home  Beauty,  a  gift 
for  the  holidays,  containing  the  portraits  of  twelve  American  ladies, — the  text  of 
which,  however,  has  no  reference  to  the  "  portraits,"  but  consists  of  a  story  of 
American  society,  Avith  occasional  poetical  quotations.  Her  latest  work — Memoirs 
of  Washington — presents  a  most  lifelike  and  winning  picture  of  the  private  as  well 
as  public  life  of  that  great  man.  The  chaste  and  simple  dedication  shows  its 
object : — "  To  all  my  young  friends,  known  and  unknown,  and  particularly  to  my 
own  Sons  and  Daughters,  this  attempt  to  introduce  Washington  to  their  more 
intimate  knowledge  and  tenderer  regard,  and  so  to  make  his  goodness  and  patriot- 
ism irresistibly  inspiring  to  them,  is  affectionately  inscribed."2 


1  Mr.  Kirkland  was  the  son  of  the  Hon.  Joseph  Kirkland,  who  lived  in  Utica, 
New  York.  He  was  at  one  time  a  professor  in  Hamilton  College,  and  is  the  author 
of  "  Letters  from  Abroad,"  written  after  a  residence  in  Europe.  He  was  also  a 
contributor  to  "  The  Columbian,"  and  to  "  Hunt's  Merchants'  Magazine."  He 
died  in  October,  1846. 

2  This  book  may  be  confidently  and  warmly  commended  to  all  "  Young  Ame- 
rica," as  giving  an  impression  of  Washington's  everyday  life  far  more  beautiful, 
because  more  truthful,  thau  some  works  of  much  higher  pretensions. 

"Mrs.  Kirkland's  writings  are  all  marked  by  clear  common  sense,  purity  of 
style,  and  animated  thought.  Her  keen  perception  of  character  is  brought  to 
bear  on  the  grave  as  well  as  humorous  side  of  human  nature;  on  its  good  points 
as  well  as  its  foibles :  and  her  satire  is  directed  against  the  false  retinements  of 
artificial  life  as  well  as  the  rude  angularities  of  the  backwoods." — Duvckinck. 


r"  / 


CAROLINE  M.  KIRKLAND.  533 


THE  AUTHORITY  IN  A  HOUSEHOLD. 

We  touched  on  authority  as  the  basis  of  household  happiness, — 
a  proof  how  antiquated  are  our  notions.  But  if  the  very  mention 
of  authority,  even  in  connection  with  the  training  of  children,  give 
an  air  of  mustiness  to  our  page,  how  shall  we  face  the  reader  of 
to-day,  when  we  avow  that  we  judge  no  family  to  be  truly  and 
rationally  happy,  unless  the  head  of  it  possess  absolute  authority, 
in  such  sense  that  his  known  wish  is  law,  his  expressed  will  im- 
perative? Is  this  an  anti-democratic  sentiment?  By  no  means. 
The  ideal  family  supposes  a  head  who  is  himself  under  law,  and 
that  of  the  most  stringent  and  inevitable  kind.  It  supposes  him 
to  hold  and  exercise  authority  under  a  deep  sense  of  duty,  as  being 
something  with  which  Grod  clothed  him  when  he  made  him  hus- 
band and  father,  and  which  he  is,  therefore,  on  no  occasion  or 
account,  at  liberty  to  put  olf  or  set  aside  as  a  thing  indifferent. 
This  power  is  necessary  to  the  full  development  and  exercise  of 
that  beautiful  virtue  of  obedience,  without  which  the  human  will 
must  struggle  on  hopelessly  forever,  being  forbidden  by  its  very 
constitution  to  know  happiness  on  any  other  terms.  It  is  an  ill 
sign  of  the  times,  that  the  old-fashioned  promise  of  obedience  in 
the  marriage  ceremony  is  now  only  a  theme  for  small  wit.  Those 
wise  fathers  who  placed  it  there  knew  the  human  heart  better  than 
we  suppose.  They  knew  that,  as  surely  as  man  and  wife  are  one, 
so  surely  do  they  thus  united  become  a  Cerberus-like  monster  if 
they  retain  more  than  one  head.    The  old  song  says  : — 

;'  One  of  us  two  must  obey: 
Is  it  man  or  woman  ?  say  ?" 

A  house  in  which  this  question  remains  undecided  is  always  a 
pitiable  spectacle,  for  both  nature  and  religion  are  set  aside  there. 

We  had  not  dared  to  touch  on  this  incendiary  topic  if  we  had 
not  been  sure  of  such  support  as  admits  not  of  gainsaying.  Shak- 
speare's  shrewdness,  his  knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  his  high 
ideal  of  woman  as  wife  and  mother,  not  to  speak  of  his  poetic 
appreciation  of  the  beauty  of  fitness,  render  his  opinion  peculiarly 
valuable  on  this  ticklish  point.    Hear  him  : — 

"  Thy  husband  is  thy  life,  thy  lord,  thy  keeper, 
Thy  head,  thy  sovereign ;  one  that  cares  for  thee, 
And  for  thy  maintenance :  commits  his  body 
To  painful  labor  both  by  sea  and  land, 
To  watch  the  night  in  storms,  the  day  in  cold, 
While  thou  liest  warm  at  home,  secure  and  safe  : 
And  craves  no  other  tribute  at  thy  hands 
Than  love,  fair  looks,  and  true  obedience — 
Too  little  payment  for  so  great  a  debt  !" 


534 


CAROLINE  M.  KIRKLAND. 


If  now  we  should  in  turn  read  a  homily  to  this  supreme  head, 
(which  is  bound  to  have  ears,)  we  might  perhaps  forfeit  all  the 
gratitude  we  suppose  ourselves  to  have  earned  from  him.  We 
should  show  him  such  a  list  of  the  duties  which  true  headship 
imposes,  that  he  would  be  glad  to  be  diminished,  and  perhaps 
change  places  with  the  least  important  of  his  subjects.  The  pos- 
session of  unquestionable  authority  almost  makes  him  responsible 
for  the  happiness  of  the  household.  No  sunshine  is  so  cheering 
as  the  countenance  of  a  father  who  is  feared  as  well  as  loved.  A 
brow  clouded  with  care,  a  mind  too  much  absorbed  by  schemes  of 
gain  or  ambition  to  be  able  to  unbend  itself  in  the  domestic  circle, 
a  temper  which  vacillates  between  impatience  under  annoyance, 
and  the  decision  which  puts  an  end  to  it,  a  disposition  to  indul- 
gence which  has  no  better  foundation  than  mere  indolence,  and 
which  is,  therefore,  sure  to  be  unequal — these  are  all  forbidden  to 
him  whose  right  it  is  to  rule.  In  short,  unless  he  rule  himself,  he 
is  obviously  unfit  to  rule  anybody  else;  so  that,  to  assume  this 
high  position  under  law  and  gospel,  is  to  enter  into  bonds  to  be 
good  !  which  appears  to  us  a  fair  offset  against  the  duty  of  obedi- 
ence on  the  other  side. 

One  reason,  certainly,  why  there  is  less  household  feeling  than 
formerly,  is  that  young  married  people,  at  present,  think  it  neces- 
sary to  begin  life  where  their  fathers  left  off — with  a  complete 
establishment,  and  not  a  loop-hole  left  for  those  little  plans  of 
future  addition  to  domestic  comforts  or  luxuries  which  give  such 
a  pleasant  stimulus  to  economy,  and  confer  so  tender  a  value  on 
the  things  purchased  by  means  of  an  especial  self-denial  in  another 
quarter.  Charles  Lamb,  who  was  an  adept  in  these  gentle  philoso- 
phies, said  that  after  he  had  the  ability  to  buy  a  choice  book  when 
he  chose,  the  indulgence  had,  somehow,  lost  its  sweetness,  and 
brought  nothing  of  the  relish  that  used  to  attend  a  purchase  after 
he  and  Mary  had  been  looking  and  longing,  and  at  last  only  dared 
buy  upon  the  strength  of  days'  or  weeks'  economizing.  This  is  a 
secret  worth  learning  by  those  who  would  get  the  full  flavor  of 
life,  and  make  home  the  centre  of  a  thousand  delightful  interests 
and  memories. 

BORROWING  "OUT  WEST." 

Your  true  republican,  when  he  finds  that  you  possess  any  thing 
which  would  contribute  to  his  convenience,  walks  in  with,  "  Are 
you  going  to  use  your  horses  to-day?"  if  horses  happen  to  be  the 
thing  he  needs. 

"  Yes,  I  shall  probably  want  them." 

"  Oh,  well;  if  you  want  them  1  was  thinking  to  get  'em  to 

go  up  north  a  piece." 


CAROLINE  M.  KIRK. LAND. 


535 


Or,  perhaps,  the  desired  article  comes  within  the  female  de- 
partment. 

"  Mother  wants  to  get  some  butter  :  that  'ere  butter  you  bought 
of  Miss  Barton  this  mornin'." 

And  away  goes  your  golden  store,  to  be  repaid,  perhaps,  with 
some  cheesy,  greasy  stuff,  brought  in  a  dirty  pail,  with,  "  Here's 
your  butter !" 

A  girl  came  in  to  borrow  a  "  wash-dish,"  u  because  we've  got 
company."  Presently  she  came  back  :  "  Mother  says  you've  forgot 
to  send  a  towel." 

"  The  pen  and  ink,  and  a  sheet  o'  paper  and  a  wafer,"  is  no 
unusual  request;  and  when  the  pen  is  returned,  you  are  generally 
informed  that  you  sent  "  an  awful  bad  pen." 

I  have  been  frequently  reminded  of  one  of  Johnson's  humorous 
sketches.  A  man  returning  a  broken  wheelbarrow  to  a  Quaker 
with,  "Here,  I've  broke  your  rotten  wheelbarrow  usin'  on't:  I 
wish  you'd  get  it  mended  right  off,  'cause  I  want  to  borrow  it 
again  this  afternoon the  Quaker  is  made  to  reply,  "  Friend,  it 
shall  be  done  :"  and  I  wished  I  possessed  more  of  his  spirit. 

HOSPITALITY. 

Like  many  other  virtues,  hospitality  is  practised  in  its  perfec- 
tion by  the  poor.  If  the  rich  did  their  share,  how  would  the  woes 
of  this  world  be  lightened  !  how  would  the  diffusive  blessing  irra- 
diate a  wider  and  a  wider  circle,  until  the  vast  confines  of  society 
would  bask  in  the  reviving  ray  !  If  every  forlorn  widow  whose 
heart  bleeds  over  the  recollection  of  past  happiness  made  bitter  by 
contrast  with  present  poverty  and  sorrow,  found  a  comfortable 
home  in  the  ample  establishment  of  her  rich  kinsman ;  if  every 
young  man  struggling  for  a  foothold  on  the  slippery  soil  of  life 
were  cheered  and  aided  by  the  countenance  of  some  neighbor  whom 
fortune  had  endowed  with  the  power  to  confer  happiness )  if  the 
lovely  girls,  shrinking  and  delicate,  whom  we  see  every  day  toiling 
timidly  for  a  mere  pittance  to  sustain  frail  life  and  guard  the 
sacred  remnant  of  gentility,  were  taken  by  the  hand,  invited  and 
encouraged,  by  ladies  who  pass  them  by  with  a  cold  nod — but 
where  shall  we  stop  in  enumerating  the  cases  in  which  true,  genial 
hospitality,  practised  by  the  rich  ungrudgingly,  without  a  selfish 
drawback — in  short,  practised  as  the  poor  practise  it — would  prove 
a  fountain  of  blessedness,  almost  an  antidote  to  half  the  keener 
miseries  under  which  society  groans  ! 

Yes:  the  poor — and  children — understand  hospitality  after  the 
pure  model  of  Christ  and  his  apostles. 

The  fornix  of  society  are  in  a  high  degree  inimical  to  true  hos- 
pitality. Pride  has  crushed  genuine  social  feeling  out  of  too  many 


536 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 


hearts,  and  the  consequence  is  a  cold  sterility  of  intercourse,  a 
soul-stifling-  ceremoniousness,  a  sleepless  vigilance  for  self,  totally 
incompatible  with  that  free,  flowing,  genial  intercourse  with 
humanity,  so  nourishing  to  all  the  better  feelings.  The  sacred 
love  of  home — that  panacea  for  many  of  life's  ills — suffers  with 
the  rest.  Few  people  have  homes  nowadays.  The  fine,  cheerful, 
every-day  parlor,  with  its  table  covered  with  the  implements  of 
real  occupation  and  real  amusement — mamma  on  the  sofa,  with 
her  needle — grandmamma  in  her  great  chair,  knitting — pussy 
winking  at  the  fire  between  them — is  gone.  In  its  place  we  have 
two  gorgeous  rooms,  arranged  for  company,  but  empty  of  human 
life ;  tables  covered  with  gaudy,  ostentatious,  and  useless  articles 
— a  very  mockery  of  any  thing  like  rational  pastime — the  light  of 
heaven  as  cautiously  excluded  as  the  delicious  music  of  free, 
childish  voices ;  every  member  of  the  family  wandering  in  forlorn 
loneliness,  or  huddled  in  some  "  back  room"  or  "  basement/'  in 
which  are  collected  the  only  means  of  comfort  left  them  under  this 
miserable  arrangement.  This  is  the  substitute  which  hundreds 
of  people  accept  in  place  of  home  !  Shall  we  look  in  such  places 
for  hospitality  ?  As  soon  expect  figs  from  thistles.  Invitations 
there  will  be  occasionally,  doubtless,  for  "society"  expects  it;  but 
let  a  country  cousin  present  himself,  and  see  whether  he  will  be 
put  into  the  state  apartments.  Let  no  infirm  and  indigent  relative 
expect  a  place  under  such  a  roof.  Let  not  even  the  humble  indi- 
vidual who  placed  the  stepping-stone  which  led  to  that  fortune  ask 
a  share  in  the  abundance  which  would  never  have  had  a  beginning 
but  for  his  timely  aid.    "  We  have  changed  all  that  I" 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 

This  highly-finished  and  fascinating  writer  was  born  in  Salem,  Massachusetts, 
about  the  year  1805.  He  was  educated  at  Bowdoin  College,  and  was  graduate 
there  in  1825,  Professor  Longfellow  being  one  of  his  classmates.  In  1837  he 
published  the  first,  and  in  1842  the  second,  volume  of  his  Twice- Told  Tales, — so 
called  because  they  had  before  appeared  in  annuals  and  periodicals.1    His  next 


1  Of  the  character  of  these  Twice-Told  Tales  the  "Christian  Examiner"  thus 
speaks  : — "  These  tales  abound  with  beautiful  imagery,  sparkling  metaphors,  novel 
and  brilliant  comparisons.  They  are  everywhere  full  of  those  bright  gems  of 
thought  which  no  reader  can  ever  forget.  They  have  also  a  high  moral  tone.  It 
is  for  this,  for  their  reverence  for  things  sacred,  for  their  many  touching  lessons 
concerning  faith,  Providence,  conscience,  and  duty,  for  the  beautiful  morals  so 
often  spontaneously  conveyed,  not  with  purpose  prepense,  but  from  the  fulness  of 
the  author's  own  heart,  that  we  are  led  to  notice  them  in  this  journal." — xxv. 
188.  Read  also  an  enthusiastic  review  of  them  in  the  "North  American  Review," 
xlv.  59. 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 


537 


publication  was  The  Journal  of  an  African  Cruiser,  which  he  prepared  and  edited 
from  the  manuscript  of  Horatio  Bridge,  of  the  United  States  Navy.  In  184.'5,  he 
went  to  reside  in  Concord,  in  the  "  Old  Manse  j"  and  in  1S1G  appeared  a  collec- 
tion of  his  papers,  which  he  wrote  during  his  three  years'  residence  there,  for 
several  magazines,  under  the  title  of  Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse.  The  same  year 
he  was  appointed  by  the  President,  Mr.  Polk,  surveyor  in  the  custom-house  at 
Salem,  which  post  he  held  for  a  year,  at  the  same  time  carefully  observing  (as  it 
proved,  for  future  use)  the  scenes  and  characters  with  which  he  was  daily  con- 
versant; for,  on  being  dismissed  from  that  post,  on  a  change  of  administration, 
he  published  The  Scarlet  Letter,  in  the  preface  of  which  he  gives  some  of  his 
custom-house  experiences.  Soon  after,  he  took  up  his  residence  in  Lenox,  Massa- 
chusetts; and  in  1851  appeared  his  House  with  Seven  Gables,  the  scene  of  which 
is  laid  in  Salem  and  connected  with  its  earliest  history.  Since  that,  he  has  pub- 
lished the  following: — True  Stories  from  History  and  Biography,  1851;  The 
Blithedale  Romance,  1S52 ;  A  Wonder  Book  for  Boys  and  Girls,  1852;  The  Snow 
Image,  and  other  Twice-Told  Tales,  1852  ;l  Tanylewood  Tales  for  Boys  and  Girls, 
1853.2 

A  RILL  FROM  THE  TOWN  PUMP. 
Scene. — The  corner  of  two  principal  streets.   The  Town  Pump  talking  through  its  nose. 

Noon,  by  the  north  clock  !  Noon,  by  the  east !  High  noon, 
too,  by  these  hot  sunbeams,  which  fall,  scarcely  aslope,  upon  my 
head,  and  almost  make  the  water  bubble  and  smoke  in  the  trough 
under  my  nose.    Truly,  we  public  characters  have  a  tough  time 


•A  new  edition  of  the  Twice-Told  Tales  was  published,  in  1857,  by  Ticknor 
&  Fields,  in  their  usual,  attractive  style. 

2  "  Hawthorne  wrote  numerous  articles,  which  appeared  in  '  The  Token  :'  occa- 
sionally an  astute  critic  seemed  to  see  through  them,  and  to  discover  the  soul 
that  was  in  them ;  but  in  general  they  passed  without  notice.  Such  articles  as 
'  Sights  from  a  Steeple,'  '  Sketches  beneath  an  Umbrella,' '  The  Wives  of  the  Dead/ 
'The  Prophetic  Pictures/  now  universally  acknowledged  to  be  productions  of 
extraordinary  depth,  meaning,  and  power,  extorted  hardly  a  word  of  either  praise 
or  blame ;  while  columns  were  given  to  pieces  since  totally  forgotten.  I  felt 
annoyed — almost  angry,  indeed — at  this.  I  wrote  several  articles  in  the  papers, 
directing  attention  to  these  productions;  and,  finding  no  echo  of  my  views,  I 
recollect  to  have  asked  John  Pickering  to  read  some  of  them  and  give  me  his 
opinion  of  them.  He  did  as  I  requested:  his  answer  was  that  they  displayed  a 
wonderful  beauty  of  style,  with  a  kind  of  double  vision,  a  sort  of  second  sight, 
which  revealed,  beyond  the  outward  forms  of  life  and  being,  a  sort  of  spirit-world, 
somewhat  as  a  lake  reflects  the  earth  around  it  and  the  sky  above  it;  yet  he 
deemed  them  too  mystical  to  be  popular.  He  was  right,  no  doubt,  at  that  period ; 
but,  ere  long,  a  portion  of  mankind,  a  large  portion  of  the  reading  world,  obtained 
a  new  sense, — how,  or  where,  or  whence,  is  not  easily  determined, — which  led  them 
to  study  the  mystical,  to  dive  beneath  and  beyond  the  senses,  and  to  discern, 
gather,  and  cherish  gems  and  pearls  of  price  in  the  hidden  depths  of  the  soul. 
Hawthorne  was,  in  fact,  a  kind  of  Wordsworth  in  prose, — less  kind,  less  genial 
toward  mankind,  but  deeper  and  more  philosophical.  His  fate  was  similar:  at 
first  he  was  neglected,  at  last  he  had  worshippers.'' — Goodrich's  Recollections, 
vol.  ii. 


538 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 


of  it !  And,  among  all  the  town  officers,  chosen  at  March  meet- 
ing, where  is  he  that  sustains,  for  a  single  year,  the  burden  of  such 
manifold  duties  as  are  imposed,  in  perpetuity,  upon  the  Town 
Pump  ?  The  title  of  "  town  treasurer"  is  rightfully  mine,  as 
guardian  of  the  best  treasure  that  the  town  has.  The  overseers 
of  the  poor  ought  to  make  me  their  chairman,  since  I  provide 
bountifully  for  the  pauper,  without  expense  to  him  that  pays 
taxes.  I  am  at  the  head  of  the  fire-department,  and  one  of  the 
physicians  to  the  board  of  health.  As  a  keeper  of  the  peace,  all 
water-drinkers  will  confess  me  equal  to  the  constable.  1  perform 
some  of  the  duties  of  the  town  clerk,  by  promulgating  public 
notices  when  they  are  posted  on  my  front.  To  speak  within 
bounds,  I  am  the  chief  person  of  the  municipality,  and  exhibit, 
moreover,  an  admirable  pattern  to  my  brother  officers,  by  the 
cool,  steady,  upright,  downright,  and  impartial  discharge  of  my 
business,  and  the  constancy  with  which  I  stand  to  my  post. 
Summer  or  winter,  nobody  seeks  me  in  vain  ;  for,  all  day  long,  I 
am  seen  at  the  busiest  corner,  just  above  the  market,  stretching 
out  my  arms  to  rich  and  poor  alike ;  and  at  night,  I  hold  a  lantern 
over  my  head,  both  to  show  where  I  am,  and  keep  people  out  of 
the  gutters. 

At  this  sultry  noontide,  I  am  cupbearer  to  the  parched  popu- 
lace, for  whose  benefit  an  iron  goblet  is  chained  to  my  waist. 
Like  a  dramseller  on  the  mall  at  muster-day,  I  cry  aloud  to  all 
and  sundry,  in  my  plainest  accents,  and  at  the  very  tiptop  of  my 
voice.  Here  it  is,  gentlemen  !  Here  is  the  good  liquor  !  Walk 
up,  walk  up,  gentlemen,  walk  up,  walk  up  !  Here  is  the  superior 
stuff!  Here  is  the  unadulterated  ale  of  father  Adam, — better 
than  Cognac,  Hollands,  Jamaica,  strong  beer,  or  wine  of  any 
price ;  here  it  is  by  the  hogshead  or  the  single  glass,  and  not  a 
cent  to  pay  !   Walk  up,  gentlemen,  walk  up,  and  help  yourselves  ! 

It  were  a  pity  if  all  this  outcry  should  draw  no  customers. 
Here  they  come.  A  hot  day,  gentlemen !  Quaff,  and  away 
again,  so  as  to  keep  yourselves  in  a  nice  cool  sweat.  You,  my 
friend,  will  need  another  cupful,  to  wash  the  dust  out  of  your 
throat,  if  it  be  as  thick  there  as  it  is  on  your  cow-hide  shoes.  I 
see  that  you  have  trudged  half  a  score  of  miles  to-day,  and,  like 
a  wise  man,  have  passed  by  the  taverns,  and  stopped  at  the  run- 
ning brooks  and  well-curbs.  Otherwise,  betwixt  heat  without  and 
fire  within,  you  would  have  been  burnt  to  a  cinder,  or  melted 
down  to  nothing  at  all,  in  the  fashion  of  a  jelly-fish.  Drink,  and 
make  room  for  that  other  fellow,  who  seeks  my  aid  to  quench  the 
fiery  fever  of  last  night's  potations,  which  he  drained  from  no  cup 
of  mine.  Welcome,  most  rubicund  sir  !  You  and  I  have  been 
great  strangers,  hitherto ;  nor,  to  confess  the  truth,  will  my  nose 
be  anxious  for  a  closer  intimacy,  till  the  fumes  of  your  breath  be 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 


539 


a  little  less  potent.  Mercy  on  you,  man  !  the  water  absolutely 
hisses  down  your  red-hot  gullet,  and  is  converted  quite  to  steam, 
in  the  miniature  tophet  which  you  mistake  for  a  stomach.  Fill 
again,  and  tell  me,  on  the  word  of  an  honest  toper,  did  you  ever, 
in  cellar,  tavern,  or  any  kind  of  a  dram-shop,  spend  the  price  of 
your  children's  food  for  a  swig  half  so  delicious  ?  Now,  for  the 
first  time  these  ten  years,  you  know  the  flavor  of  cold  water.  Good- 
by;  and,  whenever  you  are  thirsty,  remember  that  I  keep  a  con- 
stant supply,  at  the  old  stand.  Who  next?  Oh,  my  little  friend, 
you  are  let  loose  from  school,  and  come  hither  to  scrub  your 
blooming  face,  and  drown  the  memory  of  certain  taps  of  the 
ferule,  and  other  schoolboy  troubles,  in  a  draught  from  the  Town 
Pump.  Take  it,  pure  as  the  current  of  your  young  life.  Take 
it,  and  may  your  heart  and  tongue  never  be  scorched  with  a 
fiercer  thirst  than  now  !  There,  my  dear  child,  put  down  the 
cup,  and  yield  your  place  to  this  elderly  gentleman,  who  treads  so 
tenderly  over  the  paving-stones,  that  I  suspect  he  is  afraid  of 
breaking  them.  What !  he  limps  by,  without  so  much  as  thank- 
ing me,  as  if  my  hospitable  offers  were  meant  only  for  people  who 
have  no  wine-cellars.  Well,  well,  sir, — no  harm  done,  I  hope  ! 
Go  draw  the  cork,  tip  the  decanter;  but,  when  your  great  toe 
shall  set  you  a-roaring,  it  will  be  no  affair  of  mine.  If  gentlemen 
love  the  pleasant  titillation  of  the  gout,  it  is  all  one  to  the  Town 
Pump.  This  thirsty  dog,  with  his  red  tongue  lolling  out,  does 
not  scorn  my  hospitality,  but  stands  on  his  hind  legs  and  laps 
eagerly  out  of  the  trough.  See  how  lightly  he  capers  away 
again  !    Jowler,  did  your  worship  ever  have  the  gout  ?  *  *  * 

Your  pardon,  good  people  !  I  must  interrupt  my  stream  of 
eloquence,  and  spout  forth  a  stream  of  water,  to  replenish  the 
trough  for  this  teamster  and  his  two  yoke  of  oxen,  who  have  come 
from  Topsfield,  or  somewhere  along  that  way.  No  part  of  my 
business  is  pleasanter  than  the  watering  of  cattle.  Look  !  how 
rapidly  they  lower  the  water-mark  on  the  sides  of  the  trough,  till 
their  capacious  stomachs  are  moistened  with  a  gallon  or  two 
apiece,  and  they  can  afford  time  to  breathe  it  in,  with  sighs  of 
calm  enjoyment.  Now  they  roll  their  quiet  eyes  around  the 
brim  of  their  monstrous  drinking-vessel.  An  ox  is  your  true 
toper.  *  *  * 

Ahem!  Dry  work,  this  speechifying;  especially  to  an  unprac- 
tised orator.  I  never  conceived  till  now  what  toil  the  temperance 
lecturers  undergo  for  my  sake.  Hereafter  they  shall  have  the 
business  to  themselves.  Do,  some  kind  Christian,  pump  a  stroke 
or  two,  just  to  wet  my  whistle.  Thank  you,  sir.  My  dear  hear- 
ers, when  the  world  shall  have  been  regenerated  by  my  instru- 
mentality, you  will  collect  your  useless  vats  and  liquor-casks  into 
one  great  pile,  and  make  a  bonfire  in  honor  of  the  Town  Pump. 


540 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 


And  when  I  shall  have  decayed,  like  my  predecessors,  then,  if 
you  revere  my  memory,  let  a  marble  fountain,  richly  sculptured, 
take  my  place  upon  the  spot.  Such  monuments  should  be  erected 
everywhere,  and  inscribed  with  the  names  of  the  distinguished 
champions  of  my  cause.  *  *  * 

One  o'clock  !  Nay,  then,  if  the  dinner-bell  begins  to  speak,  I 
may  as  well  hold  my  peace. — Here  comes  a  pretty  young  girl  of 
my  acquaintance,  with  a  large  stone  pitcher  for  me  to  fill.  May 
she  draw  a  husband,  while  drawing  her  water,  as  Rachel  did  of 
old  !  Hold  out  your  vessel,  my  dear !  There  it  is,  full  to  the 
brim ;  so  now  run  home,  peeping  at  your  sweet  image  in  the 
pitcher  as  you  go ;  and  forget  not,  in  a  glass  of  my  own  liquor,  to 
drink — "  Success  to  the  Town  Pump  !" 

From  Twice-Told  Tales. 
SIGHTS  FROM  A  STEEPLE. 

How  various  are  the  situations  of  the  people  covered  by  the 
roofs  beneath  me,  and  how  diversified  are  the  events  at  this  mo- 
ment befalling  them  !  The  new-born,  the  aged,  the  dying,  the 
strong  in  life,  and  the  recent  dead,  are  in  the  chambers  of  these 
many  mansions.  The  full  of  hope,  the  happy,  the  miserable,  and 
the  desperate,  dwell  together  within  the  circle  of  my  glance.  In 
some  of  the  houses  over  which  my  eyes  roam  so  coldly,  guilt  is 
entering  into  hearts  that  are  still  tenanted  by  a  debased  and 
trodden  virtue — guilt  is  on  the  very  edge  of  commission,  and  the 
impending  deed  might  be  averted;  guilt  is  done,  and  the  criminal 
wonders  if  it  be  irrevocable.  There  are  broad  thoughts  struggling 
in  my  mind,  and,  were  I  able  to  give  them  distinctness,  they 
would  make  their  way  in  eloquence.  Lo !  the  rain-drops  are 
descending. 

The  clouds,  within  a  little  time,  have  gathered  over  all  the  sky, 
hanging  heavily,  as  if  about  to  drop  in  one  unbroken  mass  upon 
the  earth.  At  intervals  the  lightning  flashes  from  their  brooding 
hearts,  quivers,  disappears,  and  then  comes  the  thunder,  travelling 
slowly  after  its  twin-born  flame.  A  strong  wind  has  sprung  up, 
howls  through  the  darkened  streets,  and  raises  the  dust  in  dense 
bodies,  to  rebel  against  the  approaching  storm.  All  people  hurry 
homeward — all  that  have  a  home;  while  a  few  lounge  by  the 
corners,  or  trudge  on  desperately,  at  their  leisure. 

And  now  the  storm  lets  loose  its  fury.  In  every  dwelling  I 
perceive  the  faces  of  the  chambermaids  as  they  shut  down  the 
windows,  excluding  the  impetuous  shower,  and  shrinking  away 
from  the  quick  fiery  glare.  The  large  drops  descend  with  force 
upon  the  slated  roofs,  and  rise  again  in  smoke.  There  is  a  rusfo 
and  roar,  as  of  a  river  through  the  air,  and  muddy  streams  bubble 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE.  541 

majestically  along  the  pavement,  whirl  their  dusky  foam  into  the 
kennel,  and  disappear  beneath  iron  grates.  Thus  did  Arethusa 
sink.  I  love  not  my  station  here  aloft,  in  the  midst  of  the  tumult 
which  I  am  powerless  to  direct  or  quell,  with  the  blue  lightning 
wrinkling  on  my  brow,  and  the  thunder  muttering  its  first  awful 
syllables  in  my  ear.  I  will  descend.  Yet  let  me  give  another 
glance  to  the  sea,  where  the  foam  breaks  out  in  long  white  lines 
upon  a  broad  expanse  of  blackness,  or  boils  up  in  far  distant 
points,  like  snowy-mountain-tops  in  the  eddies  of  a  flood  j  and 
let  me  look  once  more  at  the  green  plain,  and  little  hills  of  the 
country,  over  which  the  giant  of  the  storm  is  riding  in  robes  of 
mist,  and  at  the  town,  whose  obscured  and  desolate  streets  might 
beseem  a  city  of  the  dead ;  and  turning  a  single  moment  to  the 
sky,  now  gloomy  as  an  author's  prospects,  I  prepare  to  resume  my 
station  on  lower  earth.  But  stay !  A  little  speck  of  azure  has 
widened  in  the  western  heavens  j  the  sunbeams  find  a  passage, 
and  go  rejoicing  through  the  tempest;  and  on  yonder  darkest 
cloud,  born,  like  hallowed  hopes,  of  the  glory  of  another  world, 
and  the  trouble  and  tears  of  this,  brightens  forth  the  Rainbow ! 

VANITY  FAIR.1 

Being  naturally  of  a  serious  turn,  my  attention  was  directed  to 
the  solid  advantages  derivable  from  a  residence  here,  rather  than 
to  the  effervescent  pleasures  which  are  the  grand  object  with  too 
many  visitants.  The  Christian  reader,  if  he  have  had  no  accounts 
of  the  city  later  than  Bunyan's  time,  will  be  surprised  to  hear  that 
almost  every  street  has  its  church,  and  that  the  reverend  clergy 
are  nowhere  held  in  higher  respect  than  at  Vanity  Fair.  And 
well  do  they  deserve  such  honorable  estimation ;  for  the  maxims 
of  wisdom  and  virtue  which  fall  from  their  lips,  come  from  as  deep 
a  spiritual  source,  and  tend  to  as  lofty  a  religious  aim,  as  those  of 
the  sagest  philosophers  of  old.  In  justification  of  this  high  praise, 
I  need  only  mention  the  names  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Shallow-deep ;  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Stumble-at-Truth ;  that  fine  old  clerical  character,  the 
Rev.  Mr.  This-to-day,  who  expects  shortly  to  resign  his  pulpit  to 
Rev.  Mr.  That-to-morrow ;  together  with  the  Rev.  Mr.  Bewilder- 
ment; the  Rev.  Mr.  Clog-the-spirit ;  andj  last  and  greatest,  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Wind-of-doctrine.  There  is  a  species  of  machine  here 
for  the  wholesale  manufacture  of  individual  morality.  This  excel- 
lent result  is  effected  by  societies  for  all  manner  of  virtuous  pur- 
poses, with  which  a  man  has  merely  to  connect  himself,  throwing, 


1  This  extract  is  taken  from  "  The  Celestial  Rail-Road,"  in  the  first  part  of 
Mouses  from  an  Old  Manse,  wherein  the  author  describes  his  journey  to  the  Celes- 
tial City.  It  is  one  of  his  very  best  productions,  and,  as  a  sequel  to  Bunyan,  and 
a  satire  on  a  bad  age,  it  is  inimitable. 

46 


542  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 

as  it  were,  his  quota  of  virtue  into  the  common  stock,  and  the 
president  and  directors  will  take  care  that  the  aggregate  amount 
be  well  applied.  All  these,  and  other  wonderful  improvements 
in  ethics,  religion,  and  literature,  being  made  plain  to  my  coin- 
prehension  by  the  ingenious  Mr.  Smooth-it-away,  inspired  me  with 
a  vast  admiration  of  Vanity  Fair. 

It  would  fill  a  volume,  in  an  age  of  pamphlets,  were  I  to  record 
all  my  observations  in  this  great  capital  of  human  business  and 
pleasure.  There  was  an  unlimited  range  of  society — the  powerful, 
the  wise,  the  witty,  and  the  famous  in  every  walk  of  life — princes, 
presidents,  poets,  generals,  artists,  actors,  and  philanthropists,  all 
making  their  own  market  at  the  Fair,  and  deeming  no  price  too 
exorbitant  for  such  commodities  as  hit  their  fancy.  It  was  well 
worth  one's  while,  even  if  he  had  no  idea  of  buying  or  selling,  to 
loiter  through  the  bazaars,  and  observe  the  various  sorts  of  traffic 
that  were  going  forward. 

Some  of  the  purchasers,  I  thought,  made  very  foolish  bargains. 
For  instance,  a  young  man,  having  inherited  a  splendid  fortune, 
laid  out  a  considerable  portion  of  it  in  the  purchase  of  diseases, 
and  finally  spent  all  the  rest  for  a  heavy  lot  of  repentance  .did  a 
suit  of  rags.  A  very  pretty  girl  bartered  a  heart  as  clear  as 
crystal,  and  which  seemed  her  most  valuable  possession,  for  another 
jewel  of  the  same  kind,  but  so  worn  and  defaced  as  to  be  utterly 
worthless.  In  one  shop  there  were  a  great  many  crowns  of  laurel 
and  myrtle,  which  soldiers,  authors,  statesmen,  and  various  other 
people,  pressed  eagerly  to  buy :  some  purchased  these  paltry 
wreaths  with  their  lives ;  others  by  a  toilsome  servitude  of  years ; 
and  many  sacrificed  whatever  was  most  valuable,  yet  finally  slunk 
away  without  the  crown.  There  was  a  sort  of  stock  or  scrip, 
called  Conscience,  which  seemed  to  be  in  great  demand,  and  would 
purchase  almost  any  thing.  Indeed,  few  rich  commodities  were  to 
be  obtained  without  paying  a  heavy  sum  in  this  particular  stock, 
and  a  man's  business  was  seldom  very  lucrative,  unless  he  know- 
precisely  when  and  how  to  throw  his  hoard  of  Conscience  into  the 
market.  Yet  as  this  stock  was  the  only  thing  of  permanent  value, 
whoever  parted  with  it  was  sure  to  find  himself  a  loser  in  the  long 
run.  Several  of  the  speculations  were  of  a  questionable  character. 
Occasionally  a  member  of  Congress  recruited  his  pocket  by  the 
sale  of  his  constituents;  and  I  was  assured  that  public  officers 
have  often  sold  their  country  at  very  moderate  prices.  Thousands 
sold  their  happiness  for  a  whim.  Gilded  chains  were  in  great 
demand,  and  purchased  with  almost  any  sacrifice.  In  truth,  those 
who  desired,  according  to  the  old  adage,  to  sell  any  thing  valuable 
for  a  song,  might  find  customers  all  over  the  Fair;  and  there  were 
innumerable  messes  of  pottage,  piping  hot,  for  such  as  chose  to 
buy  them  with  their  birthrights.    A  few  articles,  however,  could 


CHARLES  FENNO  HOFFMAN. 


543 


not  be  found  genuine  at  Vanity  Fair.  If  a  customer  wished  to 
renew  his  stock  of  youth,  the  dealers  offered  him  a  set* of  false 
teeth  and  an  auburn  wig;  if  he  demanded  peace  of  mind,  they 
recommended  opium  or  a  brandy -bottle. 

Tracts  of  land  and  golden  mansions,  situate  in  the  Celestial 
City,  were  often  exchanged,  at  very  disadvantageous  rates,  for  a 
few  years'  lease  of  small,  dismal,  inconvenient  tenements  in 
Vanity  Fair.  Prince  Beelzebub  himself  took  great  interest  in 
this  sort  of  traffic,  and  sometimes  condescended  to  meddle  with 
smaller  matters.  I  once  had  the  pleasure  to  see  him  bargaining 
with  a  miser  for  his  soul,  which,  after  much  ingenious  skirmish- 
ing on  both  sides,  his  Highness  succeeded  in  obtaining  at  about 
the  value  of  sixpence.  The  prince  remarked,  with  a  smile,  that 
he  was  a  loser  by  the  transaction. 


CHARLES  FENNO  HOFFMAN. 

Charles  Fenxo  Hoffman  1  is  the  son  of  the  late  distinguished  Judge  Josiah 
Ogden  Hoffman,  of  New  York,  and  was  born  in  that  city  in  1S06.  At  the  age  of 
fifteen  he  entered  Columbia  College,  after  leaving  which  he  studied  law  with  Har- 
manus  Bleeker,  of  Albany,  was  admitted  to  the  bar  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  and 
began  to  practise  in  New  York.  But  his  tastes  for  poetry  and  general  literature 
were  so  strong  that  he  soon  gave  up  the  law  for  what  was  more  congenial.  He 
became  co-editor,  with  Mr.  Charles  King,  of  the  "  New  York  American,"  a  very 
able  daily  journal,  and  published  in  it  a  number  of  brilliaut  papers  under  the 
signature  of  a  star  (*).  Travelling  in  the  West  in  1833  for  his  health,  he  wrote 
for  his  paper  a  series  of  letters,  which  were  afterwards  published  under  the  title 
of  A  Winter  in  the  West,  and  became  very  popular.  In  1S37  appeared  his  Wild 
Scenes  in  the  Forest  and  Prairie,  and,  shortly  after,  the  romance  of  the  Greyslaer, 
founded  on  the  famous  criminal  trial  of  Beauchamp  for  the  murder  of  Colonel 
Sharpe,  the  Solicitor-General  of  Kentucky. 

The  " 1  Knickerbocker  Magazine"  commenced  in  1833,  under  the  editorship  of  Mr. 
Hoffman,  a  magazine  which  has  ever  maintained  a  high  literary  character.  After- 
wards he  became  proprietor  of  the  "American  Monthly  Magazine,"  and  for  one 
year  edited  the  "New  York  Mirror."  In  1843  appeared  The  Vigil  of  Faith,  a 
Legend  of  the  Adirondack  Mountains,  and  other  Poems  ;  and  a  second  volume  of 
poetry,  under  the  title  of  Borrowed  Notes  for  Home  Circulation,  was  published  in 
1844.  In  1846  and  1847,  Mr.  Hoffman  was  for  eighteen  months  the  editor  of  the 
'^Literary  World,"  a  paper  of  a  high  literary  character,  and  conducted  with  great 


1  He  gets  the  name  of  Fenno  from  his  maternal  grandfather,  John  Fenno,  of 
Philadelphia,  a  political  writer  of  the  old  Federal  party  in  Washington's  admi- 
nistration. 


544 


CHARLES  FEN  NO  HOFFMAN. 


ability.  About  tbis  time  a  more  complete  collection  of  bis  lyrical  compositions 
was  published  under  the  title  of  Love's  Calendar. 

For  many  years  Mr.  Hoffman  has  written  very  little.  His  residence  is  in  the 
city  of  New  York. 


A  MORNING  HYMN. 


"  Let  there  be  light  !"    The  Eternal  spoke  ; 

And  from  the  abyss  where  darkness  rode, 
The  earliest  dawn  of  nature  broke, 

And  light  around  creation  flow'd. 
The  glad  earth  smiled  to  see  the  day, 

The  first-born  day,  come  blushing  in ; 
The  young  day  smiled  to  shed  its  ray 

Upon  a  world  untouch'd  by  sin. 

"  Let  there  be  light !"    O'er  heaven  and  earth, 

The  God  who  first  the  day-beam  pour'd, 
Utter'd  again  his  fiat  forth, 

And  shed  the  gospel's  light  abroad. 
And,  like  the  dawn,  its  cheering  rays 

On  rich  and  poor  were  meant  to  fall, 
Inspiring  their  Redeemer's  praise, 

In  lowly  cot  and  lordly  hall. 

Then  come,  when  in  the  orient  first 

Flushes  the  signal  light  for  prayer ; 
Come  with  the  earliest  beams  that  burst 

From  God's  bright  throne  of  glory  there. 
Come  kneel  to  Him  who  through  the  night 

Hath  watch'd  above  thy  sleeping  soul, 
To  Him  whose  mercies,  like  his  light, 

Are  shed  abroad  from  pole  to  pole. 


INDIAN  SUMMER,  1828. 

Light  as  love's  smiles,  the  silvery  mist  at  morn 
Floats  in  loose  flakes  along  the  limpid  river ; 

The  bluebird's  notes  upon  the  soft  breeze  borne, 
As  high  in  air  he  carols,  faintly  quiver ; 

The  weeping  birch,  like  banners  idly  waving, 

Bends  to  the  stream,  its  spicy  branches  laving; 
Beaded  with  dew,  the  witch-elm's  tassels  shiver; 

The  timid  rabbit  from  the  furze  is  peeping, 
And  from  the  springy  spray  the  squirrel's  gayly  leaping. 

I  love  thee,  Autumn,  for  thy  scenery  ere 
The  blasts  of  winter  chase  the  varied  dyes 

That  richly  deck  the  slow-declining  year ; 
I  love  the  splendor  of  thy  sunset  skies, 


CHARLES  FENNO  HOFFMAN. 


The  gorgeous  hues  that  tinge  each  failing  leaf, 
Lovely  as  beauty's  cheek,  as  woman's  love  too,  brief: 

I  love  the  note  of  each  wild  bird  that  flies, 
As  on  the  wind  he  pours  his  parting  lay 
And  wings  his  loitering  flight  to  summer  climes  away. 

0,  Nature  !  still  I  fondly  turn  to  thee, 

With  feelings  fresh  as  e'er  my  childhood's  were ; — 
Though  wild  and  passion-toss'd  my  youth  may  be, 

Toward  thee  I  still  the  same  devotion  bear ; 
To  thee — to  thee — though  health  and  hope  no  more 
Life's  wasted  verdure  may  to  me  restore — 

I  still  can,  childlike,  come  as  when  in  prayer 
I  bow'd  my  head  upon  a  mother's  knee, 
And  deem'd  the  world,  like  her,  all  truth  and  purity. 


WE  PARTED  IN  SADNESS. 

We  parted  in  sadness,  but  spoke  not  of  parting ; 

We  talk'd  not  of  hopes  that  we  both  must  resign ; 
I  saw  not  her  eyes,  and  but  one  tear-drop  starting, 

Fell  down  on  her  hand  as  it  trembled  in  mine : 
Each  felt  that  the  past  we  could  never  recover, 

Each  felt  that  the  future  no  hope  could  restore ; 
She  shudder'd  at  wringing  the  heart  of  her  lover, 

/  dared  not  to  say  I  must  meet  her  no  more. 

Long  years  have  gone  by,  and  the  spring-time  smiles  ever, 

As  o'er  our  young  loves  it  first  smiled  in  their  birth, 
Long  years  have  gone  by,  yet  that  parting,  oh,  never 

Can  it  be  forgotten  by  either  on  earth. 
The  note  of  each  wild  bird  that  carols  toward  heaven, 

Must  tell  her  of  swift-winged  hopes  that  were  mine, 
And  the  dew  that  steals  over  each  blossom  at  even, 

Tells  me  of  the  tear-drop  that  wept  their  decline. 


SPARKLING  AND  BRIGHT. 

Sparkling  ancLbright  in  liquid  light 

Does  the  wine  our  goblets  gleam  in, 
With  hue  as  red  as  the  rosy  bed 

Which  a  bee  would  choose  to  dream  in. 
Then  fill  to-night,  with  hearts  as  light, 

To  loves  as  gay  and  fleeting 
As  bubbles  that  swim  on  the  beaker's  brim, 
And  break  on  the  lips  while  meeting. 

Oh  !  if  Mirth  might  arrest  the  flight 
Of  Time  through  Life's  dominions, 

We  here  a  while  would  now  beguile 
The  graybeard  of  his  pinions, 
46* 


546 


WILLIAM  GILMORE  SIMMS. 


To  drink  to-night,  with  hearts  as  light, 

To  loves  as  gay  and  fleeting 
As  bubbles  that  swim  on  the  beaker's  brim, 

And  break  on  the  lips  while  meeting. 

But  since  delight  can't  tempt  the  wight, 

Nor  fond  regret  delay  him, 
Nor  Love  himself  can  hold  the  elf, 
Nor  sober  Friendship  stay  him, 

We'll  drink  to-night,  with  hearts  as  light, 

To  loves  as  gay  and  fleeting 
As  bubbles  that  swim  on  the  beaker's  brim, 
And  break  on  the  lips  while  meeting. 


WILLIAM  GILMORE  SIMMS. 

William  Gilmore  Simms,  the  novelist,  historian,  and  poet,  was  born  in 
Charleston,  South  Carolina,  on  the  17th  of  April,  1806.  It  was  at  first  intended 
that  he  should  study  medicine ;  but,  his  inclinations  having  led  him  to  the  law, 
he  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of  that  profession,  not,  however,  allowing  it  to 
absorb  his  whole  time,  for  from  his  earliest  years  he  possessed  a  strong  love  for 
literature  and  poetry.  At  the  age  of  eighteen,  he  published  his  first  volume,  en- 
titled Lyrical  and  other  Poems ;  which  was  followed  in  the  next  two  years  by 
Early  Lays,  and  The  Vision  of  Cortez  and  other  Pieces;  and  in  1830  by  The  Tri- 
color, or  the  Three  Days  of  Blood  in  Paris. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-one  he  was  admitted  to  the  bar;  but,  feeling  a  deep 
interest  in  political  matters,  he  purchased  the  "  Charleston  City  Gazette,"  and 
edited  it  for  many  years  with  great  ability.  Finally  it  failed,  and  by  it  he  lost 
much  of  his  property.  Having  now  no  ties  to  bind  him  to  Charleston,  (his  wife 
and  his  father  both  being  dead,)  he  visited  the  North  in  1832,  and,  making  a  tem- 
porary residence  in  Hingham,  Massachusetts,  he  there  prepared  for  the  press  his 
principal  poetical  work,  Atalantis,  a  Story  of  the  Sea,  which  was  published  in  New 
York.  It  met  with  a  cordial  reception,  and  was  spoken  of  in  terms  of  high  praise 
by  some  of  the  leading  English  journals.  In  1837,  he  brought  out  his  first  novel, 
Martin  Faber,  which  was  also  favorably  received.  His  other  novels  are, — Guy 
Rivers;  Yemassee;  The  Partisan;  Mellichampe;  Pelayo ;  Carl  Werner;  Richard 
Hurdis  ;  Damsel  of  Darien;  Beauchamp;  The  Kinsman ;  Katharine  Walton;  Con- 
fession, or  the  Blind  Heart,  &c.  His  principal  biographical  and  historical  works 
consist  of  Lives  of  Captain  John  Smith,  General  Marion,  Chevalier  Bayard,  and 
a  History  of  South  Carolina.  In  1853,  he  made  selections  from  his  poetry,  which 
were  published  in  two  beautiful  volumes  by  Redfield,  New  York. 

The  above  by  no  means  comprise  all  Mr.  Simms's  published  volumes :  he  has 
written  besides  a  great  deal  for  magazines,  reviews,  and  other  periodicals ;  and 
in  1849  he  became  the  editor  of  the  "  Southern  Quarterly  Review,"  which  was  re- 
vived by  his  influence  and  contributions.    It  will  thus  be  seen  that  he  is  one  of 


WILLIAM  GILMORE  SIMMS. 


547 


the  most  prolific  and  versatile  writers  of  the  day,1  and  whatever  comes  from  his 
pen  is  characterized  by  earnestness  and  sincerity.  "In  all  that  he  has  written, 
his  excellencies  are  unborrowed :  their  merits  are  the  development  of  original 
native  germs,  without  any  apparent  aid  from  models.  His  thoughts,  his  diction, 
his  arrangement,  are  his  own,-  he  reminds  you  of  no  other  author;  even  in  the 
lesser  graces  of  literary  execution,  he  combines  language  after  no  pattern  set  by 
other  authors,  however  beautiful."2 

Mr.  Simms  now  resides  on  his  plantation  at  Midway,  a  town  about  seventy 
miles  southwest  of  Charleston. 


THE  MAIDEN  AND  THE  RATTLESNAKE.3 

aHe  does  not  come, — he  does  not  come,"  she  murmured,  as 
she  stood  contemplating  the  thick  copse  spreading  before  her,  and 
forming  the  barrier  which  terminated  the  beautiful  range  of  oaks 
which  constituted  the  grove.  How  beautiful  was  the  green  and 
garniture  of  that  little  copse  of  wood  !  The  leaves  were  thick, 
and  the  grass  around  lay  folded  over  and  over  in  bunches,  with 
here  and  there  a  wild  flower  gleaming  from  its  green  and  making 
of  it  a  beautiful  carpet  of  the  richest  and  most  various  texture. 
A  small  tree  rose  from  the  centre  of  a  clump  around  which  a  wild 
grape  gadded  luxuriantly  j  and,  with  an  incoherent  sense  of  what 
she  saw,  she  lingered  before  the  little  cluster,  seeming  to  survey 
that  which,  though  it  seemed  to  fix  her  eye,  yet  failed  to  fill  her 
thought.  Her  mind  wandered, — her  soul  was  far  away ;  and  the 
objects  in  her  vision  were  far  other  than  those  which  occupied 
her  imagination.  Things  grew  indistinct  beneath  her  eye.  The 
eye  rather  slept  than  saw.  The  musing  spirit  had  given  holiday 
to  the  ordinary  senses,  and  took  no  heed  of  the  forms  that  rose, 
and  floated,  or  glided  away,  before  them.  In  this  way,  the  leaf 
detached  made  no  impression  upon  the  sight  that  was  yet  bent 
upon  it;  she  saw  not  the  bird,  though  it  whirled,  untroubled  by 
a  fear,  in  wanton  circles  around  her  head, — and  the  black  snake, 
with  the  rapidity  of  an  arrow,  darted  over  her  path  without 
arousing  a  single  terror  in  the  form  that  otherwise  would  have 
shivered  at  its  mere  appearance.    And  yet,  though  thus  indistinct 


1  In  Roorbach's  "  Bibliotheca  Americana"  is  a  list  of  his  works,  comprising 
fifty-three  volumes  of  poetry,  fiction,  history,  and  biography.  Mr.  Simms  cannot 
expect  that  in  this  "  fast  age"  all  his  works  can  be  generally  read  ;  but  if  he,  or 
if  some  friend  for  him,  would  make  a  selection  from  his  prose  and  poetry,  to  be 
comprised  in  five  or  six  volumes,  it  would  be  a  very  choice  contribution  to  our 
literature,  and  one  which  posterity  "  would  not  willingly  let  die." 

2  "  Homes  of  American  Authors." 

3  From  Yemasaee,  a  Romance  of  Carol  inn.  The  heroine,  Bess  Matthews,  is  in 
the  woods,  waiting  the  coming  of  her  lover. 


548 


WILLIAM  GILMORE  SIMMS. 


were  all  tilings  around  her  to  the  musing  mind  of  the  maiden,  her 
eye  was  yet  singularly  fixed, — fastened,  as  it  were,  to  a  single 
spot,  gathered  and  controlled  by  a  single  object,  and  glazed,  appa- 
rently, beneath  a  curious  fascination. 

Before  the  maiden  rose  a  little  clump  of  bushes, — bright 
tangled  leaves  flaunting  wide  in  glossiest  green,  with  vines  trail- 
ing over  them,  thickly  decked  with  blue  and  crimson  flowers. 
Her  eye  communed  vacantly  with  these ;  fastened  by  a  star-like 
shining  glance, — a  subtle  ray,  that  shot  out  from  the  circle  of 
green  leaves, — seeming  to  be  their  very  eye, — and  sending  out  a 
fluid  lustre  that  seemed  to  stream  across  the  space  between,  and 
find  its  way  into  her  own  eyes.  Very  piercing  and  beautiful  was 
that  subtle  brightness,  of  the  sweetest,  strangest  power.  And 
now  the  leaves  quivered  and  seemed  to  float  away,  only  to  return, 
and  the  vines  waved  and  swung  around  in  fantastic  mazes,  un- 
folding ever-changing  varieties  of  form  and  color  to  her  gaze;  but 
the  star-like  eye  was  ever  steadfast,  bright  and  gorgeous  gleaming 
in  their  midst,  and  still  fastened,  with  strange  fondness,  upon  her 
own.  How  beautiful,  with  wondrous  intensity,  did  it  gleam,  and 
dilate,  growing  larger  and  more  lustrous  with  every  ray  which  it 
sent  forth !  And  her  own  glance  became  intense,  fixed  also ; 
but,  with  a  dreaming  sense  that  conjured  up  the  wildest  fancies, 
terribly  beautiful,  that  took  her  soul  away  from  her,  and  wrapt  it 
about  as  with  a  spell.  She  would  have  fled,  she  would  have 
flown  ;  but  she  had  not  power  to  move.  The  will  was  wanting  to 
her  flight.  She  felt  that  she  could  have  bent  forward  to  pluck 
the  gem-like  thing  from  the  bosom  of  the  leaf  in  which  it  seemed 
to  grow,  and  which  it  irradiated  with  its  bright  white  gleam ;  but 
ever  as  she  aimed  to  stretch  forth  her  hand  and  bend  forward,  she 
heard  a  rush  of  wings  and  a  shrill  scream  from  the  tree  above  her, 
— such  a  scream  as  the  mock-bird  makes,  when,  angrily,  it  raises 
its  dusky  crest  and  flaps  its  wings  furiously  against  its  slender 
sides.  Such  a  scream  seemed  like  a  warning,  and,  though  yet 
unawakened  to  full  consciousness,  it  startled  her  and  forbade  her 
effort.  More  than  once,  in  her  survey  of  this  strange  object,  had 
she  heard  that  shrill  note,  and  still  had  it  carried  to  her  ear  the 
same  note  of  warning,  and  to  her  mind  the  same  vague  conscious- 
ness of  an  evil  presence.  But  the  star-like  eye  was  yet  upon  her 
own, — a  small,  bright  eye,  quick  like  that  of  a  bird,  now  steady 
in  its  place  and  observant  seemingly  only  of  hers,  now  darting 
forward  with  all  the  clustering  leaves  about  it,  and  shooting  up 
towards  her,  as  if  wooing  her  to  seize.  At  another  moment, 
riveted  to  the  vine  which  lay  around  it,  it  would  whirl  round  and 
round,  dazzlingly  bright  and  beautiful,  even  as  a  torch  waving 
hurriedly  by  night  in  the  hands  of  some  playful  boy ;  but,  in  all 
this  time,  the  glance  was  never  taken  from  her  own  :  there  it 


WILLIAM  GILMORE  SIMMS. 


549 


grew,  fixed, — a  very  principle  of  light, — and  such  a  light, — a 
subtle,  burning,  piercing,  fascinating  gleam,  such  as  gathers  in 
vapor  above  the  old  grave,  and  binds  us  as  we  look, — shooting, 
darting  directly  into  her  eye,  dazzling  her  gaze,  defeating  its 
sense  of  discrimination,  and  confusing  strangely  that  of  percep- 
tion. She  felt  dizzy;  for,  as  she  looked,  a  cloud  of  colors, 
bright,  gay,  various  colors,  floated  and  hung  like  so  much  drapery 
around  the  single  object  that  had  so  secured  her  attention  and 
spellbound  her  feet.  Her  limbs  felt  momently  more  and  more 
insecure, — her  blood  grew  cold,  and  she  seemed  to  feel  the  gradual 
freeze  of  vein  by  vein  throughout  her  person. 

At  that  moment  a  rustling  was  heard  in  the  branches  of  the 
tree  beside  her,  and  the  bird,  which  had  repeatedly  uttered  a 
single  cry  above  her,  as  it  were  of  warning,  flew  away  from  his 
station  with  a  scream  more  piercing  than  ever.  This  movement 
had  the  effect,  for  which  it  really  seemed  intended,  of  bringing 
back  to  her  a  portion  of  the  consciousness  she  seemed  so  totally  to 
have  been  deprived  of  before.  She  strove  to  move  from  before 
the  beautiful  but  terrible  presence,  but  for  a  while  she  strove  in 
vain.  The  rich,  star-like  glance  still  riveted  her  own,  and  the 
subtle  fascination  kept  her  bound.  The  mental  energies,  how- 
ever, with  the  moment  of  their  greatest  trial,  now  gathered  sud- 
denly to  her  aid;  and,  with  a  desperate  effort,  but  with  a  feeling 
still  of  most  annoying  uncertainty  and  dread,  she  succeeded  par- 
tially in  the  attempt,  and  threw  her  arms  backwards,  her  hands 
grasping  the  neighboring  tree,  feeble,  tottering,  and  depending 
upon  it  for  that  support  which  her  own  limbs  almost  entirely 
denied  her.  With  her  movement,  however,  came  the  full  de- 
velopment of  the  powerful  spell  and  dreadful  mystery  before  her. 
As  her  feet  receded,  though  but  a  single  pace,  to  the  tree  against 
which  she  now  rested,  the  audibly-articulated  ring,  like  that  of  a 
watch  when  wound  up  with  the  verge  broken,  announced  the 
nature  of  that  splendid  yet  dangerous  presence,  in  the  form  of  the 
monstrous  rattlesnake,  now  but  a  few  feet  before  her,  lying  coiled 
at  the  bottom  of  a  beautiful  shrub,  with  which,  to  her  dreaming 
eye,  many  of  its  own  glorious  hues  had  become  associated.  She 
was  at  length  conscious  enough  to  perceive  and  to  feel  all  her 
danger ;  but  terror  had  denied  her  the  strength  necessary  to  fly 
from  her  dreadful  enemy.  There  still  the  eye  glared  beautifully 
bright  and  piercing  upon  her  own ;  and,  seemingly  in  a  spirit  of 
sport,  the  insidious  reptile  slowly  unwound  himself  from  his  coil, 
but  only  to  gather  himself  up  again  into  his  muscular  rings,  his 
great  flat  head  rising  in  the  midst,  and  slowly  nodding,  as  it  were, 
towards  her,  the  eye  still  peering  deeply  into  her  own  ; — the 
rattle  still  slightly  ringing  at  intervals,  and  giving  forth  that 
paralyzing  sound,  which,  once  heard,  is  remembered  forever. 


550 


WILLIAM  GILMORE  SIMMS. 


The  reptile  all  this  while  appeared  to  be  conscious  of,  and  to 
sport  with,  while  seeking  to  excite,  her  terrors.  Now,  with  its 
flat  head,  distended  mouth,  and  curving  neck,  would  it  dart  for- 
ward its  long  form  towards  her, — its  fatal  teeth,  unfolding  on 
either  side  of  its  upper  jaw,  seeming  to  threaten  her  with  in- 
stantaneous death,  while  its  powerful  eye  shot  forth  glances  of 
that  fatal  power  of  fascination,  malignantly  bright,  which,  by 
paralyzing,  with  a  novel  form  of  terror  and  of  beauty,  may 
readily  account  for  the  spell  it  possesses  of  binding  the  feet  of  the 
timid,  and  denying  to  fear  even  the  privilege  of  flight.  Could 
she  have  fled  !  She  felt  the  necessity  ;  but  the  power  of  her  limbs 
was  gone  !  and  there  still  it  lay,  coiling  and  uncoiling,  its  arch- 
ing neck  glittering  like  a  ring  of  brazed  copper,  bright  and  lurid; 
and  the  dreadful  beauty  of  its  eye  still  fastened,  eagerly  contem- 
plating the  victim,  while  the  pendulous  rattle  still  rang  the  death- 
note,  as  if  to  prepare  the  conscious  mind  for  the  fate  which  is 
momently  approaching  to  the  blow.  Meanwhile  the  stillness  be- 
came death-like  with  all  surrounding  objects.  The  bird  had  gone 
with  its  scream  and  rush.  The  breeze  was  silent.  The  vines  ceased 
to  wave.  The  leaves  faintly  quivered  on  their  stems.  The  ser- 
pent once  more  lay  still  j  but  the  eye  was  never  once  turned  away 
from  the  victim.  Its  corded  muscles  are  all  in  coil.  They  have  but 
to  unclasp  suddenly,  and  the  dreadful  folds  will  be  upon  her,  its 
full  length,  and  the  fatal  teeth  will  strike,  and  the  deadly  venom 
which  they  secrete  will  mingle  with  the  life-blood  in  her  veins. 

The  terrified  damsel,  her  full  consciousness  restored,  but  not 
her  strength,  feels  all  the  danger.  She  sees  that  the  sport  of  the 
terrible  reptile  is  at  an  end.  She  cannot  now  mistake  the  horrid 
expression  of  its  eye.  She  strives  to  scream,  but  the  voice  dies 
away,  a  feeble  gurgling  in  her  throat.  Her  tongue  is  paralyzed ; 
her  lips  are  sealed;  once  more  she  strives  for  flight,  but  her 
limbs  refuse  their  office.  She  has  nothing  left  of  life  but  its  fear- 
ful consciousness.  It  is  in  her  despair  that,  a  last  effort,  she  suc- 
ceeds to  scream,  a  single  wild  cry,  forced  from  her  by  the  accu- 
mulated agony;  she  sinks  down  upon  the  grass  before  her  enemy, 
— her  eyes,  however,  still  open,  and  still  looking  upon  those  which 
he  directs  forever  upon  them.  She  sees  him  approach, — now  ad- 
vancing, now  receding, — now  swelling  in  every  part  with  some- 
thing of  anger,  while  his  neck  is  arched  beautifully  like  that  of 
a  wild  horse  under  the  curb ;  until,  at  length,  tired  as  it  were  of 
play,  like  the  cat  with  its  victim,  she  sees  the  neck  growing 
larger  and  becoming  completely  bronzed  as  about  to  strike, — the 
huge  jaws  unclosing  almost  directly  above  her,  the  long  tubulated 
fang,  charged  with  venom,  protruding  from  the  cavernous  mouth, 
— and  she  sees  no  more  !  Insensibility  came  to  her  aid,  and  she 
lay  almost  lifeless  under  the  very  folds  of  the  monster. 


WILLIAM  GILMORE  SIMMS. 


551 


In  that  moment  the  copse  parted, — and  an  arrow,  piercing  the 
monster  through  and  through  the  neck,  bore  his  head  forward  to 
the  ground,  alongside  of  the  maiden,  while  his  spiral  extremities, 
now  unfolding  in  his  own  agony,  were  actually,  in  part,  writhing 
upon  her  person.  The  arrow  came  from  the  fugitive  Occonestoga, 
who  had  fortunately  reached  the  spot,  in  season,  on  his  way  to  the 
Block  House.  He  rushed  from  the  copse  as  the  snake  fell,  and, 
with  a  stick,  fearlessly  approached  him  where  he  lay  tossing  in 
agony  upon  the  grass.  Seeing  him  advance,  the  courageous  rep- 
tile made  an  effort  to  regain  his  coil,  shaking  the  fearful  rattle 
violently  at  every  evolution  which  he  took  for  that  purpose ;  but 
the  arrow,  completely  passing  through  his  neck,  opposed  an  un- 
yielding obstacle  to  the  endeavor ;  and,  finding  it  hopeless,  and 
seeing  the  new  enemy  about  to  assault  him,  with  something  of  the 
spirit  of  the  white  man  under  like  circumstances,  he  turned  despe- 
rately round,  and  striking  his  charged  fangs,  so  that  they  were 
riveted  in  the  wound  they  made,  into  a  susceptible  part  of  his  own 
body,  he  threw  himself  over  with  a  single  convulsion,  and,  a  mo- 
ment after,  lay  dead  beside  the  utterly  unconscious  maiden.1 

SONG  OF  THE  ZEPHYR  SPIRIT. 

I  have  come  from  the  deeps  where  the  sea-maiden  twines, 

In  her  bowers  of  amber,  her  garlands  of  shells ; 
For  a  captive  like  thee,  in  her  chamber  she  pines, 

And  weaves  for  thy  coming  the  subtlest  of  spells ; 
She  has  breathed  on  the  harp-string  that  sounds  in  her  cave, 

And  the  strain  as  it  rose  hath  been  murmur'd  for  thee  ; 
She  would  win  thee  from  earth  for  her  home  in  the  wave, 

And  her  couch,  in  the  coral-grove,  deep  in  the  sea. 

Thou  hast  dream'd  in  thy  boyhood  of  sea-circled  bowers, 

Where  all  may  be  found  that  is  joyous  and  bright, — 
Where  life  is  a  frolic  through  fancies  and  flowers, 

And  the  soul  lives  in  dreams  of  a  lasting  delight ! 
Wouldst  thou  win  what  thy  fancies  have  taught  to  thy  heart  ? 

Wouldst  thou  dwell  with  the  maiden  now  pining  for  thee  ? 
Flee  away  from  the  cares  of  the  earth,  and  depart 

For  her  mansions  of  coral,  far  down  in  the  sea. 

Her  charms  will  beguile  thee  when  noonday  is  nigh, 
The  song  of  her  nymphs  shall  persuade  thee  to  sleep, 

She  will  watch  o:er  thy  couch  as  the  storm  hurries  by, 
Nor  suffer  the  sea-snake  beside  thee  to  creep  ; 


1  "  The  power  of  the  rattlesnake  to  fascinate  is  a  frequent  faith  among  the 
superstitious  of  the  Southern  country-people.  Of  this  capacity  in  reference  to 
birds  and  insects,  frogs,  and  the  smaller  reptiles,  there  is  indeed  little  question. 
Its  power  over  persons  is  not  so  well  authenticated,  although  numberless  in- 
stances of  this  sort  are  given  by  persons  of  very  excellent  veracity.  The  above 
is  almost  literally  worded  after  a  verbal  narrative  furnished  the  author  by  an  old 
lady,  who  never  dreamed,  herself,  of  doubting  the  narration.'' 


552 


ISAAC  MCLELLAN. 


But  still,  with  a  charm  which  is  horn  of  the  hours, 

Her  love  shall  implore  thee  to  bliss  ever  free ; 
Thou  wilt  rove  with  delight  through  her  crystalline  bowers, 

And  sleep  without  care  in  her  home  of  the  sea. 

From  Atalantis. 


HEART  ESSENTIAL  TO  GENIUS. 

We  are  not  always  equal  to  our  fate 

Nor  true  to  our  conditions.    Doubt  and  fear 
Beset  the  bravest,  in  their  high  career, 

At  moments  when  the  soul,  no  more  elate 
AVith  expectation,  sinks  beneath  the  time. 

The  masters  have  their  weakness.    <;  I  would  climb," 
Said  Raleigh,  gazing  on  the  highest  hill, — 

"  But  that  I  tremble  with  the  fear  to  fall." 
Apt  was  the  answer  of  the  high-soul'd  queen : — 

"If  thy  heart  fail  thee,  never  climb  at  all!" 

The  heart!  if  that  be  sound,  confirms  the  rest, 
Crowns  genius  with  his  lion  will  and  mien, 

And,  from  the  conscious  virtue  in  the  breast, 

To  trembling  nature  gives  both  strength  and  will. 


ISAAC  MCLELLAN. 

Isaac  McLellan  is  a  native  of  Portland,  Maine,  and  was  born  on  the  21st 
of  May,  1806.  In  early  life,  his  father,  Isaac  McLellan,  removed  to  Boston, 
where  for  many  years  he  was  a  prominent  merchant,  distinguished  for  his 
integrity  and  success  in  business.  The  son,  after  receiving  his  degree  at  Bow- 
doin  College,  in  1826,  returned  to  Boston,  completed  a  course  of  legal  study,  and 
was  admitted  to  practice  in  the  courts  of  that  city.  But  the  Muses  and  general 
literature  had  more  charms  for  him  than  clients  and  briefs,  and  for  many  years  he 
contributed,  both  in  prose  and  poetry,  to  several  magazines  and  papers  published 
in  the  city  and  vicinity,  and  had  the  editorial  management  of  two  or  three  of 
them.  About  the  year  1840,  he  went  abroad,  and  passed  about  two  years  in 
Europe.  On  his  return,  he  gave  a  description  of  his  journeyings,  in  a  series 
of  letters  published  in  the  "  Boston  Daily  Courier."  Since  that  period,  he  has 
been  engaged  chiefly  in  literary  pursuits,  and  now  resides  in  the  city  of 
New  York. 

Mr.  McLellan's  published  works  are,  The  Fall  of  the  Indian,  in  1830;  The 
Year,  and  other  Poems,  in  1832;  and  Mount  Auburn,  and  other  Poems,  in  1843. 
Though  the  Muse  of  Mr.  McLellan  aims  at  no  ambitious  flight,  yet  in  the  middle 
region  of  the  descriptive  and  the  lyrical  in  which  she  delights  chiefly  to  play,  she 
moves  with  even  and  graceful  wing,  bearing  such  offerings  as  the  following: — 


ISAAC  MCLELLAN. 


553 


new  England's  dead.1 

New  England's  dead !  New  England's  dead ! 

On  every  hill  they  lie  ; 
On  every  held  of  strife  made  red 

By  bloody  victory. 
Each  valley,  where  the  battle  pour'd 

Its  red  and  awful  tide, 
Beheld  the  brave  New  England  sword 

With  slaughter  deeply  dyed. 
Their  bones  are  on  the  northern  hill, 

And  on  the  southern  plain, 
By  brook  and  river,  lake  and  rill, 

And  by  the  roaring  main. 

The  land  is  holy  where  they  fought, 

And  holy  where  they  fell ; 
For  by  their  blood  that  land  was  bought, 

The  land  they  loved  so  well. 
Then  glory  to  that  valiant  band, 
The  honor'd  saviours  of  the  land ! 
Oh,  few  and  weak  their  numbers  were — 

A  handful  of  brave  men  ; 
But  to  their  God  they  gave  their  prayer, 

And  rush'd  to  battle  then. 
The  God  of  battles  heard  their  cry, 
And  sent  to  them  the  victory. 

They  left  the  ploughshare  in  the  mould, 

Their  flocks  and  herds  without  a  fold, 

The  sickle  in  the  unshorn  grain, 

The  corn,  half  garner'd,  on  the  plain, 

And  muster'd,  in  their  simple  dress, 

For  wrongs  to  seek  a  stern  redress, 

To  right  those  wrongs,  come  weal,  come  woe, 

To  perish,  or  o'ercome  their  foe. 

And  where  are  ye,  0  fearless  men  ? 

And  where  are  ye  to-day  ? 
I  call: — the  hills  reply  again 

That  ye  have  pass'd  away  ; 
That  on  old  Bunker's  lonely  height, 

In  Trenton,  and  in  Monmouth  ground, 
The  grass  grows  green,  the  harvest  bright, 

Above  each  soldier's  mound. 


1 " Mr.  President :  I  shall  enter  on  no  encomium  upon  Massachusetts;  she 
needs  none.  There  she  is  ;  behold  her,  and  judge  for  yourselves.  There  is  her 
history.  The  world  knows  it  by  heart.  The  past,  at  least,  is  secure.  There  is 
Boston,  and  Concord,  and  Lexington,  and  Bunker  Hill;  and  there  they  will 
remain  forever.  The  bones  of  her  sons,  falling  in  the  great  struggle  for  inde- 
pendence, now  lie  mingled  with  the  soil  of  every  State,  from  New  England 
to  Georgia;  and  there  they  will  remain  forever." — Webster's  Speech  in  Reply 
to  Hayne,  1830. 

17 


ISAAC  M°LELLAN. 


The  bugle's  wild  and  warlike  blast 

Shall  muster  them  no  more  ; 
An  army  now  might  thunder  past, 

And  they  heed  not  its  roar. 
The  starry  flag,  'neath  which  they  fought, 

In  many  a  bloody  day, 
From  their  old  graves  shall  rouse  them  not ; 

For  they  have  pass'd  away. 


LINES, 

SUGGESTED  BY  A  PICTURE   BY  WASHINGTON  ALLSTON. 

The  tender  Twilight  with  a  crimson  cheek 

Leans  on  the  breast  of  Eve.    The  wayward  Wind 

Hath  folded  her  fleet  pinions,  and  gone  down 

To  slumber  by  the  darken' d  woods ;  the  herds 

Have  left  their  pastures,  where  the  sward  grows  green 

And  lofty  by  the  river's  sedgy  brink, 

And  slow  are  winding  home.    Hark,  from  afar 

Their  tinkling  bells  sound  through  the  dusky  glade 

And  forest-openings,  with  a  pleasant  sound ; 

While  answering  Echo,  from  the  distant  hill, 

Sends  back  the  music  of  the  herdsman's  horn. 

How  tenderly  the  trembling  light  yet  plays 

O'er  the  far-waving  foliage !    Day's  last  blush 

Still  lingers  on  the  billowy  waste  of  leaves, 

With  a  strange  beauty — like  the  yellow  flush 

That  haunts  the  ocean,  when  the  day  goes  by. 

Methinks,  whene'er  earth's  wearying  troubles  pass 

Like  winter  shadows  o'er  the  peaceful  mind, 

'Twere  sweet  to  turn  from  life,  and  pass  abroad, 

With  solemn  footsteps,  into  Nature's  vast 

And  happy  palaces,  and  lead  a  life 

Of  peace  in  some  green  paradise  like  this. 

The  brazen  trumpet  and  the  loud  war-drum 
Ne'er  startled  these  green  woods : — the  raging  sword 
Hath  never  gather'd  its  red  harvest  here ! 
The  peaceful  summer  day  hath  never  closed 
Around  this  quiet  spot,  and  caught  the  gleam 
Of  War's  rude  pomp  : — the  humble  dweller  here 
Hath  never  left  his  sickle  in  the  field, 
To  slay  his  fellow  with  unholy  hand: — 
The  maddening  voice  of  battle,  the  wild  groan, 
The  thrilling  murmuring  of  the  dying  man, 
And  the  shrill  shriek  of  mortal  agony, 
Have  never  broke  its  Sabbath  solitude. 


NATHANIEL  P.  WILLIS. 


555 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILL.S. 

Nathaniel  Parker  Willis  was  born  in  Portland,  Maine,  January  20,  1807.1 
After  being  fitted  for  college  at  Phillips  Academy,  Andover,  he  entered  Yale,  at 
sixteen  years  of  age,  and  soon  distinguished  himself  as  a  poet  of  true  genius 
by  writing  a  series  of  pieces  on  scriptural  subjects, — pieces  which  have  not  been 
surpassed  by  any  thing  he  has  subsequently  written,  and  which  gave  him  at 
once  a  wide-spread  and  enviable  reputation.  On  leaving  college,  in  1827,  he  was 
engaged  by  S.  G.  Goodrich  ("  Peter  Parley")  to  edit  "  The  Legendary"  and  "  The 
Token."  In  1828,  he  established  the  "American  Monthly  Magazine,"  which  he 
conducted  for  two  years  and  a  half,  when  it  was  merged  in  the  "  New  York 
Mirror,"  and  Mr.  Willis  went  to  Europe,  and  travelled  through  Italy,  Greece, 
Asia  Minor,  Turkey,  and  England,  in  which  latter  country  he  was  married  to 
Mary  Leighton  Stace,  daughter  of  Commissary- General  William  Stace,  then 
having  charge  of  the  arsenal  at  Woolwich.  The  letters  he  wrote  while  abroad 
were  first  published  in  the  "New  York  Mirror,"  under  the  title  of  Pencilling*  by 
the  Way.  In  1835,  he  published  Inklings  of  Adventure,  a  series  of  tales  which 
appeared  originally  in  a  London  magazine.  In  1837,  he  returned  home,  and 
retired  to  a  beautiful  place  on  the  Susquehanna,  near  Owego,  New  York,  which 
he  named  Glenmary  in  compliment  to  his  wife.  In  1839,  he  became  one  of  the 
editors  of  the  "Corsair,"  a  literary  gazette  in  New  York  City,  and  towards  the 
-.lose  of  that  year  again  went  to  London,  where  he  published  Loitering?  of  Travel, 
and  two  tragedies,  Tortesa  the  Usurer  and  Bianca  Visconti,  under  the  united  title 
of  Two  Ways  of  Dying  for  a  Husband.  In  1840  appeared  an  illustrated  edition 
of  his  poems,  and  Letters  from  under  a  Bridge.  In  1843,  in  conjunction  with 
General  George  P.  Morris,  he  revived  the  "  New  York  Mirror,"  but  withdx-ew  from 
it  upon  the  death  of  his  wife  in  ]844,  and  again  visited  England.  On  his  return 
home  the  next  year,  he  issued  a  complete  edition  of  his  works,  in  an  imperial 
octavo  of  eight  hundred  pages.  In  October,  1846,  he  was  married  to  a  daughter 
of  the  Hon.  Joseph  Grinnell,  member  of  Congress  from  Massachusetts,  and  re- 
moved to  his  present  country  home  of  Idlewild.  He  is  now  associated  with 
General  Morris  as  editor  of  the  "Home  Journal,"  a  weekly  literary  paper,  which 
is  always  enriched,  more  or  less,  with  pieces  from  his  pen,  and  which  is  hailed  by 
its  numerous  readers,  every  week,  as  a  genial  and  instructive  fireside  companion. 

Though  Mr.  Willis's  prose  writings  are  full  of  beauty  and  wit,  of  rich  paintings 
of  natural  scenery,  and  delicate  and  humorous  touches  of  the  various  phases  of 
social  life,  it  is  by  his  poetry,  especially  by  his  sacred  poetry,  that  he  will  be 
chiefly  known  and  prized  by  posterity.  There  is  a  tenderness,  a  pathos,  and  a 
richness  of  description  in  it  which  give  him  a  rank  among  the  first  of  Ame- 
rican poets.2 


1  His  father  was  Nathaniel  Willis,  who,  a  few  years  after  the  birth  of  Nathaniel, 
removed  to  Boston,  and  projected  and  edited  the  "Boston  Recorder,"  the  first 
religious  journal  established  in  this  country. 

2  "  No  man  has  appeared  in  our  literature,  endowed  with  a  greater  variety 


i 


556 


NATHANIEL  P.  WILLIS. 


HAGAR  IN  THE  WILDERNESS. 

The  morning  broke.    Light  stole  upon  the  clouds 
With  a  strange  beauty.    Earth  received  again 
Its  garment  of  a  thousand  dyes  ;  and  leaves, 
And  delicate  blossoms,  and  the  painted  flowers, 
And  every  thing  that  bendeth  to  the  dew, 
And  stirreth  with  the  daylight,  lifted  up 
Its  beauty  to  the  breath  of  that  sweet  morn. 

All  things  are  dark  to  sorrow ;  and  the  light, 
And  loveliness,  and  fragrant  air  were  sad 
To  the  dejected  Hagar.    The  moist  earth 
Was  pouring  odors  from  its  spicy  pores, 
And  the  young  birds  were  singing  as  if  life 
Were  a  new  thing  to  them ;  but,  oh  !  it  came 
Upon  her  heart  like  discord,  and  she  felt 
How  cruelly  it  tries  a  broken  heart 
To  see  a  mirth  in  any  thing  it  loves. 
She  stood  at  Abraham's  tent.    Her  lips  were  press;d 
Till  the  blood  started ;  and  the  wandering  veins 
Of  her  transparent  forehead  were  swell'd  out, 
As  if  her  pride  would  burst  them.    Her  dark  eye 
Was  clear  and  tearless,  and  the  light  of  heaven, 
Which  made  its  language  legible,  shot  back 
From  her  long  lashes,  as  it  had  been  flame. 
Her  noble  boy  stood  by  her,  with  his  hand 
Clasp'd  in  her  own,  and  his  round,  delicate  feet, 
Scarce  train'd  to  balance  on  the  tented  floor, 
Sandall'd  for  journeying.    He  had  look'd  up 


of  fine  qualities.  He  possesses  an  understanding  quick,  acute,  distinguishing 
even  in  excess ;  enriched  by  culture,  and  liberalized  and  illuminated  by  much 
observation.  He  commands  all  the  resources  of  passion,  at  the  same  time  that 
he  is  master  of  the  effects  of  manner.  The  suggestions  of  an  animated  sense  arc 
harmonized  by  feeling,  and  are  adorned  by  a  finished  wit.  His  taste  is  nice,  but 
it  is  not  narrow  or  bigoted,  and  his  sympathies  with  his  reader  are  intimate  and 
true.  His  works  exhibit  a  profusion  of  pointed  and  just  comment  on  society  and 
life ;  they  sparkle  with  delicate  and  easy  humor ;  they  display  a  prodigality  of 
fancy,  and  are  fragrant  with  all  the  floral  charm  of  sentiment.  He  possesses 
surprising  saliency  of  mind,  which  in  his  hasty  effusions  often  fatigues,  but  in 
his  matured  compositions  is  controlled  to  the  just  repose  of  art.  But  distinct  from 
each  of  these,  and  sovereign  over  them  all,  is  the  vivifying  and  directing  energy 
of  a  fine  poetical  talent, — that  prophetic  faculty  in  man  whose  effects  are  as  vast 
as  its  processes  are  mysterious;  whose  action  is  a  moral  enchantment  that  all 
feel,  but  none  can  fathom.  This  influence  it  is  which,  entering  into  and  impreg- 
nating all  his  other  faculties,  gives  force  to  some,  elevation  to  others,  and  grace 
and  interest  to  them  all." — Literary  Criticisms,  by  Horace  Binney  Wallace. 

Read  a  good  review  of  Willis's  writings — prose  and  poetry — in  the  "North 
American  Review,"  xliii.  3S4,  in  which  he  is  ably  defended  from  the  attack  in  the 
fifty-fourth  volume  of  the  "  London  Quarterly."  This  paper  was  written  by 
Lockhart,  who,  in  condemning  Willis  for  his  personalities  in  his  Pencilling* 
by  the  Way,  forgot  that  he  himself  was  far  more  open  to  the  same  charge  iu 
his  "Peter's  Letters  to  his  Kinsfolk,"  in  which  he  makes  very  free  with  tbo 
society  at  Edinburgh. 


NATHANIEL  P.  WILLIS 


Into  his  mother's  face  until  he  caught 

The  spirit  there,  and  his  young  heart  was  swelling 

Beneath  his  dimpled  bosom,  and  his  form 

Straighten' d  up  proudly  in  his  tiny  wrath, 

As  if  his  light  proportions  would  have  swell'd, 

Had  they  but  match' d  his  spirit,  to  the  man. 

Why  bends  the  patriarch  as  he  cometh  now 
Upon  his  staff  so  wearily  ?    His  beard 
Is  low  upon  his  breast,  and  his  high  brow. 
So  written  with  the  converse  of  his  God, 
Beareth  the  swollen  vein  of  agony. 
His  lip  is  quivering,  and  his  wonted  step 
Of  vigor  is  not  there ;  and,  though  the  morn 
Is  passing  fair  and  beautiful,  he  breathes 
Its  freshness  as  it  were  a  pestilence. 
Oh  !  man  may  bear  with  suffering :  his  heart 
Is  a  strong  thing,  and  godlike,  in  the  grasp 
Of  pain  that  wrings  mortality ;  but  tear 
One  chord  atfection  clings  to — part  one  tie 
That  binds  him  to  a  woman's  delicate  love, — 
And  his  great  spirit  yieldeth  like  a  reed. 

He  gave  to  her  the  water  and  the  bread, 
But  spoke  no  word,  and  trusted  not  himself 
To  look  upon  her  face,  but  laid  his  hand 
In  silent  blessing  on  the  fair-hair'd  boy, 
And  left  her  to  her  lot  of  loneliness. 

Should  Hagar  weep  ?    May  slighted  woman  turn, 
And,  as  a  vine  the  oak  hath  shaken  off, 
Bend  lightly  to  her  leaning  trust  again  ? 
Oh,  no  !  by  all  her  loveliness, — by  all 
That  makes  life  poetry  and  beauty,  no  ! 
Make  her  a  slave ;  steal  from  her  cheek  the  rose, 
By  needless  jealousies ;  let  the  last  star 
Leave  her  a  watcher  by  your  couch  of  pain ; 
Wrong  her  by  petulance,  suspicion,  all 
That  makes  her  cup  a  bitterness,  yet  give 
One  evidence  of  love,  and  earth  has  not 
An  emblem  of  devotedness  like  hers. 
But  oh  !  estrange  her  once, — it  boots  not  how, — 
By  wrong  or  silence, — any  thing  that  tells 
A  change  has  come  upon  your  tenderness, — 
And  there  is  not  a  high  thing  out  of  heaven 
Her  pride  o'ermastereth  not. 

She  went  her  way  with  a  strong  step  and  slow, — 
Her  press'd  lip  arch'd,  and  her  clear  eye  undimm'd, 
As  it  had  been  a  diamond,  and  her  form 
Borne  proudly  up,  as  if  her  heart  breathed  through. 
Her  child  kept  on  in  silence,  though  she  press'd 
His  hand  till  it  was  pain'd ;  for  he  had  caught, 
As  I  have  said,  her  spirit,  and  the  seed 
Of  a  stern  nation  had  been  breathed  upon. 

The  morning  pass'd,  and  Asia's  sun  rode  up 
In  the  clear  heaven,  and  every  beam  was  heat. 

47* 


NATHANIEL  P.  WILLIS. 


The  cattle  of  the  hills  were  in  the  shade, 
And  the  bright  plumage  of  the  Orient  lay- 
On  beating  bosoms  in  her  spicy  trees. 
It  was  an  hour  of  rest !  but  Hagar  found 
No  shelter  in  the  wilderness,  and  on 
She  kept  her  weary  way,  until  the  boy 
Hung  down  his  head,  and  open'd  his  parch'd  lips 
For  water  ;  but  she  could  not  give  it  him. 
She  laid  him  down  beneath  the  sultry  sky — 
For  it  was  better  than  the  close,  hot  breath 
Of  the  thick  pines — and  tried  to  comfort  him ; 
But  he  was  sore  athirst,  and  his  blue  eyes 
Were  dim  and  bloodshot,  and  he  could  not  know 
Why  God  denied  him  water  in  the  wild. 
She  sat  a  little  longer,  and  he  grew 
Ghastly  and  faint,  as  if  he  would  have  died. 
It  was  too  much  for  her.    She  lifted  him, 
And  bore  him  further  on,  and  laid  his  head 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  a  desert-shrub  ; 
And,  shrouding  up  her  face,  she  went  away, 
And  sat  to  watch,  where  he  could  see  her  not, 
Till  he  should  die  ;  and,  watching  him,  she  mourn'd 

"  God  stay  thee  in  thine  agony,  my  boy  : 
I  cannot  see  thee  die ;  I  cannot  brook 

Upon  thy  brow  to  look, 
And  see  death  settle  on  my  cradle-joy. 
How  have  I  drunk  the  light  of  thy  blue  eye ! 

And  could  I  see  thee  die  ? 

"I  did  not  dream  of  this  when  thou  wast  straying, 
Like  an  unbound  gazelle,  among  the  flowers ; 

Ofc  wiling  the  soft  hours, 
By  the  rich  gush  of  water-sources  playing, 
Then  sinking  weary  to  thy  smiling  sleep, 

So  beautiful  and  deep. 

"  Oh,  no  !  and  when  I  watch'd  by  thee  the  while, 
And  saw  thy  bright  lip  curling  in  thy  dream, 

And  thought  of  the  dark  stream 
In  my  own  land  of  Egypt,  the  far  Nile, 
How  pray'd  I  that  my  father's  land  might  be 

An  heritage  for  thee  ! 

"  And  now  the  grave  for  its  cold  breast  hath  won  th 
And  thy  white,  delicate  limbs  the  earth  will  press ; 

And,  oh !  my  last  caress 
Must  feel  thee  cold,  for  a  chill  hand  is  on  thee. 
How  can  I  leave  my  boy,  so  pillow'd  there 

Upon  his  clustering  hair!:' 

She  stood  beside  the  well  her  God  had  given 
To  gush  in  that  deep  wilderness,  and  bathed 
The  forehead  of  her  child  until  he  laugh'd 
In  his  reviving  happiness,  and  lisp'd 
His  infant  thought  of  gladness  at  the  sight 
Of  the  cool  plashing  of  his  mother's  hand. 


NATHANIEL  P.  WILLIS. 


SATURDAY  AFTERNOON. 

I  love  to  look  on  a  scene  like  this, 

Of  wild  and  careless  play, 
And  persuade  myself  that  I  am  not  old 

And  my  locks  are  not  yet  gray  ; 
For  it  stirs  the  blood  in  an  old  man's  heart, 

And  makes  his  pulses  fly, 
To  catch  the  thrill  of  a  happy  voice, 

And  the  light  of  a  pleasant  eye. 

I  have  walk'd  the  world  for  fourscore  years ; 

And  they  say  that  I  am  old, 
That  my  heart  is  ripe  for  the  reaper,  Death, 

And  my  years  are  wellnigh  told. 
It  is  very  true  ;  it  is  very  true ; 

I'm  old,  and  "  I  'bide  my  time :" 
But  my  heart  will  leap  at  a  scene  like  this, 

And  I  half  renew  my  prime. 

Play  on,  play  on ;  I  am  with  you  there, 

In  the  midst  of  your  merry  ring ; 
I  can  feel  the  thrill  of  the  daring  jump, 

And  the  rush  of  the  breathless  swing. 
I  hide  with  you  in  the  fragrant  hay, 

And  I  whoop  the  smother'd  call, 
And  my  feet  slip  up  on  the  seedy  floor, 

And  I  care  not  for  the  fall. 

I  am  willing  to  die  when  my  time  shall  come, 

And  I  shall  be  glad  to  go ; 
For  the  world  at  best  is  a  weary  place, 

And  my  pulse  is  getting  low : 
But  the  grave  is  dark,  and  the  heart  will  fail 

In  treading  its  gloomy  way  ; 
And  it  wiles  my  heart  from  its  dreariness 

To  see  the  young  so  gay. 


THE  ANNOYER. 

Love  knoweth  every  form  of  air, 

And  every  shape  of  earth, 
And  comes,  unbidden,  everywhere, 

Like  thought's  mysterious  birth. 
The  moonlit  sea  and  the  sunset  sky 

Are  written  with  Love's  words, 
And  you  hear  his  voice  unceasingly, 

Like  song,  in  the  time  of  birds. 

He  peeps  into  the  warrior's  heart 
From  the  tip  of  a  stooping  plume, 

And  the  serried  spears,  and  the  many  men, 
May  not  deny  him  room. 

He'll  come  to  his  tent  in  the  weary  night, 
And  be  busy  in  his  dream, 


NATHANIEL  P.  WILLIS. 


And  he'll  float  to  his  eye  in  the  morning  light, 
Like  a  fay  on  a  silver  beam. 

He  hears  the  sound  of  the  hunter's  gun, 

And  rides  on  the  echo  back, 
And  sighs  in  his  ear  like  a  stirring  leaf, 

And  flits  in  his  woodland  track. 
The  shade  of  the  wood,  and  the  sheen  of  the  river, 

The  cloud,  and  the  open  sky, — 
He  will  haunt  them  all  with  his  subtle  quiver, 

Like  the  light  of  your  very  eye. 

The  fisher  hangs  over  the  leaning  boat, 

And  ponders  the  silver  sea, 
For  Love  is  under  the  surface  hid, 

And  a  spell  of  thought  has  he : 
He  heaves  the  wave  like  a  bosom  sweet, 

And  speaks  in  the  ripple  low, 
Till  the  bait  is  gone  from  the  crafty  line, 

And  the  hook  hangs  bare  below. 

He  blurs  the  print  of  the  scholars  book, 

And  intrudes  in  the  maiden's  prayer, 
And  profanes  the  cell  of  the  holy  man 

In  the  shape  of  a  lady  fair. 
In  the  darkest  night,  and  the  bright  daylight, 

In  earth,  and  sea,  and  sky, 
In  every  home  of  human  thought, 

Will  Love  be  lurking  nigh. 


REVERIE  AT  GLEN  MARY. 

I  have  enough,  0  God !    My  heart  to-night 
Runs  over  with  its  fulness  of  content ; 
And  as  I  look  out  on  the  fragrant  stars, 
And  from  the  beauty  of  the  night  take  in 
My  priceless  portion, — yet  myself  no  more 
Than  in  the  universe  a  grain  of  sand, — 
I  feel  His  glory  who  could  make  a  world, 
Yet  in  the  lost  depths  of  the  wilderness 
Leave  not  a  flower  unfinish'd! 

Rich,  though  poor ! 
My  low-roof 'd  cottage  is  this  hour  a  heaven. 
Music  is  in  it, — and  the  song  she  sings, 
That  sweet-voiced  wife  of  mine,  arrests  the  ear 
Of  my  young  child  awake  upon  her  knee ; 
And  with  his  calm  eye  on  his  master's  face, 
My  noble  hound  lies  couchant ;  and  all  here — 
All  in  this  little  home,  yet  boundless  heaven — 
Are,  in  such  love  as  I  have  power  to  give, 
Blessed  to  overflowing. 

Thou,  who  look'st 
Upon  my  brimming  heart  this  tranquil  eve, 


HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 


561 


Knowest  its  fulness,  as  thou  dost  the  dew 
Sent  to  the  hidden  violet  by  Thee ; 
And,  as  that  flower,  from  its  unseen  abode, 
Sends  its  sweet  breath  up,  duly,  to  the  sky, 
Changing  its  gift  to  incense,  so,  0  God ! 
May  the  sweet  drops  that  to  my  humble  cup 
Find  their  far  way  from  heaven,  send  up,  to  Thee, 
Fragrance  at  thy  throne  welcome ! 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  is  the  son  of  Hon.  Stephen  Longfellow,  of 
Portland,  Maine,  and  was  born  in  that  city  on  the  27th  of  February,  1807.  At 
the  age  of  fourteen,  he  entered  Bowdoin  College,  Brunswick,  and  was  graduated 
there  in  1825.  Soon  after,  being  offered  a  professorship  of  modern  languages  in 
his  own  college,  he  resolved  to  prepare  himself  thoroughly  for  his  new  duties,  and 
accordingly  left  home  for  Europe,  and  passed  three  years  and  a  half  in  travelling 
or  residing  in  France,  Spain,  Italy,  Germany,  Holland,  and  England.  He  re- 
turned in  1829,  and  entered  upon  the  duties  of  his  office.  In  1835,  on  the  resigna- 
tion of  Mr.  George  Ticknor,  he  was  elected  Professor  of  Modern  Languages  and 
Belles-Lettres  in  Harvard  College.  Again  he  went  abroad,  and  passed  more  than 
twelve  months  in  Denmark,  Sweden,  Germany,  and  Switzerland.  On  his  return 
to  resume  the  duties  of  his  chair,  he  took  up  his  residence  in  the  old  Cragie 
House,  near  Mount  Auburn,  Cambridge,  renowned  as  having  been  the  head- 
quarters of  Washington  when  he  assumed  the  command  of  the  American  army. 
Here  he  has  ever  since  resided,  though  he  resigned  his  professorship  in  1854. 

Mr.  Longfellow's  literary  career  began  very  early.  Before  leaving  college,  he 
wrote  a  few  carefully-finished  poems  for  the  "  United  States  Literary  Gazette," 
and  while  professor  at  Bowdoin,  he  contributed  some  valuable  criticisms  to  the 
"  North  American  Review."  In  1S35  appeared  his  Outre-Mer,  a  collection  of 
travelling  sketches  and  miscellaneous  essays ;  in  1S39,  Hyperion,  a  Romance,  and 
Voices  of  the  Night,  his  first  collection  of  poems;  in  1841,  Ballads,  and  other 
Poems;  in  1842,  Poems  on  Slavery;  in  1843,  The  Spanish  Student,  a  play;  in 
1845,  the  "Poets  and  Poetry  of  Europe,"  and  the  Belfry  of  Bruges ;  in  1847, 
Evangeline;  in  1848,  Kavanagh,  a  Tale;  in  1849,  The  Seaside  and  the  Fireside; 
in  1851,  The  Golden  Legend;  in  1855,  The  Song  of  Hiawatha;  and  in  1858,  The 
Courtship  of  Ililes  Standish,1  of  which  his  publishers2  sold  twenty-five  thousand 
copies  in  a  month  from  its  publication.  But  it  is  in  hexameter  verse,  and,  though 
popular  for  the  time  from  its  novelty,  it  can  never  obtain  a  permanent  hold  of  the 
hearts  of  the  people. 

1  "  A  charming  story,  which  will  do  more  to  throw  an  attractive,  familiar  light 
upon  the  bleak  shores  of  Plymouth,  and  the  grim-visaged  Puritan  colonists  who 
landed  upon  them,  than  all  the  New-England  Society  orations  and  labored  his- 
torical eulogies  that  were  ever  uttered  or  printed." — New  York  Evening  Post. 

2  Messrs.  Ticknor  &  Fields  have  published  all  of  Longfellow's  works  in  various 
beautiful  styles,  characteristic  of  their  house. 


562  HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

It  will  thus  be  seen  that  Mr.  Longfellow  is  a  most  prolific  writer;  and  the 
numerous  editions  of  his  works  that  are  called  for,  show  that  he  is  also  a  very 
popular  one.  His  genius  is  as  heartily  recognised  in  England  as  in  this  country; 
for  every  thing  from  his  pen  is  eagerly  caught  up  and  republished  there.  And 
his  popularity  he  richly  deserves;  for  his  poetry,  as  well  as  his  prose,  is 
marked  by  great  tenderness  of  feeling,  purity  of  sentiment,  elevation  of  thought, 
and  deep  human  interest.  His  genius  is  versatile,  for  he  has  trodden  almost 
every  path  of  polite  literature,  and  gathered  flowers  from  them  all;  and  if  his 
strength  has  failed  to  carry  him  to  the  topmost  eminence,  he  has  the  satisfaction 
of  knowing  that  many  of  his  writings  have  become,  as  they  deserve,  "  household 
words,"  and  have  so  touched  the  heart,  that  posterity  will  not  willingly  let 
them  die. 


A  PSALM  OF  LIFE. 

What  the  heart  of  the  young  man  said  to  the  Psalmist. 

Tell  me  not,  in  mournful  numbers, 

Life  is  but  an  empty  dream ! 
For  the  soul  is  dead  that  slumbers, 

And  things  are  not  what  they  seem. 

Life  is  real !    Life  is  earnest ! 

And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal ; 
"Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returnest," 

Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul. 

Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow, 

Is  our  destined  end  or  way  ; 
But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 

Find  us  farther  than  to-day. 

Art  is  long,  and  Time  is  fleeting, 

And  our  hearts,  though  stout  and  brave, 

Still,  like  muffled  drums,  are  beating 
Funeral  marches  to  the  grave. 

In  the  world's  broad  field  of  battle, 

In  the  bivouac  of  Life, 
Be  not  like  dumb,  driven  cattle ! 

Be  a  hero  in  the  strife  ! 

Trust  no  Future,  howe'er  pleasant ! 

Let  the  dead  Past  bury  its  dead ! 
Act — act  in  the  living  Present ! 

Heart  within,  and  God  o'erhead  ! 

Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 
We  can  make  our  lives  sublime, 

And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 
Footprints  on  the  sands  of  time. 


Footprints,  that  perhaps  another, 
Sailing  o'er  life's  solemn  main, 


HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 


A  forlorn  and  shipwreck' d  brother, 
Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again. 

Let  us,  then,  be  up  and  doing, 
With  a  heart  for  any  fate ; 

Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 
Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait. 


THE  REAPER  AND  THE  FLOWERS. 

There  is  a  Reaper,  whose  name  is  Death, 

And,  with  his  sickle  keen, 
He  reaps  the  bearded  grain  at  a  breath, 

And  the  flowers  that  grow  between. 

"  Shall  I  have  naught  that  is  fair  ?"  saith  he  ; 

"Have  naught  but  the  bearded  grain? 
Though  the  breath  of  these  flowers  is  sweet  to  me, 

I  will  give  them  all  back  again." 

He  gazed  at  the  flowers  with  tearful  eyes, 

He  kiss'd  their  drooping  leaves  ; 
It  was  for  the  Lord  of  Paradise 

He  bound  them  in  his  sheaves. 

"My  Lord  has  need  of  these  flowerets  gay," 

The  Reaper  said,  and  smiled ; 
"Dear  tokens  of  the  earth  are  they, 

Where  he  once  was  a  child. 

"  They  shall  all  bloom  in  fields  of  light, 

Transplanted  by  my  care, 
And  saints,  upon  their  garments  white, 

These  sacred  blossoms  wear." 

And  the  mother  gave,  in  tears  and  pain, 

The  flowers  she  most  did  love ; 
She  knew  she  should  find  them  all  again 

In  the  fields  of  light  above. 

Oh,  not  in  cruelty,  not  in  wrath, 

The  Reaper  came  that  day ; 
'Twas  an  angel  visited  the  green  earth, 

And  took  the  flowers  away. 


FOOTSTEPS  OF  ANGELS. 

When  the  hours  of  Day  are  number'd, 
And  the  voices  of  the  Night 

Wake  the  better  soul,  that  slumber d, 
To  a  holy,  calm  delight ; 

Ere  the  evening  lamps  are  lighted, 
And,  like  phantoms  grim  and  tall, 

Shadows  from  the  fitful  fire-light 
Dance  upon  the  parlor-wall ; 


HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 


Then  the  forms  of  the  departed 

Enter  at  the  open  door ; 
The  beloved,  the  true-hearted, 

Come  to  visit  me  once  more ; 

He,  the  young  and  strong,  who  cherish'd 
Noble  longings  for  the  strife, 

By  the  road-side  fell  and  perish'd, 
Weary  with  the  march  of  life ! 

They,  the  holy  ones  and  weakly, 
Who  the  cross  of  suffering  bore, 

Folded  their  pale  hands  so  meekly, 
Spake  with  us  on  earth  no  more  ! 

And  with  them  the  Being  Beauteous, 
Who  unto  my  youth  was  given, 

More  than  all  things  else  to  love  me, 
And  is  now  a  saint  in  heaven. 

With  a  slow  and  noiseless  footstep 
Comes  that  messenger  divine, 

Takes  the  vacant  chair  beside  me, 
Lays  her  gentle  hand  in  mine. 

And  she  sits  and  gazes  at  me 

With  those  deep  and  tender  eyes, 

Like  the  stars,  so  still  and  saint-like, 
Looking  downward  from  the  skies. 

Utter'd  not,  yet  comprehended, 
Is  the  spirit's  voiceless  prayer, 

Soft  rebukes,  in  blessings  ended, 
Breathing  from  her  lips  of  air. 

Oh,  though  oft  depress' d  and  lonely, 

All  my  fears  are  laid  aside, 
If  I  but  remember  only 

Such  as  these  have  lived  and  died ! 


THE  ARSENAL  AT  SPRINGFIELD. 

This  is  the  Arsenal.    From  floor  to  ceiling, 
Like  a  huge  organ,  rise  the  burnish'd  arms ; 

But  from  their  silent  pipes  no  anthem  pealing 
Startles  the  villagers  with  strange  alarms. 

Ah  !  what  a  sound  will  rise,  how  wild  and  dreary, 
When  the  death-angel  touches  those  swift  keys ! 

What  loud  lament  and  dismal  Miserere 
Will  mingle  with  their  awful  symphonies  ! 

I  hear  even  now  the  infinite  fierce  chorus, 
The  cries  of  agony,  the  endless  groan, 

Which,  through  the  ages  that  have  gone  before  us, 
In  long  reverberations  reach  our  own. 


HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 


565 


On  helm  and  harness  rings  the  Saxon  hammer, 

Through  Cimbric  forest  roars  the  Norseman's  song, 

And  loud,  amid  the  universal  clamor, 

O'er  distant  deserts  sounds  the  Tartar  gong. 

I  hear  the  Florentine,  who  from  his  palace 
"Wheels  out  his  battle-bell  with  dreadful  din, 

And  Aztec  priests  upon  their  teocallis 

Beat  the  wild  war-drums  made  of  serpent's  skin ; 

The  tumult  of  each  sack'd  and  burning  village ; 

The  shout  that  every  prayer  for  mercy  drowns ; 
The  soldier's  revels  in  the  midst  of  pillage ; 

The  wail  of  famine  in  beleaguer'd  towns ; 

The  bursting  shell,  the  gateway  wrench'd  asunder, 
The  rattling  musketry,  the  clashing  blade  ; 

And  ever  and  anon,  in  tones  of  thunder, 
The  diapason  of  the  cannonade. 

Is  it,  0  man,  with  such  discordant  noises, 
With  such  accursed  instruments  as  these, 

Thou  drownest  Nature's  sweet  and  kindly  voices, 
And  jarrest  the  celestial  harmonies? 

Were  half  the  power  that  fills  the  world  with  terror, 
Were  half  the  wealth  bestow' d  on  camps  and  courts, 

Given  to  redeem  the  human  mind  from  error, 
There  were  no  need  of  arsenals  nor  forts : 

The  warrior's  name  would  be  a  name  abhorred ! 

And  every  nation  that  should  lift  again 
Its  hand  against  a  brother,  on  its  forehead 

Would  wear  for  evermore  the  curse  of  Cain ! 1 

Down  the  dark  future,  through  long  generations, 
The  echoing  sounds  grow  fainter,  and  then  cease ; 

And  like  a  bell,  with  solemn,  sweet  vibrations, 

I  hear  once  more  the  voice  of  Christ  say,  "  Peace  !" 

Peace !  and  no  longer  from  its  brazen  portals 
The  blast  of  War's  great  organ  shakes  the  skies! 

But  beautiful  as  songs  of  the  immortals, 
The  holy  melodies  of  love  arise. 


MAIDENHOOD. 

Maiden  !  with  the  meek,  brown  eyes, 
In  whose  orbs  a  shadow  lies 
Like  the  dusk  in  evening  skies ! 


Would  that  the  ninth  and  tenth  verses  of  this  fine  poem  might  be  engraved 
upon  the  mind  and  heart  of  every  man  and  woman,  in  both  hemispheres,  that 
speaks  the  English  tongue  ! 

48 


566 


HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 


Thou  -whose  locks  outshine  the  sun, 
Golden  tresses,  wreathed  in  one, 
As  the  braided  streamlets  run  ! 

Standing,  with  reluctant  feet, 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet, 
Womanhood  and  childhood  fleet ! 

Gazing,  with  a  timid  glance, 
On  the  brooklet's  swift  advance, 
On  the  river's  broad  expanse  ! 

Deep  and  still,  that  gliding  stream 
Beautiful  to  thee  must  seem, 
As  the  river  of  a  dream. 

Then  why  pause  with  indecision, 
When  bright  angels  in  thy  vision 
Beckon  thee  to  fields  Elysian  ? 

Seest  thou  shadows  sailing  by, 
As  the  dove,  with  startled  eye, 
Sees  the  falcon's  shadow  fly? 

Hear'st  thou  voices  on  the  shore, 
That  our  ears  perceive  no  more, 
Deafen'd  by  the  cataract's  roar  ? 

0  thou  child  of  many  prayers ! 

Life  hath  quicksands, — life  hath  snares! 

Care  and  age  come  unawares ! 

Like  the  swell  of  some  sweet  tune, 
Morning  rises  into  noon, 
May  glides  onward  into  June. 

Childhood  is  the  bough,  where  slumber'd 
Birds  and  blossoms  many-number'd  ; — 
Age,  that  bough  with  snows  encumber'd. 

Gather,  then,  each  flower  that  grows 
When  the  young  heart  overflows, 
To  embalm  that  tent  of  snows. 

Bear  a  lily  in  thy  hand  ; 

Gates  of  brass  cannot  withstand 

One  touch  of  that  magic  wand. 

Bear  through  sorrow,  wrong,  and  ruth, 
In  thy  heart  the  dew  of  youth, 
On  thy  lips  the  smile  of  truth. 

Oh,  that  dew,  like  balm,  shall  steal 
Into  wounds  that  cannot  heal, 
Even  as  sleep  our  eyes  doth  seal ; 

And  that  smile,  like  sunshine,  dart. 
Into  many  a  sunless  heart, 
For  a  smile  of  God  thou  art. 


HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 


THE  WARNING. 

Beware !    The  Israelite  of  old,  who  tore 

The  lion  in  his  path, — when,  poor  and  blind, 

He  saw  the  blessed  light  of  heaven  no  more, 

Shorn  of  his  noble  strength,  and  forced  to  grind 

In  prison,  and,  at  last,  led  forth  to  be 

A  pander  to  Philistine  revelry ; 

Upon  the  pillars  of  the  temple  laid 

His  desperate  hands,  and  in  its  overthrow 

Destroy' d  himself,  and  with  him  those  who  made 
A  cruel  mockery  of  his  sightless  woe ; 

The  poor  blind  slave,  the  scoff  and  jest  of  all, 

Expired,  and  thousands  perish'd  in  the  fall ! 

There  is  a  poor,  blind  Samson  in  this  land, 

Shorn  of  his  strength,  and  bound  in  bonds  of  steel, 

Who  may,  in  some  grim  revel,  raise  his  hand, 
And  shake  the  pillars  of  this  commonweal, 

Till  the  vast  temple  of  our  liberties 

A  shapeless  mass  of  wreck  and  rubbish  lies. 


EXCELSIOR. 

The  shades  of  night  were  falling  fast, 
As  through  an  Alpine  village  pass'd 
A  youth,  who  bore  'mid  snow  and  ice, 
A  banner  with  the  strange  device, 
Excelsior ! 

His  brow  was  sad ;  his  eye  beneath 
Flash'd  like  a  falchion  from  its  sheath, 
And  like  a  silver  clarion  rung 
The  accents  of  that  unknown  tongue, 
Excelsior ! 

In  happy  homes  he  saw  the  light 
Of  household  fires  gleam  warm  and  bright ; 
Above,  the  spectral  glaciers  shone, 
And  from  his  lips  escaped  a  groan, 
Excelsior ! 

"  Try  not  the  pass  I"  the  old  man  said ; 
"  Dark  lowers  the  tempest  overhead ; 
The  roaring  torrent  is  deep  and  wide !" 
And  loud  that  clarion  voice  replied, 
Excelsior ! 

"  Oh,  stay,'  the  maiden  said,  "and  rest 
Thy  weary  nead  upon  this  breast !" 
A  tear  stood  in  his  bright  blue  eye, 
But  still  he  answer'd,  with  a  sigh, 
Excelsior ! 


568 


HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 


"  Beware  the  pine-tree's  wither'd  branch  ! 
Beware  the  awful  avalanche  !" 
This  was  the  peasant's  last  good-night ; 
A  voice  replied,  far  up  the  height, 
Excelsior ! 

At  break  of  day,  as  heavenward 
The  pious  monks  of  Saint  Bernard 
Utter'd  the  oft-repeated  prayer, 
A  voice  cried  through  the  startled  air, 
Excelsior  ! 

A  traveller,  by  the  faithful  hound, 
Half  buried  in  the  snow  was  found, 
Still  grasping  in  his  hand  of  ice 
That  banner  with  the  strange  device, 
Excelsior ! 

There,  in  the  twilight  cold  and  gray, 
Lifeless,  but  beautiful,  he  lay, 
And  from  the  sky,  serene  and  far, 
A  voice  fell,  like  a  falling  star, 
Excelsior ! 


LITERARY  FAME. 

Time  has  a  Doomsday-Book,  upon  whose  pages  he  is  continually 
recording  illustrious  names.  But,  as  often  as  a  new  name  is  writ- 
ten there,  an  old  one  disappears.  Only  a  few  stand  in  illuminated 
characters  never  to  be  effaced.  These  are  the  high  nobility  of 
Nature, — Lords  of  the  Public  Domain  of  Thought.  Posterity 
shall  never  question  their  titles.  But  those,  whose  fame  lives 
only  in  the  indiscreet  opinion  of  unwise  men,  must  soon  be  as 
well  forgotten  as  if  they  had  never  been.  To  this  great  obli- 
vion must  most  men  come.  It  is  better,  therefore,  that  they 
should  soon  make  up  their  minds  to  this :  well  knowing  that,  as 
their  bodies  must  ere  long  be  resolved  into  dust  again,  and  their 
graves  tell  no  tales  of  them,  so  must  their  names  likewise  be 
utterly  forgotten,  and  their  most  cherished  thoughts,  purposes, 
and  opinions  have  no  longer  an  individual  being  among  men ;  but 
be  resolved  and  incorporated  into  the  universe  of  thought. 

Yes,  it  is  better  that  men  should  soon  make  up  their  mind3 
to  be  forgotten,  and  look  about  them,  or  within  them,  for  some 
higher  motive,  in  what  they  do,  than  the  approbation  of  men, 
which  is  Fame ;  namely,  their  duty  j  that  they  should  be  con- 
stantly and  quietly  at  work,  each  in  his  sphere,  regardless  of 
effects,  and  leaving  their  mine  to  take  care  of  itself.  Difficult 
must  this  indeed  be,  in  our  imperfection ;  impossible,  perhaps,  to 
achieve  it  wholly.  Yet  the  resolute,  the  indomitable  will  of  man 
can  achieve  much, — at  times  even  this  victory  over  himself; 


GEORGE  B.  CHEEVER. 


569 


being  persuaded  that  fame  comes  only  when  deserved,  and  then 
is  as  inevitable  as  destiny,  for  it  is  destiny. 

It  has  become  a  common  saying,  that  men  of  genius  are  always 
in  advance  of  their  age;  which  is  true.  There  is  something 
equally  true,  yet  not  so  common  ;  namely,  that,  of  these  men  of  ge- 
nius, the  best  and  bravest  are  in  advance  not  only  of  their  own  age, 
but  of  every  age.  As  the  German  prose-poet  says,  every  possible 
future  is  behind  them.  We  cannot  suppose  that  a  period  of  time 
will  ever  arrive,  when  the  world,  or  any  considerable  portion  of  it, 
shall  have  come  up  abreast  with  these  great  minds,  so  as  fully  to 
comprehend  them. 

And,  oh  !  how  majestically  they  walk  in  history  !  some  like  the 
sun,  "  with  all  his  travelling  glories  round  him  j"  others  wrapped  in 
gloom,  yet  glorious  as  a  night  with  stars.  Through  the  else  silent 
darkness  of  the  past,  the  spirit  hears  their  slow  and  solemn  foot- 
steps. Onward  they  pass,  like  those  hoary  elders  seen  in  the 
sublime  vision  of  an  earthly  paradise,  attendant  angels  bearing- 
golden  lights  before  them,  and,  above  and  behind,  the  whole  air 
painted  with  seven  listed  colors,  as  from  the  trail  of  pencils ! 

And  yet,  on  earth,  these  men  were  not  happy, — not  all  happy, 
in  the  outward  circumstance  of  their  lives.  They  were  in  want, 
and  in  pain,  and  familiar  with  prison-bars,  and  the  damp,  weeping 
walls  of  dungeons !  Oh,  I  have  looked  with  wonder  upon  those 
who,  in  sorrow  and  privation,  and  bodily  discomfort,  and  sickness, 
which  is  the  shadow  of  death,  have  worked  right  on  to  the  accom- 
plishment of  their  great  purposes  •  toiling  much,  enduring  much, 
fulfilling  much  • — and  then,  with  shattered  nerves,  and  sinews  all 
unstrung,  have  laid  themselves  down  in  the  grave,  and  slept  the 
sleep  of  death, — and  the  world  talks  of  them,  while  they  sleep  ! 

It  would  seem,  indeed,  as  if  all  their  sufferings  had  but  sancti- 
fied them  !  As  if  the  death-angel,  in  passing,  had  touched  them 
with  the  hem  of  his  garment,  and  made  them  holy !  As  if  the 
hand  of  disease  had  been  stretched  out  over  them  only  to  make 
the  sign  of  the  cross  upon  their  souls  !  And  as  in  the  sun's 
eclipse  we  can  behold  the  great  stars  shining  in  the  heavens,  so 
in  this  life-eclipse  have  these  men  beheld  the  lights  of  the  great 
eternity,  burning  solemnly  and  forever  ! 

Hyperion. 


GEORGE  BARRELL  CHEEVER. 

George  Barrell  Cheeter  was  born  at  Hallowell,  Maine,  on  the  17th  of 
April,  1807,  was  graduated  at  Bowdoin  College  in  1825,  and  studied  theology  at 
Andover,  Massachusetts.  He  was  licensed  to  preach  in  1830,  and  in  1832  was 
ordained  pastor  of  the  Howard  Street  Church,  Salem,  Massachusetts.    He  com- 

48* 


570 


GEORGE  B.  CHEEVER. 


menced  his  ministry  with  an  uncompromising  spirit  against  every  thing  that 
hindered  the  spread  of  the  gospel  of  Christ,  of  the  ohject  of  which  "  gospel" 1 
he  seemed  to  have  a  clear  understanding.  Such  a  spirit  could  not  long  need 
a  subject  against  which  to  direct  its  energies.  Accordingly,  when  the  tem- 
perance reformation  began,  he  was  found  the  foremost  and  the  boldest  in 
the  van  of  those  who  enlisted  in  this  great  moral  warfare.  In  February,  1835, 
appeared  in  the  "  Salem  Landmark"  a  piece  entitled  Inquire  at  Amos  Giles' 
Distillery,  which  quite  electrified  that  quiet  community,-  for,  under  the  guise 
of  "a  dream,"  it  depicted,  in  the  most  appalling  colors,  the  hateful,  soul- 
destroying  business  of  distilling  and  vending  intoxicating  drinks.  Every  one 
immediately  or  remotely  engaged  in  it  meditated  revenge  against  the  author,  and 
a  prosecution  was  instituted  against  him  for  libel,  alleging  that  under  the  name 
of  "Deacon  Giles"  the  writer  really  meant  a  certain  " deacon"  long  and  noto- 
riously engaged  in  distilling;  who  was  also  "a  treasurer  of  a  Bible  Society,  and 
had  a  little  counting-room  in  one  corner  of  the  distillery,  where  he  sold  Bibles." 
Mr.  Cheever  pleaded  his  own  cause;  but,  to  the  lasting  disgrace  of  that  judiciary, 
he  was  condemned,  and  sentenced  to  thirty  days'  imprisonment, — an  event  to 
which  his  children  may  well  look  back  with  pride. 

In  1S36,  Mr.  Cheever  went  to  Europe,  and  was  absent  about  two  years  and  a 
half.  On  his  return  he  was  installed  pastor  of  the  Allen  Street  Church,  New 
York.  In  1814,  he  again  visited  Europe,  and  remained  there  a  year.  In  1846, 
he  was  installed  pastor  of  the  "  Church  of  the  Puritans,"  in  New  York,  in  which 
he  still  remains. 

Mr.  Cheever  is  the  author  of  a  great  number  of  works,  all  excellent  in  their 
kind,  evincing  genius,  scholarship,  and  industry  in  an  eminent  degree.2  But  he 
has  what  all  scholars  have  not, — ardent  philanthropy  and  pure  Christian  patriot- 
ism, taking  a  deep  interest  in  every  thing  that  pertains  to  the  well-being  of  his 


1  V>vayyt\iov ,  "  Good  will  to  man." 

2  The  following  list,  I  believe,  comprises  all  his  works  : — American  Common- 
place Book,  of  Prose,  1828;  American  Common-place  Book  of  Poetry,  1829; 
Studies  in  Poetry,  with  Biographical  Sketches  of  the  Poets,  1830;  Selections  from 
Archbishop  Leighton,  with  an  Introductory  Essay,  1832;  God's  Hand  in  America, 
1841;  The  Argument  fur  Punishment  by  Death,  1842 ;  Lectures  on  Pilgrim's  Pro- 
gress, 1843;  Hierarchical  Lectures,  1844;  Wanderings  of  a  Pilgrim  in  the  Shadoio 
of  Mont  Blanc,  and  the  Yungfrau  Alp,  1846  j  The  Journal  of  the  Pilgrims  at  Ply- 
mouth, 1848;  The  Hill  Difficulty,  and  other  Allegories,  1849;  The  Windings  of  the 
River  of  the  Water  of  Life,  1849;  Voices  of  Nature  to  her  Foster  -Child,  the  Soul 
of  Alan,  1852;  Reel  in  a  Bottle,  or  Voyage  to  the  Celestial  Country,  by  an  Old  Salt, 
1853  ;  Right  of  the  Bible  in  our  Common.  Schools,  1854;  Lectures  on  Coicper,  1S56; 
The.  Powers  of  the  World  to  Come.  1856;  God  Against  Slavery,  1857. 

Dr.  Cheever,  in  earlier  years,  was  a  contributor  to  the  "  United  States  Literary 
Gazette,"  "  The  Quarterly  Register,"  "  The  New  Monthly  Magazine,"  and  the 
"North  American  Review."  He  has  written  articles  of  great  ability  for  "The 
Biblical  Repository,"  "  The  New-Englander,"  "  The  Bibliotheca  Sacra,"  and 
"  The  Quarterly  Observer."  He  was  a  valuable  correspondent  of  the  "New  York 
Observer"  when  in  Europe,  and  editor  of  the  "  New  York  Evangelist"  during 
1845  and  1846.  In  1857,  he  wrote  a  series  of  articles  for  "  The  Bibliotheca 
Sacra,"  on  the  Judgment  of  the  Old  Testament  against  Slavery,  which  evince 
characteristic  argumentation,  combined  with  remarkable  philological  inves- 
tigation. 


I 


GEORGE  B.  CHEEVER.  571 

brother  man.  As  in  the  first  years  of  his  ministry  Mr.  Cheever  entered  heartily 
the  lists  against  our  wide-spread  vice, — intemperance, — over  which  almost  tho 
whole  community  were  sleeping,  so  for  the  past  few  years  his  vigorous  pen  and 
eloquent  preaching  have  been  directed  against  our  great  national  sin, — slavery. 
To  the  columns  of  the  "  New  York  Independent"  he  has  been  a  regular  contri- 
butor since  its  establishment  in  1849  ;  and  all  his  pieces,  whether  in  literature, 
politics,  practical  morals,  or  religion,  evince  great  power  and  genius,  but,  above 
all,  the  pure  Christian  patriot.1 

THE  BENEFIT  OF  GREEK  CULTURE.2 

With  the  exception  of  Shakspeare,  on  whom  was  bestowed  one 
of  the  greatest  minds  God  ever  gave  to  man,  the  sweetest  and 
best  of  English  poetry  is  that  which  Greek  scholars  have  written. 
Every  page  shows  the  power  of  an  early  familiarity  with  the 
treasures  of  antiquity.  Spenser,  that  romantic  and  harmonious 
mind,  grew  up  with  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  under  the  influence  of 
classical  studies.  A  greater  than  these,  and  after  Shakspeare,3 
it  may  be  the  greatest  of  all  poets,  was  one  of  the  profoundest 
Greek  scholars  that  ever  lived.  He  does  not  know  the  true 
power  of  Milton's  poetry,  who  is  ignorant  of  Milton's  Greek. 
His  genius,  it  is  true,  was  baptized  in  a  purer  fountain  :  it  was 
familiar  with  the  infinite,  the  eternal,  the  religiously  sublime,  in 
the  poetry  of  the  Bible ;  his  mind  was  nourished  and  moulded 
more  by  the  sacred  writers  than  by  all  his  other  studies  put 
together.    Next  to  these  came  the  orators,  poets,  and  historians 


1  "The  fundamental  trait  of  Dr.  Cheever's  character,  which  is  the  key  to  his 
preaching,  is  his  sense  of  RIGHT.  He  detests  compromises ;  he  abhors  oppres- 
sion ;  he  magnifies  justice;  he  contends  with  all  systems  which  bind,  or  enslave, 
or  deteriorate,  whether  of  governments,  or  forms,  or  laws,  or  institutions.  He 
does  not  regard  expediency  or  consult  consequences.  Fear  is  a  feeling  utterly 
unknown  to  him.  He  becomes  fired  with  indignation  against  all  Austrias  and 
Judge  Jeffries.  His  fullest  sympathies  go  forth  towards  the  oppressed  Bunyans, 
or  the  pilloried  Baxters,  or  the  exiled  Kossuths,  or  the  imprisoned  William- 
sons."*— Fowler's  American  Pulpit. 

2  "  It  was  not  an  accident  that  the  New  Testament  was  written  in  Greek,  the 
language  which  can  best  express  the  highest  thoughts  and  worthiest  feelings 
of  the  intellect  and  heart,  and  which  is  adapted  to  be  the  instrument  of  education 
for  all  nations."  Again  :  "  How  great  has  been  the  honor  of  the  Greek  and  Latin 
tongues  !  associated  together,  as  they  are,  in  the  work  of  Christian  education,  and 
made  the  instruments  for  training  the  minds  of  the  young  in  the  greatest  nations 
of  the  earth." — Gonybeare  and  Howson's  St.  Paul,  chap.  i. 

3  That  is,  of  course,  "  after"  in  point  of  time;  for  no  one  can  doubt  the  supe- 
riority of  Milton  over  Shakspeare  in  learning,  genius,  affluence  and  grandeur  of 
thought,  varied  power,  and  sublimity. 


*  He  alludes  to  the  imprisonment  of  Passmore  Williamson,  of  Philadelphia,  by  Judge 
Kane,  for  an  alleged  contempt  of  court, — an  act  so  mean,  as  well  as  tyrannical  and  unjust, 
that  it  excited  conteynpt  and  indignatio  l  throughout  the  land. 


572 


GEORGE  B.  CHEEVER. 


of  Greece.  He  was  wont  to  prepare  himself  for  composition  by 
the  perusal  of  his  Hebrew  Bible,  or  of  some  Greek  poet : 

"Thee,  Sion,  and  the  flowery  brooks  beneath, 
That  wash  thy  hallow'd  feet,  and  warbling  flow, 
Nightly  I  visit :  nor  sometimes  forget 
Those  other  tAvo  equall'd  with  me  in  fate, 
(So  were  I  equall'd  with  them  in  renown !) 
Blind  Thamyris,  and  blind  Moeonides  : 
And  Tiresias  and  Phineas,  prophets  old. 
Then  feed  on  thoughts,  that  voluntary  move 
Harmonious  numbers." 

He  had  u  unsphered  the  spirit  of  Plato,"  and  held  companionship 
with  .ZEschylus  and  Sophocles  and  Euripides,  and  in  thought  and 
imagination  was  all  fragrant  with  the  richness  of  Grecian  mind : 
his  exquisite  language  was  moulded  on  those  ancient  models,  not 
less  in  its  great  strength  in  Paradise  Lost,  than  in  the  lightness 
and  harmony  of  the  Allegro  and  Penseroso.  Andrew  Marvel!, 
that  rare  example  of  virtuous  patriotism,  one  of  Milton's  most 
intimate  friends,  and  one  of  our  best  prose  writers  as  well  as 
most  pleasant  poets,  grew  up  under  the  same  kind  of  discipline. 
Gray  has  been  called  the  most  learned  man  in  Europe :  he  was 
certainly  one  of  the  most  finished  classical  scholars.  The  spirit 
of  the  Grecian  mind  pervades  his  poetry,  so  elaborately  wrought, 
so  pure  in  its  moral  influence,  abounding  in  such  rich  personifi- 
cations, such  lofty  images,  and  often  such  sweet  thoughts.  Collins, 
too,  that  child  of  imagination  and  tenderness,  was  a  superior  Greek 
scholar,  as  any  man  would  judge  from  his  exquisite  lyrical  pro- 
ductions. And  it  is  worthy  of  remark  that  the  purest  and  the 
most  valued  of  all  English  poetry  should  happen  to  be  the  pro- 
duction of  minds  thus  severely  disciplined.  Indeed,  it  is  prepos- 
terous to  think  of  becoming  a  true  scholar,  even  in  English  lite- 
rature merely,  without  a  knowledge  of  Greek. 

BUNYAN  IN  HIS  CELL. 

Now  let  us  enter  his  little  cell.  He  is  sitting  at  his  table  to 
finish  by  sunlight  the  day's  work,  for  the  livelihood  of  his  dear 
family,  which  they  have  prepared  for  him.  On  a  little  stool,  his 
poor  blind  child  sits  by  him,  and,  with  that  expression  of  cheerful 
resignation  with  which  God  seals  the  countenance  when  he  takes 
away  the  sight,  the  daughter  turns  her  face  up  to  her  father  as  if 
she  could  see  the  affectionate  expression  with  which  he  looks 
upon  her  and  prattles  to  her.  On  the  table  and  in  the  grated 
window  there  are  three  books, — the  Bible,  the  Concordance,  and 
Bunyan's  precious  old  copy  of  the  Book  of  Martyrs.    And  now 


GEORGE  B.  CHEEVER. 


573 


the  day  is  waning,  and  his  dear  blind  child  must  go  home  with 
the  laces  he  has  finished,  to  her  mother.  And  now  Bunyan 
opens  his  Bible  and  reads  aloud  a  portion  of  Scripture  to  his  little 
one,  and  then,  encircling  her  in  his  arms  and  clasping  her  small 
hands  in  his,  he  kneels  down  on  the  cold  stone  floor,  and  pours 
out  his  soul  in  prayer  to  God  for  the  salvation  of  those  so  inex- 
pressibly dear  to  him,  and  for  whom  he  has  been  all  day  working. 
This  done,  with  a  parting  kiss  he  dismisses  her  to  her  mother  by 
the  rough  hands  of  the  gaoler. 

And  now  it  is  evening.  A  rude  lamp  glimmers  darkly  on  the 
table,  the  tagged  laces  are  laid  aside,  and  Bunyan,  alone,  is  busy 
with  his  Bible,  the  Concordance,  and  his  pen,  ink,  and  paper. 
He  writes  as  though  joy  did  make  him  write.  His  pale,  worn 
countenance  is  lighted  with  a  fire  as  if  reflected  from  the  radiant 
jasper  walls  of  the  Celestial  City.  He  writes,  and  smiles,  and 
clasps  his  hands,  and  looks  upward,  and  blesses  God  for  his  good- 
ness, and  then  again  turns  to  his  writing,  and  then  again  becomes 
so  entranced  with  a  passage  of  Scripture,  the  glory  of  which  the 
Holy  Spirit  lets  in  upon  his  soul,  that  he  is  forced,  as  it  were,  to 
lay  aside  all  his  labors,  and  give  himself  to  the  sweet  work  of  his 
closing  evening  devotions.  The  last  you  see  of  him  for  the  night, 
he  is  alone,  kneeling  on  the  floor  of  his  prison ;  he  is  alone  with 
God. 

RETRIBUTIVE  PROVIDENCES. 

God's  retributive  providence  may  be  invisible  as  the  angel  of 
death,  and  gradual  as  the  remorseless  tide  that  steals  its  march  for 
centuries,  or  the  malaria  that  depopulates  cities  and  makes  the 
very  sight  of  them  the  dread  of  the  traveller.  Sometimes  a  series 
of  retributive  providences  is  unfolded,  no  one  of  which,  by  itself, 
excites  alarm  or  surprise,  till  in  the  lapse  of  ages  the  solemn  work 
is  done,  the  nation  has  passed  from  existence,  and  historians  write 
its  epitaph,  and  philosophize  upon  the  causes  of  its  fall.  A  linger- 
ing decay  may  be  far  worse  than  a  sudden  overthrow ;  so  that,  in 
such  a  case,  the  common  lamentation  of  mankind  may  be  deeper 
for  the  degradation  that  remains  than  the  glory  that  has  departed. 
A  nation  dies  when  the  spirit  of  every  thing  good  and  noble  dies 
in  it.  The  name  may  live  when  the  elements  of  life  and  beauty 
have  departed.  God  may  suffer  the  sins  which  a  nation  is  cherish- 
ing to  consume  its  energies,  till  the  gangrene  becomes  incurable, 
and  then  his  abused  mercies  work  their  own  revenge.  How 
solemn,  in  such  a  case,  are  the  records  and  the  proofs  of  the 
divine  indignation;  the  prediction  and  the  fulfilment  seen  and 
read  together ! 

I  have  stood  beneath  the  walls  of  the  Coliseum  in  Rome,  the 
Parthenon  in  Athens,  and  the  Temple  of  Karnak  in  Egypt;  each 


574 


GEORGE  B.  CHEEVER. 


of  them  the  mighty  relic  of  majestic  empires,  and  the  symbol  of 
the  spirit  of  the  most  remarkable  ages  in  the  world.  The  last, 
carrying  you  back  as  in  a  dream  over  the  waste  of  four  thousand 
years,  might  be  supposed  to  owe  its  superior  impressiveness  to  its 
vast  antiquity;  but  that  is  not  the  secret  of  the  strange  and 
solemn  thoughts  that  crowd  into  the  mind  :  it  is  the  demonstra- 
tion of  God's  wrath  fulfilled  according  to  the  letter  of  the  Scrip- 
tures !  No  ruins  of  antiquity  are  so  overwhelming  in  their  in- 
terest as  the  gigantic  remains  of  that  empire,  once  the  proudest 
in  the  world,  and  now,  according  to  the  very  letter  of  the  divine 
prediction,  "  the  basest  of  the  kingdoms."  From  the  deep  and 
grim  repose  of  those  sphinxes,  obelisks,  and  columns, — those  idols 
broken  at  the  presence  of  God, — as  the  mind  wanders  back  to  the 
four  hundred  years  of  Israel's  bondage  in  Egypt,  methinks  you 
may  hear  the  wail  of  that  old  and  awful  prophecy,  with  the  linger- 
ing echo  of  every  successive  prediction  : — "  The  nation  whom 
they  shall  serve  will  I  judge  !"  Who  would  have  be- 
lieved it  possible,  four  thousand  years  ago,  amidst  the  vigor  and 
greatness  of  the  Egyptian  kingdom,  that,  after  that  vast  lapse  of 
time,  travellers  should  come  from  a  world  then  as  new,  unpeopled, 
and  undiscovered  as  the  precincts  of  another  planet,  to  read  the 
proofs  of  God's  veracity  in  the  vestiges  at  once  of  such  stupen- 
dous glory  and  such  a  stupendous  overthrow !  And  now,  if  any 
man,  contemplating  the  youthful  vigor,  the  energy,  the  almost 
indestructible  life  of  our  own  country,  finds  it  difficult  to  believe 
that  the  indulgence  of  the  same  national  sin,  under  infinitely 
clearer  light,  may  be  followed  with  a  yimilar  overthrow,  let  him 
wander  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  and  think  down  hours  to  mo- 
ments in  the  silent  sanctuaries  of  its  broken  temples. 

"  STEP  TO  THE  CAPTAIN'S  OFFICE  AND  SETTLE!" 

This  old  watchword,  so  often  heard  by  travellers  in  the  early 
stages  of  steam-navigation,  is  now  and  then  ringing  in  our  ears 
with  a  very  pointed  and  pertinent  application.  It  is  a  note  that 
belongs  to  all  the  responsibilities  of  this  life  for  eternity.  There 
is  a  day  of  reckoning,  a  day  for  the  settlement  of  accounts.  All 
unpaid  bills  will  then  have  to  be  paid ;  all  unbalanced  books  will 
have  to  be  settled.  There  will  be  no  loose  memorandums  for- 
gotten •  there  will  be  no  heedless  commissioners  for  the  conve- 
nience of  careless  consciences )  there  will  be  no  proxies ;  there 
will  be  no  bribed  auditors. 

Neither  will  there  be  such  a  thing  as  a  hesitating  conscience ; 
but  the  inward  monitor,  so  often  drugged  and  silenced  on  earth, 
will  speak  out.  There  will  be  no  doubt  nor  question  as  to  the 
right  and  the  wrong.    There  will  be  no  vain  excuses,  nor  any 


GEORGE  B.  CHEEVER. 


575 


att(,mpt  to  make  them.  There  will  be  no  more  sophistry,  no  more 
considerations  of  expediency,  no  more  pleading  of  the  laws  of  men 
and  the  customs  of  society,  no  more  talk  about  organic  sins  being- 
converted  into  constructive  righteousness,  or  collective  and  cor- 
porate frauds  releasing  men  from  individual  responsibilities. 

When  we  see  a  man,  a  professed  Christian,  running  a  race  with 
the  worshippers  of  wealth  and  fashion,  absorbed  in  the  vanities 
of  the  world,  or  endeavoring  to  serve  both  God  and  mammon, 
we  hear  the  voice,  Step  to  the  Ccqrtain's  office  and  settle! 

When  we  see  a  man  spending  his  whole  time  and  energies  in 
getting  ready  to  live,  but  never  thinking  how  he  shall  learn  to  die, 
endeavoring  even  to  forget  that  he  must  die, — poor  man,  he  must 
step  to  the  Captain's  office  and  settle! 

When  we  see  editors  and  politicians  setting  power  in  the  place 
of  goodness,  and  expediency  in  the  place  of  justice,  and  law  in  the 
place  of  equity,  and  custom  in  the  place  of  right,  putting  darkness 
for  light,  and  evil  for  good,  and  tyranny  for  general  benevolence, 
we  think  of  the  day  when  the  issuers  of  such  counterfeit  money 
will  be  brought  to  light,  and  their  sophistries  and  lies  exposed, — 
for  among,  the  whole  tribe  of  unprincipled  politicians  there  will  be 
great  consternation  when  the  call  comes  to  step  to  the  Captain's 
office  and  settle. 

When  we  see  unjust  rulers  in  their  pride  of  power  fastening- 
chains  upon  the  bondmen,  oppressing  the  poor,  and  playing  their 
pranks  of  defiant  tyranny  before  high  heaven,  then  also  come 
these  words  to  mind,  like  a  blast  from  the  last  trumpet, — Step  to 
the  Captain's  office  and  settle! 

THE  ENGLISH  LANGUAGE. 

We  speak  a  language  containing  vast  treasures  of  religious  wis- 
dom, and  vernacular,  more  or  less,  over  a  large  portion  of  the 
globe,  and,  for  this  and  other  causes,  perhaps  destined  to  become 
an  organ  of  international  communication  more  universal  than  any 
other  tongue.  The  students  at  the  missionary  seminary  at  Basle, 
in  Germany,  well  denominated  the  English  language  the  mis- 
sionary language.  It  might  almost  be  called  the  language  of  reli- 
gion, in  reference  to  the  vast  treasures  of  theological  science,  the 
mines  of  religious  truth,  and,  above  all,  the  inestimable  works  of 
practical  piety,  of  which  it  furnishes  a  key.  There  is  in  it  a 
capital  of  speculative  and  practical  theology,  rich  and  deep  enough 
for  the  whole  world  to  draw  upon.  From  time  to  time,  God  him- 
self has  especially  honored  it,  and  prepared  it  more  and  more  for 
his  glory,  by  giving  to  the  world,  through  its  medium,  such  works 
as  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  and  the  Paradise  Lost.  It  is  the  lan- 
guage of  Protestantism,  the  language  of  civil  and  religious  free- 


576 


GEORGE  B.  CHEEVER. 


dom,  the  language  of  commercial  enterprise,  the  language  spoken 
by  the  greater  portion  of  seamen  in  the  world.  It  is  the  language 
of  the  two  freest,  most  enterprising,  most  powerful,  and,  so  far  as 
the  appellation  can  at  present  be  admitted  in  a  national  sense, 
most  truly  Christian,  nations  on  the  globe. 

Taking  all  these  influences  into  consideration,  there  is  not 
another  language  in  the  world  so  sacred,  so  connected  with  holy 
associations,  and,  for  the  treasures  of  religion  which  it  embalms, 
so  important  to  man's  highest  interests,  as  the  English  language. 
We  therefore  cannot  but  regard  its  increasing  prevalence  as  a 
great  and  special  indication  of  the  providence  of  God.  The  time 
is  not  far  distant,  other  causes  being  supposed  to  maintain  their 
influence,  when  this  language  shall  have  become  an  organ  for  the 
world's  literature ;  and  in  addition  to  this,  if  we  mistake  not,  the 
world's  religious  book-mart,  and  most  elevated  and  important 
literary  centre,  will  be  found  in  America. 

A  SLAVE-HOLDING  CHRISTIANITY. 

A  slave-holding  Christianity  is  a  forgery  and  falsehood,  a  cor- 
ruption of  religion,  a  defiance  of  the  living  God,  a  libel  upon  the 
gospel,  and  a  perversion  of  it  for  the  sanction  and  protection  of 
some  of  the  worst  forms  of  human  wickedness  and  misery.  By 
the  testimony  of  God's  word  and  the  verdict  of  mankind,  the 
climax  of  oppression,  the  consummation  of  its  malignity,  and  the 
concentration  of  all  its  evils,  is  personal  slavery, — the  buying  and 
selling  of  men,  the  claiming,  holding,  and  making  merchandise  of 
human  beings  as  property.  The  whole  family  relation,  the  whole 
domestic  state,  is  poisoned,  is  perverted  and  prostituted  by  it,  and 
turned  into  an  engine  of  merchandise  and  misery.  What  God 
meant  should  be  the  source  and  inspiration  of  happiness,  becomes 
the  fountain  of  sin  and  woe.  God  "  setteth  the  solitary  in  families;" 
but  the  independence,  the  mutual  endearment,  the  sacred  relation- 
ships and  obligations  of  members  of  the  family  circle  to  one  another 
and  to  God,  are  elements  of  holiness  and  happiness  that  cannot 
exist  in  a  slave's  household. 

By  the  nature  of  slavery,  by  its  remorseless  consecration  to  the 
owner  of  all  capacities  and  obligations  from  birth  till  death,  the 
sacred  names  of  husband,  wife,  father,  mother,  son,  daughter,  are 
themselves  chattelized,  and  become  merely  the  exponents  of 
various  forces  and  values  in  the  owner's  property.  The  family 
relations  and  affections  of  slavery,  being  subjected,  in  a  Christian 
state  and  community,  to  the  will,  the  avarice,  the  necessities  and 
passions  of  the  slave-holder,  are  made,  just  like  all  things  of 
faculty,  capacity,  intelligence,  force,  emotion,  and  sensibility  in 
the  slave,  articles  of  pecuniary  worth  alone,  of  barter  and  sale, 


RICHARD  HILDRETH. 


577 


with  reference  to  the  market  value,  and  for  future  increase ;  and 
this  constitutes  a  violation  of  God's  arrangements  for  the  good  of 
his  creatures,  and  an  anomaly  of  heaven -defying  wickedness,  ten 
thousand  times  worse  than  the  family  chaos  of  savage  life,  or  the 
ignorance  and  cruelty  of  heathenism.  Our  iniquity  in  the  sanc- 
tion and  support  of  slavery  is  pre-eminently  this  of  the  wholesale 
oppression  and  sacrifice  of  children.  We  become  a  people  of  men- 
stealers  in  perpetuating  this  iniquity. 

Address  be/ore  (he  Amcsicafr  Missionary  Association,  May,  1858. 


RICHARD  HILDRETH. 

Richard  Hildreth",  the  historian  of  the  United  States,  was  born  at  Deerfield, 
Massachusetts,  on  the  28th  of  June,  1807.  When  four  years  old,  his  father,  the 
Rev.  Hosea  Hildreth,  was  called  to  preside  over  the  English  department  of  Phil- 
lips Academy,  at  Exeter,  New  Hampshire,  and  the  family  removed  thither.  In 
1822,  he  entered  Harvard  College,  where  he  was  distinguished  for  his  high  class- 
rank,  as  well  as  for  his  attainments  in  general  literature.  After  graduating,  he 
kept  a  school  in  Concord,  Massachusetts,  one  year,  and  then  studied  law  at  New- 
buryport  and  Boston,  and  was  admitted  to  the  Suffolk  bar  in  1S30.  In  1832, 
while  engaged  in  his  profession,  he  was  one  of  a  small  number  who  founded  the 
"Boston  Atlas,"  for  which  he  furnished  the  greater  part  of  the  editorial  articles; 
at  the  same  time  contributing  many  papers  of  interest  and  value  to  Buckingham's 
"  New  England  Magazine." 

In  consequence  of  feeble  health,  Mr.  Hildreth  went  to  the  South  in  1834,  and 
remained  there  two  winters.  While  there,  he  wrote  the  powerful  novel  Archy 
Moore,  exhibiting  a  few  of  the  features  of  slavery  in  their  true  light.  On  his 
return,  it  was  published  anonymously,  was  republished  in  England,  and  received 
deserved  praise  from  the  critics.1  He  did  not  resume  the  practice  of  law,  but 
became  again  connected  Avith  the  "Boston  Atlas,"  of  which,  in  1837-38,  he  was 
the  AVashington  correspondent.  On  his  return  to  Boston  in  the  spring  of  1838, 
he  became  the  chief  editor  of  that  paper,  and  furnished  a  series  of  very  able 
articles  upon  Texas,  which  were  among  the  first  efforts  to  arouse  the  North  to  a 
true  sense  of  the  iniquitous  scheme  of  "Annexation,"  as  it  was  called.  Being 
strongly  in  favor  of  the  enactmeut  by  the  Legislature  of  Massachusetts  of  a  pro- 
hibitive liquor  law,  and  thus  differing  from  the  proprietors  of  the  "Atlas,"  he 
retired  from  that  paper  at  the  end  of  1839.  In  1840,  he  published  Despotism  in 
America,  an  able  work  on  the  moral,  political,  and  social  character  of  slavery. 
In  the  same  year  he  published  a  History  of  Banks,  advocating  a  system  of  free 


1  This  was  republished  in  1852,  under  the  titlo  of  "The  White  Slave." 
49 


/ 


578  RICHARD  HILDRETH. 

banking,  with  security  to  bill-holders ;  and  a  translation,  from  the  French  of 
Duniont,  of  "  Bentham's  Theory  of  Legislation." 

Feeble  health  making  another  visit  to  a  warmer  climate  necessary,  Mr.  Hil- 
dreth  went,  in  18-10,  to  Demerara,  (in  British  Guiana,)  where  he  spent  three  years, 
employing  his  time  in  editing  successively  two  newspapers  in  Georgetown,  the 
capital,  and  in  writing  his  Theory  of  Morals,  which  was  published  in  18-11,  soon 
after  his  return  to  Boston.  In  lSl'J  appeared  the  first  volume  of  the  great  work 
on  which  his  fame  will  chiefly  rest, — his  History  of  the  United  States,  of  which 
five  more  volumes  appeared  in  the  course  of  the  three  succeeding  years,  bringing 
down  the  narrative  to  the  close  of  the  first  term  of  Mr.  Monroe's  administration.1 
In  1853  appeared  his  Theory  of  Politics,  one  of  his  ablest  and  most  acute 
treatises.  In  1851,  he  gave  us  a  new  edition  of  Despotism  in  America,  with  a 
"continuation,"  such  as  the  significant  events  that  had  occurred  since  the 
appearance  of  the  first  edition  enabled  him  to  make.  Japan  as  it  Was  and  as  it  Is 
appeared  in  1855,  when  he  became  a  regular  contributor  to  the  "  New  York 
Tribune,"  and  at  the  close  of  the  3-car  removed  to  Xew  York,  where  he  now  re- 
sides. His  latest  work — Atrocious  Judges;  or,  Lives  of  Judges  Infamous  as  Tools 
of  Tyrants  and  Instruments  of  Oppression — was  published  in  1856. 2 

The  following  extracts  from  some  of  Mr.  Hildreth's  able  works  will  give  a  fair 
idea  of  his  strong,  manly  style,  and  his  power  of  description  and  narration  as 
an  historian.  The  prominent  qualities  of  his  mind  are  courage  and  honesty; 
and  he  is  never  afraid  to  speak  out  the  deep  convictions  of  his  soul. 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  SOUL. 

There  are  some  people  whose  sympathies  have  been  excited 
upon  the  subject  of  slavery,  who,  if  they  can  only  be  satisfied 
that  the  slaves  have  enough  to  eat,  think  it  is  all  very  well,  and 
that  nothing  more  is  to  be  said  or  done. 

If  slaves  were  merely  animals,  whose  only  or  chief  enjoyment 
consisted  in  the  gratification  of  their  bodily  appetites,  there  would 
be  some  show  of  sense  in  this  conclusion.  But,  in  fact,  however 
crushed  and  brutified,  they  are  still  men  j  men  whose  bosoms  beat 
with  the  same  passions  as  our  own ;  whose  hearts  swell  with  the 
same  aspirations, — the  same  ardent  desire  to  improve  their  condi- 
tion ;  the  same  wishes  for  what  they  have  not ;  the  same  indiffe- 
rence towards  what  they  have ;  the  same  restless  love  of  social 
superiority ;  the  same  greediness  of  acquisition ;  the  same  desire 
to  know;  the  same  impatience  of  all  external  control. 


1  "Hildreth  is  a  historian  of  most  truthful  and  methodical  accuracy.  His 
style  is  clear,  concise,  and  charming,  though  without  figurative  ornament.  He 
makes  points  like  the  point  of  a  diamond.  His  analysis  of  motives  and  causes 
stamps  him  as  a  philosopher  of  the  first  rank." — Democratic  Review,  January,  1850. 

2  In  the  Appendix  to  this  work  is  the  decision  of  Judge  Kane,  imprisoning 
Passmore  Williamson  for  an  alleged  ''  contempt  of  court."    See  note  on  p.  571. 


RICHARD  HILDRETH. 


579 


The  excitement  which  the  singular  case  of  Casper  Hauser  pro- 
cruced  a  few  years  since  in  Germany  is  not  yet  forgotten.  From 
the  representations  of  that  enigmatical  personage,  it  was  believed 
that  those  from  whose  custody  he  declared  himself  to  have  es- 
caped, had  endeavored  to  destroy  his  intellect,  or  rather  to  prevent 
it  from  being  developed,  so  as  to  detain  him  forever  in  a  state  of 
infantile  imbecility.  This  supposed  attempt  at  what  they  saw 
fit  to  denominate  the  murder  of  the  soul,  gave  rise  to  great 
discussions  among  the  German  jurists;  and  they  soon  raised  it 
into  a  new  crime,  which  they  placed  at  the  very  head  of  social 
enormities. 

It  is  this  very  crime,  the  murder  of  the  soid,  which  is  in  the 
course  of  continuous  and  perpetual  perpetration  throughout  the 
Southern  States  of  the  American  Union  j  and  that  not  upon 
a  single  individual  only,  but  upon  nearly  one-half  of  the  entire 
population. 

Consider  the  slaves  as  men,  and  the  course  of  treatment  which 
custom  and  the  laws  prescribe  is  an  artful,  deliberate,  and  well- 
digested  scheme  to  break  their  spirit ;  to  deprive  them  of  courage 
and  of  manhood  ;  to  destroy  their  natural  desire  for  an  equal  par- 
ticipation in  the  benefits  of  society ;  to  keep  them  ignorant,  and 
therefore  weak;  to  reduce  them,  if  possible,  to  a  state  of  idiocy; 
to  crowd  them  down  to  a  level  with  the  brutes. 

Despotism  in  America. 

THE  CONTINENTAL  CONGRESS. 

The  dying  embers  of  the  Continental  Congress,  barely  kept 
alive  for  some  months  by  the  occasional  attendance  of  one  or  two 
delegates,  as  the  day  approached1  for  the  new  system  to  be  organ- 
ized, quietly  Avent  out,  without  note  or  observation.  History 
knows  few  bodies  so  remarkable.  The  Long  Parliament  of 
Charles  I.,  and  the  French  National  Assembly,  are  alone  to  be 
compared  with  it.  Coming  together,  in  the  first  instance,  a  mere 
collection  of  consulting  delegates,  the  Continental  Congress  had 
boldly  seized  the  reins  of  power,  assumed  the  leadership  of  the 
insurgent  States,  issued  bills  of  credit,  raised  armies,  declared 
independence,  negotiated  foreign  treaties,  carried  the  nation 
through  an  eight  years'  war;  finally,  had  extorted  from  the  proud 
and  powerful  mother-country  an  acknowledgment  of  the  sovereign 
authority  so  daringly  assumed  and  so  indomitably  maintained. 
But  this  brilliant  career  had  been  as  short  as  it  was  glorious.  The 
decline  had  commenced  even  in  the  midst  of  the  war.  Exhausted 
by  such  extraordinary  efforts, — smitten  with  the  curse  of  poverty, 


1  March  3,  1789. 


580 


RICHARD  HILDRETII. 


their  paper  money  first  depreciating  and  then  repudiated,  over- 
whelmed with  debts  which  t\\ey  could  not  pay,  pensioners  on  the 
bounty  of  France,  insulted  by  mutineers,  scouted  at  by  the  public 
creditors,  unable  to  fulfil  the  treaties  they  had  made,  bearded 
and  encroached  upon  by  the  State  authorities,  issuing  fruitless 
requisitions  which  they  had  no  power  to  enforce,  vainly  begging 
for  additional  authority  which  the  States  refused  to  grant,  thrown 
more  and  more  into  the  shade  by  the  very  contrast  of  former 
power, — the  Continental  Congress  sunk  fast  into  decrepitude  and 
contempt.  Feeble  is  the  sentiment  of  political  gratitude  !  Debts 
of  that  sort*  are  commonly  left  for  posterity  to  pay.  While  all 
eyes  were  turned — some  with  doubt  and  some  with  apprehension, 
but  the  greater  part  with  hope  and  confidence — towards  the  ample 
authority  vested  in  the  new  government  now  about  to  be  organ- 
ized, not  one  respectful  word  seems  to  have  been  uttered,  not  a 
single  reverential  regret  to  have  been  dropped  over  the  fallen 
greatness  of  the  exhausted  and  expiring  Continental  Congress. 

HAMILTON,  WASHINGTON,  AND  JAY. 

In  Hamilton's  death  the  Federalists  and  the  country  experienced 
a  loss  second  only  to  that  of  Washington.  Hamilton  possessed 
the  same  rare  and  lofty  qualities,  the  same  just  balance  of  soul, 
with  less,  indeed,  of  Washington's  severe  simplicity  and  awe- 
inspiring  presence,  but  with  more  of  warmth,  variety,  ornament, 
and  grace.  If  the  Doric  in  architecture  be  taken  as  the  sym- 
bol of  Washington's  character,  Hamilton's  belonged  to  the  same 
grand  style  as  developed  in  the  Corinthian, — if  less  impressive, 
more  winning.  If  we  add  Jay  for  the  Ionic,  we  have  a  trio  not  to 
be  matched,  in  fact  not  to  be  approached,  in  our  history,  if,  indeed, 
in  any  other.  Of  earth-born  Titans,  as  terrible  as  great,  now 
angels,  and  now  toads  and  serpents,  there  are  everywhere  enough. 
Of  the  serene  and  benign  sons  of  the  celestial  gods,  how  few  at 
any  time  have  walked  the  earth  ! 

JAMES  MADISON. 

The  political  character  of  the  retiring  President  sprang,  natu- 
rally enough,  from  his  intellectual  temperament  and  personal  and 
party  relations.  Phlegmatic  in  his  constitution,  moderate  in  all 
his  feelings  and  passions,  he  possessed  remarkable  acuteness,  and 
ingenuity  sufficient  to  invest  with  the  most  persuasive  plausibility 
whichsoever  side  of  a  question  he  espoused.  But  he  wanted  the 
decision,  the  energy,  the  commanding  firmness,  necessary  in  a 
leader.  More  a  rhetorician  than  a  ruler,  he  was  made  only  for 
second  places,  and  therefore  never  was  but  second,  even  when  he 


RICHARD    H1LDRETH.  581 

seemed  to  be  first.  A  Federalist  from  natural  largeness  of  views, 
lie  became  a  Jeffersonian  Republican  because  that  became  the 
predominating  policy  of  Virginia,.  A  peace  man  in  his  heart  and 
judgment,  he  became  a  war  man  to  secure  his  re-election  to  the 
Presidency,  and  because  that  seemed  to  be  the  prevailing  bias  of 
the  Republican  party.  Having  been,  in  the  course  of  a  long- 
career,  on  both  sides  of  almost  every  political  question,  he  made 
friends  among  all  parties,  anxious  to  avail  themselves,  whenever 
they  could,  of  his  able  support;  escaping,  thereby,  much  of  that 
searching  criticism,  so  freely  applied,  with  the  unmitigated  se- 
verity of  party  hatred,  to  his  more  decided  and  consistent  com- 
patriots and  rivals. 

Let  us,  however,  do  Madison  the  justice  to  add,  that,  as  he 
was  among  the  first,  so  he  was,  all  things- considered,  by  far  the 
ablest  and  most  amiable,  of  that  large  class  of  our  national  states- 
men, become  of  late  almost  the  only  class,  who,  instead  of  devo- 
tion to  the  carrying  out  of  any  favorite  ideas  or  measures  of  their 
own,  put  up  their  talents,  like  mercenary  lawyers,  as  too  many  of 
them  are,  to  be  sold  to  the  highest  bidder ;  espousing,  on  every 
question,  that  side  which,  for  the  moment,  seems  to  offer  the 
surest  road  to  applause  and  promotion. 


PAST  AND  PRESENT  POLITICS. 

With  the  reannexation  of  Florida  to  the  Anglo-American  do- 
minion, the  recognised  extension  of  our  western  limit  to  the 
shores  of  the  Pacific,  and  the  partition  of  those  new  acquisitions 
between  slavery  and  freedom,  closed  Monroe's  first  term  of  office ; 
and  with  it  a  marked  era  in  our  history.  All  the  old  landmarks 
of  party,  uprooted  as  they  had  been,  first  by  the  embargo  and  the 
war  with  England,  and  then  by  peace  in  Europe,  had  since,  by 
the  bank  question,  the  internal  improvement  question,  and  the 
tariff  question,  been  completely  superseded  and  almost  wholly 
swept  away.  At  the  Ithuriel  touch  of  the  Missouri  discussion, 
the  slave  interest,  hitherto  hardly  recognised  as  a  distinct  element 
in  our  system,  had  started  up,  portentous  and  dilated,  disavowing 
the  very  fundamental  principles  of  modern  democracy,  and  again 
threatening,  as  in  the  Federal  Convention,  the  dissolution  of  the 
Union.  It  is  from  this  point,  already  beginning,  indeed,  to  fade 
away  in  the  distance,  that  our  politics  of  to-day  take  their 
departure.  Close  of  his  History. 

49* 


582 


JONATHAN  LAWRENCE. 


JONATHAN  LAWRENCE,  1807—1833. 

This 'young  poet  of  great  promise  was  born  in  New  York  in  November,  1807, 
and  was  graduated  at  Columbia  College  in  1823.  He  entered  the  profession  of 
the  law ;  and  tbe  bigbest  expectations  were  formed  of  his  future  eminence,  wben 
be  was  suddenly  removed  by  death  on  the  26th  of  April,  1S33.  After  his  death, 
his  brother  collected,  and  had  printed  for  private  circulation,  his  various  writings, 
consisting  of  prose  essays  and  poetry,  which  are  distinguished  for  great  beautj 
and  purity  of  thought  and  style.  Among  them  is  the  encouraging  direction,  in 
all  the  trials  of  life,  to 

LOOK  ALOFT.1 

In  the  tempest  of  life,  when  the  wave  and  the  gale 
Are  around  and. above,  if  thy  footing  should  fail, 
If  thine  eye  should  grow  dim,  and  thy  caution  depart, 
"Look  aloft!"  and  be  firm,  and  be  fearless  of  heart. 

If  the  friend  who  embraced  in  prosperity's  glow, 
With  a  smile  for  each  joy  and  a  tear  for  each  woe, 
Should  betray  thee  when  sorrows  like  clouds  are  array'd, 
"  Look  aloft"  to  the  friendship  which  never  shall  fade. 

Should  the  visions  which  hope  spreads  in  light  to  thine  eye, 
Like  the  tints  of  the  rainbow,  but  brighten  to  fly, 
Then  turn,  and  through  tears  of  repentant  regret, 
"  Look  aloft"  to  the  Sun  that  is  never  to  set. 

Should  they  who  are  dearest,  the  son  of  thy  heart, 
The  wrife  of  thy  bosom,  in  sorrow  depart, 
"Look  aloft,"  from  the  darkness  and  dust  of  the  tomb, 
To  that  soil  where  affection  is  ever  in  bloom. 

And  oh !  when  death  comes  in  his  terrors,  to  cast 
His  fears  on  the  future,  his  pall  on  the  past, 
In  that  moment  of  darkness,  with  hope  in  thy  heart 
And  a  smile  in  thine  eye,  "look  aloft," — and  depart. 


ELIZABETH  MARGARET  CHANDLER,  1807—1834. 

This  lovely  poet  and  prose-writer,  the  last  years  of  whose  short  life  were  de- 
voted to  the  cause  of  humanity,  was  born  at  Centre,  near  Wilmington,  Delaware, 
on  the  24th  of  December,  1807.  She  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  both  her  parents 
at  an  early  age,  when  she  was  placed  under  the  care  of  her  grandmother,  Elizabeth 
Evans,  of  Philadelphia,  and  there  attended  school  till  she  was  thirteen  or  four- 
teen.   At  the  age  of  sixteen,  she  began  to  write  for  the  press,  and  her  pieces  were 


]  This  spirited  piece  was  suggested  to  Mr.  Lawrence  b}'  an  anecdote  related  to 
him  of  a  ship-boy  who,  growing  dizzy,  was  about  to  fall  from  the  rigging,  but  was 
saved  by  the  mate's  characteristic  exclamation,  "  Look  aloft,  you  lubber  I" 


ELIZABETH  MARGARET  CHANDLER. 


583 


extensively  copied;  but  what  brought  her  especially  into  notice  was  her  poem 
entitled  The  Slave  Ship,  written  when  she  was  but  eighteen,  and  which  gained  for 
her  the  prize  offered  by  the  publishers  of  "  The  Casket,"  a  monthly  magazine. 
Soon  after  this,  she  became  a  frequent  contributor  to  "  The  Genius  of  Universal 
Emancipation,"  published  in  Baltimore,  and  edited  by  Benjamin  Lundy.  "It  is 
not  enough  to  say  that  her  productions  were  chaste,  eloquent,  and  classical.  Her 
language  was  appropriate,  her  reasoning  clear,  her  deductions  logical,  and  her 
conclusions  impressive  and  convincing.  Her  appeals  were  tender,  persuasive, 
and  heart-reaching;  while  the  strength  and  cogency  of  her  arguments  rendered 
them  incontrovertible.  She  was  the  first  American  female  author  that  ever  made 
the  Abolition  of  Slavery  the  principal  theme  of  her  active  exertions."1 

Miss  Chandler  continued  to  reside  in  Philadelphia  till  1830,  when  she  removed 
with  her  aunt  and  brother  to  Tecumseh,  Lenawee  County,  Michigan,  about  sixty 
miles  southwest  of  Detroit.  Here,  at  her  home  called  "  Hazlebank,"  on  the  banks 
of  the  river  Raisin,  which  has  been  appropriately  called  "classic  ground,"  she 
continued  to  write  and  labor  in  the  cause  of  the  oppressed,  till  1834,  when  she 
was  attacked  by  a  remittent  fever,  which  terminated  in  her  death  on  the  2d  of 
November  of  that  year.  Never  did  the  grave  close  over  a  purer  spirit,  nor  one 
more  fully  sensible  of  a  strict  accountability  for  the  right  employment  of  every 
talent. 

THE  SLAVE'S  APPEAL. 

Christian  mother!  when  thy  prayer 
Trembles  on  the  twilight  air, 
And  thou  askest  God  to  keep, 
In  their  waking  and  their  sleep, 
Those  whose  love  is  more  to  thee 
Than  the  wealth  of  land  or  sea, 
Think  of  those  who  wildly  mourn 
For  the  loved  ones  from  them  torn  ! 

Christian  daughter,  sister,  wife  ! 
Ye  who  wear  a  guarded  life, — 
Ye  whose  bliss  hangs  not,  like  mine, 
On  a  tyrant's  word  or  sign, 
Will  ye  hear,  with  careless  eye, 
Of  the  wild  despairing  cry 
Rising  up  from  human  hearts, 
As  their  latest  bliss  departs  ? 

Blest  ones  !  whom  no  hand  on  earth 

Dares  to  wrench  from  home  and  hearth, 

Ye  whose  hearts  are  shelter'd  well 

By  affection's  holy  spell, 

Oh,  forget  not  those  for  whom 

Life  is  naught  but  changeless  gloom ; 

O'er  wThose  days  of  cheerless  sorrow 

Hope  may  paint  no  brighter  morrow. 


1  Poetical  Works  and  Essays  of  Elizabeth  Margaret  Chandler ;  with  a  Memoir 
of  her  Life  and  Character,  by  Benjamin  Lundy.  This  early  pioneer  in  the  cause 
of  freedom — Benjamin  Lundy — has  never  received  the  attention  he  deserved. 


584 


ELIZABETH  MARGARET  CHANDLER. 


THE  PARTING.1 

It  has  been  well  and  beautifully  said  that  there  is  no  medicine 
for  a  wounded  heart  like  the  sweet  influences  of  Nature.  The 
broad,  still,  beautiful  expansion  of  a  summer  landscape, — the 
stealing  in  of  the  sunlight  by  glimpses  among  the  trees, — the  un- 
expected meeting  with  a  favorite  blossom,  half  hidden  among  the 
luxuriant  verdure, — the  sudden  starting  of  a  wild  bird  almost 
from  beneath  your  feet, — the  play  of  light  and  shade  upon  the 
surface  of  the  gliding  brook,  and  the  ceaseless,  glad,  musical 
ripple  of  its  waters, — the  gushing  melody  poured  from  a  thou- 
sand throats,  or  the  rapid  and  solitary  warble,  breaking  out 
suddenly  on  the  stillness,  and  withdrawn  again  almost  as  soon 
as  heard, —  the  soft,  hymn-like  murmur  of  the  honey-bees, — 
and,  above  all,  the  majesty  of  the  blue,  clear,  bending  sky  ! — 
from  all  these  steals  forth  a  spirit  of  calm  enjoyment,  that 
mingles  silently  with  the  darker  thoughts  of  the  heart,  and 
removes  their  bitterness. 

"  If  thou  ail  worn  and  hard  beset 
With  sorrows  that  thou  wouldst  forget, — 
If  thou  wouldst  read  a  lesson  that  will  keep 
Thy  heart  from  fainting,  and  thy  soul  from  sleep, — 
Go  to  the  woods  and  hills  ! — no  tears 
Dim  the  sweet  look  that  Nature  wears."2 

Yet  there  are  moods  of  the  soul  that  even  the  ministering  ten- 
derness of  Nature  cannot  brighten.  There  are  sorrows  which  she 
cannot  soothe,  and,  too  often,  alas !  darker  passions,  which  all  her 
sweet  and  balmy  influences  cannot  hush  into  tranquillity.  When 
the  human  heart  is  foul  with  avarice  and  the  unblest  impulses  of 
tyranny,  the  eloquence  of  her  meek  beauty  is  breathed  in  vain. 
The  most  sublime  and  lovely  scenes  of  nature  have  been  made 
the  theatre  of  wrong  and  violence  ;  and  the  stony  heart  of  the 
oppressor,  though  surrounded  by  the  broad  evidences  of  omni- 
potent love,  has  persisted,  unrelenting,  in  the  selfishness  of  its 
own  device. 

There  was  all  the  gloriousness  of  summer  beauty  round  the 
little  bay,  in  whose  sleeping  waters  rested  a  small  vessel,  almost 
freighted  for  her  departure.  A  few  human  beings,  only,  were  to 
be  added  to  her  cargo,  and  as  her  spiry  masts  caught  the  first  rays 
of  the  beaming  sunlight,  the  frequent  hoarse  and  brief  command, 
and  the  ready  response  of  the  seamen,  told  that  they  were  about 


1  Heart-rending  as  this  "  Parting"  is,  the  author  assures  us  in  a  note  that  it  is 
hut  a  description  of  what,  to  her  own  knowledge,  had  actually  occurred. 

2  Longfellow. 


ELIZABETH  MARGARET  CHANDLER. 


585 


to  weigh  anchor  and  depart.  Among  those  who  approached  the 
shore  was  a  household  group, — a  mother  and  her  babes,  the  price 
of  whose  limbs  lay  heaped  in  the  coffers  of  one  who  called  himself 
a  Christian,  and  who  were  now  about  to  be  torn  from  the"  husband 
and  the  father  forever.  It  was  a  Christian  land;  and,  perchance, 
if  the  bustle  of  the  departing  vessel  had  not  drowned  its  murmur, 
the  voice  of  praise  and  prayer  to  the  merciful  and  just  God  might 
have  been  dimly  heard  floating  off  upon  the  still  waters.  But 
there  was  no  one  to  save  those  unhappy  beings  from  the  grasp 
of  unrighteous  tyranny.  The  husband  had  been  upon  the  beach 
since  daybreak,  pacing  the  sands  with  a  troubled  step,  or  lying  in 
moody  anguish  by  the  wTater's  edge,  covering  his  face  from  the 
breaking  in  of  the  glorious  sunlight,  and  pleading  at  times  with 
the  omnipotent  God,  whom,  slave  as  he  was,  he  had  learned  to 
worship,  for  strength  to  subdue  the  passionate  grief  and  indig- 
nation of  his  heart,  and  for  humility  patiently  to  endure  his  many 
wrongs. 

A  little  fond  arm  was  twined  about  his  neck,  and  the  soft  lip 
of  a  young  child  was  breathing  loving,  but  half-sorrowful  kisses 
all  over  his  burning  forehead. 

"  Father !  dear  father !  we  are  going !  will  you  not  come  with 
us  ?  Look  where  my  mother,  and  my  sisters  and  brothers,  are 
waiting  for  you." 

With  a  shuddering  and  convulsive  groan,  the  unhappy  man 
arose,  and  lifted  the  frighted  child  to  his  bosom. 

"  Will  you  not  go  with  us,  father  ?"  repeated  the  boy  j  but  the 
slave  made  him  no  answer,  except  by  straining  him  to  his  bosom 
with  a  short  bitter  laugh,  and  imprinting  one  of  his  sobbing 
kisses  upon  his  cheek.  With  a  convulsive  effort  for  the  mastery, 
he  subdued  the  workings  of  his  features,  and,  with  a  seemingly 
calm  voice  and  countenance,  approached  his  children.  One  by 
one  he  folded  them  in  his  arms,  and,  breathing  over  them  a 
prayer  and  a  blessing,  gave  them  up  forever.  Then  once  more 
he  strove  to-  nerve  his  heart  for  its  severest  trial.  There  was  one 
more  parting, — one  more  sad  embrace  to  be  given  and  returned. 
There  stood  the  mother  of  his  children, — his  own  fond  and  gentle 
wife,  who  had  been  for  so  many  years  his  heart's  dearest  blessing ; 
and  who,  ere  one  short  hour  had  passed,  was  to  be  to  him  as 
if  the  sea  had  swallowed  her  up  in  its  waves,  or  the  dark  gloomy 
earth  had  hidden  her  beneath  its  bosom  !  A  thousand  recol- 
lections and  agonizing  feelings  came  rushing  at  once  upon  his 
heart,  and  he  stood  gazing  on  her,  seemingly  bewildered  and 
stupefied,  motionless  as  a  statue,  and  with  features  to  which  the 
very  intensity  of  his  passion  gave  the  immobility  of  marble ; 
till,  suddenly  flinging  up  his  arms  with  a  wild  cry,  he  dropped 


586  MARY  S.  B.  DANA. 


at  onpe  senseless  to  the  earth,1  with  the  blood  gushing  in  torrents 
from  his  mouth  and  nostrils.  And  the  miserable  wife,  amid 
the  shrieks  of  her  despair,  was  hurried  on  board  the  vessel,  and 
borne  away  from  him,  over  the  calm,  sleeping,  and  beautiful  sea; 
forever. 


MARY  S.  B.  DANA. 

This  lady  is  the  daughter  of  the  late  Rev.  Dr.  Palmer,  of  Charleston,  South 
Carolina.  She  is  the  author  of  a  volume  of  sweet  religious  and  elegiac  poetry, 
entitled  The  Parted  Family,  and  other  Poems ;  also  of  the  Northern  Harp;  the 
Southern  Harp  ;  Original  Sacred  and  Moral  Songs  ;  and  Temperance  Lyre.  From 
The  Parted  Family  I  select  the  following  beautiful  and  instructive  piece,  which 
was  written  soon  after  she  had  lost  her  husband  and  her  only  child. 


PASSING  UNDER  THE  ROD. 

I  saw  the  young  bride,  in  her  beauty  and  pride, 

Bedeck'd  in  her  snowy  array  ; 
And  the  bright  flush  of  joy  mantled  high  on  her  cheek, 

And  the  future  look'd  blooming  and  gay  : 
And  with  woman's  devotion  she  laid  her  fond  heart 

At  the  shrine  of  idolatrous  love, 
And  she  anchor' d  her  hopes  to  this  perishing  earth, 

By  the  chain  which  her  tenderness  wove. 
But  I  saw,  when  those  heartstrings  were  bleeding  and  torn, 

And  the  chain  had  been  sever'd  in  two, 
She  had  changed  her  white  robes  for  the  sables  of  grief, 

And  her  bloom  for  the  paleness  of  woe  ! 
But  the  Healer  was  there,  pouring  balm  on  her  heart, 

And  wiping  the  tears  from  her  eyes, 
And  he  strengthen'd  the  chain  he  had  broken  in  twain, 

And  fasten'd  it  firm  to  the  skies  ! 
There  had  whisper'd  a  voice — 'twas  the  voice  of  her  God : 
"  I  love  thee — I  love  thee — pass  under  the  rod!" 

I  saw  the  young  mother  in  tenderness  bend 

O'er  the  couch  of  her  slumbering  boy, 
And  she  kiss'd  the  soft  lips  as  they  murmur'd  her  name, 

While  the  dreamer  lay  smiling  in  joy. 
Oh,  sweet  as  the  rosebud  encircled  with  dew, 

When  its  fragrance  is  flung  on  the  air, 
So  fresh  and  so  bright  to  that  mother  he  seem'd, 

As  he  lay  in  his  innocence  there. 


1  This  reminds  us  of  Bryant's  touching  poem — "  The  African  Chief." 


MARY  S.  B.  DANA. 


587 


But  I  saw  when  she  gazed  on  the  same  lovely  form, 

Pale  as  marble,  and  silent,  and  cold, 
But  paler  and  colder  her  beautiful  boy, 

And  the  tale  of  her  sorrow  was  told ! 
But  the  Healer  was  there  who  had  stricken  her  heart, 

And  taken  her  treasure  away  ; 
To  allure  her  to  heaven,  He  has  placed  it  on  high, 

And  the  mourner  will  sweetly  obey. 
There  had  whisper'd  a  voice — 'twas  the  voice  of  her  God : 
"  I  love  thee — I  love  thee — pass  under  the  rod.'" 

I  saw  the  fond  brother,  with  glances  of  love, 

Gazing  down  on  a  gentle  young  girl, 
And  she  hung  on  his  arm,  and  breathed  soft  in  his  ear, 

As  he  played  with  each  graceful  curl. 
Oh,  he  loved  the  sweet  tones  of  her  silvery  voice, 

Let  her  use  it  in  sadness  or  glee ; 
And  he  twined  his  arms. round  her  delicate  form, 

As  she  sat  in  the  eve  on  his  knee. 
But  I  saw  when  he  gazed  on  her  death-stricken  face, 

And  she  breathed  not  a  word  in  his  ear, 
And  he  clasped  bis  arms  round  an  icy-cold  form, 

And  he  moisten'd  her  cheek  with  a  tear. 
But  the  Healer  was  there,  and  he  said  to  him  thus, 

"  Grieve  not  for  thy  sister's  short  life," 
And  he  gave  to  his  arms  still  another  fair  girl, 

And  he  made  her  his  own  cherish'd  wife ! 
There  had  whisper'd  a  voice — 'twas  the  voice  of  his  God : 
"  I  love  thee — I  love  thee — pass  under  the  rod  .'" 

I  saw,  too,  a  father  and  mother  who  lean'd 

On  the  arms  of  a  dear  gifted  son, 
And  the  star  in  the  future  grew  bright  to  their  gaze, 

As  they  saw  the  proud  place  he  had  won ; 
And  the  fast  coming  evening  of  life  promised  fair, 

And  its  pathway  grew  smooth  to  their  feet, 
And  the  starlight  of  love  glimmer'd  bright  at  the  end, 

And  the  whispers  of  fancy  were  sweet. 
And  I  saw  them  again,  bending  low  o'er  the  grave, 

Where  their  hearts'  clearest  hope  had  been  laid, 
And  the  star  had  gone  down  in  the  darkness  of  night, 

And  the  joy  from  their  bosoms  had  fled. 
But  the  Healer  was  there,  and  his  arms  were  around, 

And  he  led  them  with  tenderest  care ; 
And  he  show'd  them  a  star  in  the  bright  upper  world, 

'Twas  their  star  shining  brilliantly  there  ! 
They  had  each  heard  a  voice — 'twas  the  voice  of  their  God : 
"I  love  thee — I  love  thee — -pass  under  the  red!" 


588 


HENRY  REED. 


HENRY  REED,  1S08— 185-1. 

Professor  Henry  Reed  was  born  in  Philadelphia,  on  the  11th  of  July,  1808. 
After  the  usual  preparatory  studies,  under  that  accomplished  school-master,  Mr. 
James  Ross,  he  entered  the  sophomore  class  in  the  University  of  Pennsylvania, 
in  September,  1822,  and  graduated  in  1825.  He  began  to  study  law  with  Hon. 
John  Sergeant,  and  was  admitted  to  practice  in  the  courts  of  the  city  and  county 
of  Philadelphia  in  1829.  In  September,  1831;  he  relinquished  his  profession,  on 
being  elected  Assistant  Professor  of  English  Literature  in  the  University  of  Penn- 
sylvania. In  November  of  the  same  year,  he  was  chosen  Assistant  Professor 
of  Moral  Philosophy,  and  in  1835  he  was  elected  Professor  of  Rhetoric  and 
English  Literature.  He  continued  in  the  service  of  the  college  for  twentj'-three 
years,  discharging  his  duties  with  untiring  industr3r,  and  with  such  ability  and 
zeal,  united  to  great  urbanity  of  manners,  as  to  secure  the  warm  attachment 
and  profound  respect  of  all  who  came  under  his  instruction. 

It  had  long  been  Professor  Reed's  earnest  wish  to  visit  Europe ;  but  his  pro- 
fessional duties  and  other  claims  had  prevented  him.  Early  in  1851,  however, 
leave  of  absence  was  granted  by  the  trustees ;  and  in  May  he  sailed  for  England. 
His  reputation  as  a  scholar  had  preceded  him,  and  he  was  received  with  the 
kindest  welcome  by  many  of  England's  most  distinguished  poets  and  scholars. 
He  also  visited  the  continent,  and  returned  to  England  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
summer. 

On  the  20th  of  September,  he  embarked  at  Liverpool  for  New  York  in  the 
steamship  Arctic.  Seven  days  afterwards,  at  noon,  a  fatal  collision  occurred, 
and  before  sundown  every  human  being  left  upon  the  ship — about  three  hundred 
in  all — had  sunk  under  the  waves.  When  the  news  of  his  loss  reached  Philadel- 
phia, feelings  of  intense  grief  pervaded  all  hearts  which  had  had  even  a  slight 
knowledge  of  him.  It  was  felt  that  Philadelphia  had  lost  one  of  her  most  gifted 
spirits, — one  who  was  an  ornament  to  the  elevated  position  which  he  held  in 
the  University,  and  who,  had  his  life  been  spared,  would  have  resumed  his 
responsible  duties  with  increased  zeal,  efficiency,  and  usefulness. 

Professor  Reed  was  married,  in  1831,  to  Elizabeth  White  Bronson,  a  grand- 
daughter of  Bishop  White. 

Shortly  after  Professor  Reed's  death,  his  brother,  William  B.  Reed,  Esq., 
prepared  for  publication,  with  his  well-known  taste  and  judgment,  his  manuscript 
notes  and  lectures  on  English  Literature  and  Poetry,  which  are  among  the 
choicest  contributions  to  American  Literature.  These  are  Lectures  on  English 
Literature  from  Chaucer  to  Tennyson,  1  vol.  12mo;  Lectures  on  the  British  Poets, 
2  vols.  12mo;  Lectures  on  English  History  and  Tragic  Poetry,  as  illustrated  by 
Shakspeare,  1  vol.  12ino;  and  Two  Lectures  on  the  History  of  the  American  Union; 
of  all  of  which  fine  editions  have  been  published  by  Parry  &  McMillan,  Phila.' 


1  Before  he  went  to  England,  Professor  Reed  had  prepared  editions  of  the 
following  works: — Alexander  Reid's  "Dictionary  of  the  English  Language:" 
Graham's  "  English  Synonyms,  enriched  by  Poetical  Citations  from  Shakspeare. 
Milton,  and  Wordsworth  Wordsworth's  Poems,  with  an  appreciative  Introduc- 
tion; Gray's  Poems,  with  anew  Memoir;  Arnold's  "  Lectures  on  Modern  His- 
tory ;"  and  Lord  Mahon's  "  History  of  England." 


HENRY  REED. 


589 


BEST  METHOD  OF  READING. 

It  is  not  ^infrequently  thought  that  the  true  guidance  for  habits 
of  reading  is  to  be  looked  for  in  prescribed  courses  of  reading, 
pointing  out  the  books  to  be  read,  and  the  order  of  proceeding 
with  them.  Now,  while  this  external  guidance  may  to  a  certain 
extent  be  useful,  I  do  believe  that  an  elaborately  prescribed  course 
of  reading  would  be  found  neither  desirable  nor  practicable.  It 
does  not  leave  freedom  enough  to  the  movements  of  the  reader's 
own  mind )  it  does  not  give  free  enough  scope  to  choice.  Our 
communion  with  books,  to  be  intelligent,  must  be  more  or  less 
spontaneous.  It  is  not  possible  to  anticipate  how  or  when  an  in- 
terest may  be  awakened  in  some  particular  subject  or  author,  and 
it  would  be  far  better  to  break  away  from  the  prescribed  list  of 
books,  in  order  to  follow  out  that  interest  while  it  is  a  thoughtful 
impulse.  It  would  be  a  sorry  tameness  of  intellect  that  would 
not,  sooner  or  later,  work  its  way  out  of  the  track  of  the  best  of 
any  such  prescribed  courses.  This  is  the  reason,  no  doubt,  why 
they  are  so  seldom  attempted,  and  why,  when  attempted,  they  are 
so  apt  to  fail. 

It  may  be  asked,  however,  whether  every  thing  is  to  be  left  to 
chance  or  caprice ;  whether  one  is  to  read  what  accident  puts  in 
the  way, — what  happens  to  be  reviewed  or  talked  about.  No  ! 
far  from  it :  there  would  in  this  be  no  more  exercise  of  rational 
will  than  in  the  other  process :  in  truth,  the  slavery  to  chance  is 
a  worse  evil  than  slavery  to  authority.  So  far  as  the  origin  of  a 
taste  for  reading  can  be  traced  in  the  growth  of  the  mind,  it  will 
be  found,  I  think,  mostly  in  the  mind's  own  prompting;  and  the 
power  thus  engendered  is,  like  all  other  powers  in  our  being,  to 
be  looked  to  as  something  to  be  cultivated  and  chastened,  and 
then  its  disciplined  freedom  will  prove  more  and  more  its  own 
safest  guide.  It  will  provide  itself  with  more  of  philosophy  than 
it  is  aware  of  in  its  choice  of  books,  and  will  the  better  under- 
stand its  relative  virtues.  On  the  other  hand,  I  apprehend  that 
often  a  taste  for  reading  is  quenched  by  rigid  and  injudicious  pre- 
scription of  books  in  which  the  mind  takes  no  interest,  can  assimi- 
late nothing  to  itself,  and  recognises  no  progress  but  what  the  eye 
takes  count  of  in  the  reckoning  of  pages  it  has  travelled  over.  It 
lies  on  the  mind,  unpalatable,  heavy,  undigested  food.  But  re- 
verse the  process  j  observe  or  engender  the  interest  as  best  you 
may,  in  the  young  mind,  and  then  work  with  that, — expanding, 
cultivating,  chastening  it. 

50 


590 


HENRY  REED. 


POETICAL  AND  PROSE  READING. 

The  disproportion  usually  lies  in  the  other  direction, — prose 
reading  to  the  exclusion  of  poetry.  This  is  owing  chiefly  to  the 
want  of  proper  culture ;  for  although  there  is  certainly  a  great 
disparity  of  imaginative  endowment,  still  the  imagination  is  part 
of  the  universal  mind  of  man,  and  it  is  a  work  of  education  to 
bring  it  into  action  in  minds  even  the  least  imaginative.  It  is 
chiefly  to  the  wilfully  unimaginative  mind  that  poetry,  with  all  its 
wTisdom  and  all  its  glory,  is  a  sealed  book.  It  sometimes  happens, 
however,  that  a  mind  well  gifted  with  imaginative  power  loses 
the  capacity  to  relish  poetry  simply  by  the  neglect  of  reading 
metrical  literature.  This  is  a  sad  mistake,  inasmuch  as  the  mere 
reader  of  prose  cuts  himself  off  from  the  very  highest  literary  en- 
joyments; for  if  the  giving  of  power  to  the  mind  be  a  charac- 
teristic, the  most  essential  literature  is  to  be  found  in  poetry, 
especially  if  it  be  such  as  English  poetry  is, — the  embodiment  of 
the  very  highest  wisdom  and  the  deepest  feeling  of  our  English 
race.  I  hope  to  show  in  my  next  lecture,  in  treating  the  subject 
of  our  language,  how  rich  a  source  of  enjoyment  the  study  of 
English  verse,  considered  simply  as  an  organ  of  expression  and 
harmony,  may  be  made ;  but  to  readers  who  confine  themselves  to 
prose,  the  metrical  form  becomes  repulsive  instead  of  attractive. 
It  has  been  well  observed  by  a  living  writer,  who  has  exercised 
his  powers  alike  in  prose  and  verse,  that  there  are  readers  "  to 
whom  the  poetical  form  merely  and  of  itself  acts  as  a  sort  of  veil 
to  every  meaning  which  is  not  habitually  met  with  under  that 
form,  and  who  are  puzzled  by  a  passage  occurring  in  a  poem, 
which  would  be  at  once  plain  to  them  if  divested  of  its  cadence 
and  rhythm ;  not  because  it  is  thereby  put  into  language  in  any 
degree  more  perspicuous,  but  because  prose  is  the  vehicle  they 
are  accustomed  to  for  this  particular  kind  of  matter;  and  they 
will  apply  their  minds  to  it  in  prose,  and  they  will  refuse  their 
minds  to  it  in  verse."1 

The  neglect  of  poetical  reading  is  increased  by  the  very  mis- 
taken notion  that  poetry  is  a  mere  luxury  of  the  mind,  alien  from 
the  demands  of  practical  life. — a  light  and  effortless  amusement. 
This  is  the  prejudice  and  error  of  ignorance.  For  look  at  many 
of  the  strong  and  largely-cultivated  minds  which  we  know  by 
biography  and  their  own  works,  and  note  how  large  and  precious 
an  element  of  strength  is  their  studious  love  of  poetry.  Where 
could  we  find  a  man  of  more  earnest,  energetic,  practical  cast  of 
character  than  Arnold  ? — eminent  as  an  historian,  and  in  other 
the  gravest  departments  of  thought  and  learning,  active  in  the 


1  Taylor's  Notes  from  Books,,  p.  215. 


HENRY  REED. 


591 


cause  of  education,  zealous  in  matters  of  ecclesiastical,  political, 
or  social  reform ;  right  or  wrong,  always  intensely  practical  and 
single-hearted  in  his  honest  zeal )  a  champion  for  truth,  whether 
in  the  history  of  ancient  politics  or  present  questions  of  modern 
society ;  and,  with  all,  never  suffering  the  love  of  poetry  to  be  ex- 
tinguished in  his  heart,  or  to  be  crowded  out  of  it,  but  turning  it 
perpetually  to  wise  uses,  bringing  the  poetic  truths  of  Shakspeare 
and  of  Wordsworth  to  the  help  of  the  cause  of  truth ;  his  enthu- 
siasm for  the  poets  breaking  forth  when  he  exclaims,  "  What  a 
treat  it  would  be  to  teach  Shakspeare  to  a  good  class  of  young 
Greeks  in  regenerate  Athens ;  to  dwell  upon  him  line  by  line  and 
word  by  word,  and  so  to  get  all  his  pictures  and  thoughts  leisurely 
into  one's  mind,  till  I  verily  think  one  would,  after  a  time,  almost 
give  out  light  in  the  dark,  after  having  been  steeped,  as  it  were, 
in  such  an  atmosphere  of  brilliance  I"1 

TRAGIC  POETRY. 

Tragic  poetry  has  been  well  described  as  "  poetry  in  its  deepest 
earnest."  The  upper  air  of  poetry  is  the  atmosphere  of  sorrow. 
This  is  a  truth  attested  by  every  department  of  art, — the  poetry 
of  words,  of  music,  of  the  canvas,  and  of  marble.  It  is  so,  be- 
cause poetry  is  a  reflection  of  life ;  and  when  a  man  weeps,  the 
passions  that  are  stirring  within  him  are  mightier  than  the  feel- 
ings which  prompt  to  cheerfulness  or  merriment.  The  smile 
plays  on  the  countenance ;  the  laugh  is  a  momentary  and  noisy 
impulse ;  but  the  tear  rises  slowly  and  silently  from  the  deep 
places  of  the  heart.  It  is  at  once  the  symbol  and  the  relief  of  an 
o'ermastering  grief;  it  is  the  language  of  emotions  to  which 
words  cannot  give  utterance, — passions  whose  very  might  and 
depth  give  them  a  sanctity  we  instinctively  recognise  by  veiling 
them  from  the  common  gaze.  In  childhood,  indeed,  when  its 
little  griefs  and  joys  are  blended  with  that  absence  of  self-con- 
sciousness which  is  both  the  bliss  and  the  beauty  of  its  innocence, 
tears  are  shed  without  restraint  or  disguise ;  but  when  the  self- 
consciousness  of  manhood  has  taught  us  that  tears  are  the  ex- 
pression of  emotions  too  sacred  for  exposure,  the  heart  will  often 
break  rather  than  violate  this  instinct  of  our  nature.  Tragic 
poetry,  in  dramatic,  or  epic,  or  what  form  soever,  has  its  original, 
its  archetype,  in  the  sorrows  which  float  like  clouds  over  the  days 
of  human  existence.  Afflictions  travel  across  the  earth  on  errands 
mysterious,  but  merciful,  could  we  but  understand  them ;  and  the 
poet,  fashioning  the  likeness  of  them  in  some  sad  story,  teaches 
the  imaginative  lesson  of  their  influences  upon  the  heart. 


Arnold's  Life,  p.  284,  (American  edition,)  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Justice  Coleridge. 


592 


WILLIAM  D.  GALLAGHER. 


WILLIAM  D.  GALLAGHER. 

William  D.  Gallagher,  whose  name  is  associated  with  the  literature  of  the 
West,  was  born  in  Philadelphia  in  180S,  and  in  1S1G  migrated  with  his  widowed 
mother  to  Cincinnati,  and  became  a  printer.  In  1831  he  was  married,  and 
shortly  after  edited  the  "Cincinnati  Mirror,"  contributing  himself  much  to  its 
columns.  Subsequently  he  was  connected  with  the  "Western  Literary  Journal 
and  Monthly  Review,"  with  the  "Western  Monthly  Magazine,"  and  with  the 
"  Hesperian,  a  Monthly  Miscellany  of  General  Literature."  In  1S39,  the  late 
Charles  Hammond  offered  to  share  with  him  the  editorship  of  the  "  Cincinnati 
Gazette,"  with  which  he  continued  to  be  connected  till  1849,  when  he  was  ap- 
pointed a  clerk  in  the  Treasury  Department  at  Washington.  In  1853,  he 
removed  to  Kentucky,  where  he  now  resides,  on  a  farm  a  few  miles  from 
Louisville. 

In  1S35,  Mr.  Gallagher  published  a  small  volume  of  poems  under  the  title  of 
Erato;  and,  in  the  two  following  years,  the  second  and  third  parts  of  the  same. 
In  1811,  he  edited  a  volume  of  choice  poetry  entitled  Selections  from  the  Poetical 
Literature  of  the  Went;  and  in  1846,  a  collection  of  his  own  pieces  that  he 
esteemed  the  best,  under  the  simple  title  of  Poems.  Of  his  numerous  prose  con- 
tributions to  magazines,  reviews,  &c.  he  has  never  made  a  collection. 


TRUTH  AND  FREEDOM. 

On  the  page  that  is  immortal, 
We  the  brilliant  promise  see  : — 
"Ye  shall  know  the  truth,  my  people, 
And  its  might  shall  make  you  free !' 

For  the  truth,  then,  let  us  battle, 

Whatsoever  fate  betide; 
Long  the  boast  that  we  are  freemen 

We  have  made  and  published  wide. 

He  who  has  the  truth,  and  keeps  it, 
Keeps  what  not  to  him  belongs, — 

But  performs  a  selfish  action, 
That  his  fellow-mortal  wrongs. 

He  who  seeks  the  truth,  and  trembles 
At  the  dangers  he  must  brave, 

Is  not  fit  to  be  a  freeman, — 
He  at  best  is  but  a  slave. 

He  who  hears  the  truth,  and  places 
Its  high  promptings  under  ban, 

Loud  may  boast  of  all  that's  manly, 
But  can  never  be  a  man  ! 

Friend,  this  simple  lay  who  readest, 
Be  not  thou  like  either  them, — 


WILLIAM  D.  GALLAGHER. 


593 


But  to  truth  give  utmost  freedom, 
And  the  tide  it  raises  stem. 

Bold  in  speech  and  bold  in  action 
Be  forever ! — Time  will  test, 

Of  the  free-soul'd  and  the  slavish, 
"Which  fulfils  life's  mission  best. 

Be  thou  like  the  noble  ancient, — 
Scorn  the  threat  that  bids  thee  fear: 

Speak  ! — no  matter  what  betide  thee  ; 
Let  them  strike,  but  make  them  hear ! 

Be  thou  like  the  first  apostles, — 

Be  thou  like  heroic  Paul  : 
If  a  free  thought  seek  expression, 

Speak  it  boldly, — speak  it  all ! 

Face  thine  enemies, — accusers; 

Scorn  the  prison,  rack,  or  rod ; 
And,  if  thou  hast  truth  to  utter. 

Speak,  and  leave  the  rest  to  God  ! 


THE  LABORER. 

Stand  up — erect !    Thou  hast  the  form 

And  likeness  of  thy  God  ! — who  more  ? 

A  soul  as  dauntless  mid  the  storm 

Of  daily  life,  a  heart  as  warm 

And  pure,  as  breast  e\er  wore. 

What  then  ? — Thou  art  as  true  a  man 
As  moves  the  human  mass  among ; 

As  much  a  part  of  the  great  plan 

That  with  Creation's  dawn  began, 
As  any  of  the  throng. 

Who  is  thine  enemy  ?  the  high 

In  station,  or  in  wealth  the  chief? 

The  great,  who  coldly  pass  thee  by, 

With  proud  step  and  averted  eye  ? 
Nay  !  nurse  not  such  belief. 

If  true  unto  thyself  thou  wast, 

What  were  the  proud  one's  scorn  to  thee? 
A  feather,  which  thou  mightest  cast 
Aside,  as  idly  as  the  blast 

The  light  leaf  from  the  tree. 

No  : — uncurb'd  passions,  low  desires, 

Absence  of  noble  self-respect, 
Death,  in  the  breast's  consuming  fires, 
To  that  high  nature  which  aspires 

Forever,  till  thus  check'd  ; — 

These  are  thine  enemies, — thy  worst; 
They  chain  thee  to  thy  lowly  lot : 

50* 


594 


GEORGE  S.  HILLARD. 


Thy  labor  and  thy  life  accursed. 
Oh,  stand  erect !  and  from  them  burst! 
And  longer  suffer  not ! 

Thou  art  thyself  thine  enemy ! 

The  great ! — what  better  they  than  thou? 
As  theirs,  is  not  thy  will  as  free  ? 
Has  God  with  equal  favors  thee 

Neglected  to  endow? 

True,  wealth  thou  hast  not, — 'tis  but  dust ! 

Nor  place, — uncertain  as  the  wind ! 
But  that  thou  hast  which,  with  thy  crust 
And  water,  may  despise  the  lust 

Of  both, — a  noble  mind. 

With  this,  and  passions  under  ban, 
True  faith,  and  holy  trust  in  God, 

Thou  art  the  peer  of  any  man. 

Look  up,  then :  that  thy  little  span 
Of  life  may  be  well  trod ! 


GEORGE  ST1LLMAX  HILLARD. 

George  Stillman  Hillard  was  born  at  Machias,  Maine,  on  the  22d  of 
September,  1808,  and,  after  a  due  preparatory  course  of  study  at  the  Boston 
Latin  School,  he  entered  Harvard  College  in  1824.  In  1833,  he  was  admitted  to 
the  Suffolk  Count}7  (Boston)  Bar,  and  has  ever  since  been  engaged  in  the  practice 
of  his  profession  in  that  city.  In  1845,  he  was  elected  to  the  Common  Council 
of  Boston,  and  served  a  year  and  a  half  as  its  President.  In  1836,  he  was  a 
member  of  the  House  of  Representatives  of  Massachusetts,  and  was  elected  to  the 
State  Senate  in  1850,  where  he  exhibited  abilities  which  elicited  warm  commen- 
dation from  his  friends.  But  politics  is  evidently  not  a  field  congenial  to  the 
tastes  and  feelings  of  Mr.  Hillard.  It  is  in  the  higher  and  purer  walks  of  lite- 
rature that  this  polished  scholar  shows  himself  to  be  at  home ;  and  here  he  has 
won  a  fame  for  refined  taste,  purity  of  st}de,  and  elevation  of  moral  sentiment 
scarcely  second  to  any  one  in  our  country. 

Mr.  Hillard's  publications  are  as  follows : — Fourth  of  July  Oration  before  the 
City  Authorities  of  Boston,  1S35  ;  Discourse  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society, 
1843;  Connection  between  Geography  and  History,  1846 ;  Address  before  the  Mer- 
cantile Library  Association  of  Boston,  1850;  Address  before  the  New  York  Pilgrim 
Society,  1851;  Eulogy  on  Daniel  Webster  before  the  City  Authorities  of  Boston, 
1S52;  Six  Months  in  Italy,]  of  which  five  editions  have  been  published;  a  series 


1  "  The  mass  of  information  contained  in  these  two  volumes  is  immense;  the 
criticisms  novel,  and,  in  our  humble  opinion,  judicious;  the  writer's  own 
thoughts  and  feelings  beautifully  expressed.  *  *  *  Mr.  Hillard  is  evidently 
a  scholar,  a  man  of  taste  and  feeling;  something,  we  should  opine,  of  a  poet; 
and  unmistakably  a  gentleman." — Frazer's  3fagazinc.  Of  this  interesting  work, 
Ticknor  &  Fields  have  published  the  sixth  edition,  in  their  usual  style  of  beauty. 


GEORGE  S.  HILLARD. 


595 


of  "  Class  Readers,"  four  in  number,  for  schools,  consisting  of  extracts  in  prose 
and  verse,  with  biographical  and  critical  notices  of  the  authors ;l  Guizot's 
"Essay  on  the  Character  and  Influence  of  Washington,"  translated  from  the 
French,  1S40;  an  edition  of  Spenser,  in  five  volumes,  with  an  Introduction  and 
Notes;  "Selections  from  the  Writings  of  Walter  Savage  Landor,"  1856.  He 
also  prepared,  in  1844,  "A  Selection  from  the  Writings  of  Henry  R.  Cleveland, 
with  a  Memoir."2 

Mr.  Hillard  was  for  some  time  one  of  the  editors  of  the  "  American  Jurist," 
and  has  contributed  valuable  articles  to  the  "  North  American  Review," 
"  Christian  Examiner,"  and  "  New  England  Magazine."  To  him  also  we  are 
indebted  for  the  life  of  the  leader  of  the  first  settlers  in  Virginia— Captaix 
John  Smith — to  be  found  in  the  second  volume  of  Sparks's  "  Library  of  American 
Biography." 

EXCURSION  TO  SORRENTO.3 

On  the  morning  of  March  19th,  I  left  Naples  for  Sorrento, 
making  one  of  a  party  of  five.  The  ears  took  us  to  Castellamare, 
a  town  beautifully  situated  between  the  mountains  and  the  sea, 
much  resorted  to  by  the  Neapolitans  in  the  heats  of  summer.  A 
lover  of  nature  could  hardly  find  a  spot  of  more  varied  attractions. 
Before  him  spreads  the  unrivalled  bay, — dotted  with  sails  and  un- 
folding a  broad  canvas,  on  which  the  most  glowing  colors  and  the 
most  vivid  lights  are  dashed, — a  mirror  in  which  the  crimson  and 
gold  of  morning,  the  blue  of  noon,  and  the  orange  and  yellow- 
green  of  sunset  behold  a  lovelier  image  of  themselves, — a  gentle 
and  tideless  sea,  whose  waves  break  upon  the  shore  like  caresses, 
and  never  like  angry  blows.  Should  he  ever  become  weary  of 
waves  and  languish  for  woods,  he  has  only  to  turn  his  back  upon 
the  sea  and  climb  the  hills  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  he  will  find 
himself  in  the  depth  of  sylvan  and  mountain  solitudes, — in  a 
region  of  vines,  running  streams,  deep-shadowed  valleys,  and 
broad-armed  oaks, — where  he  will  hear  the  ring-dove  coo  and  see 
the  sensitive  hare  dart  across  the  forest  aisles.  A  great  city  is 
within  an  hour's  reach ;  and  the  shadow  of  Vesuvius  hangs  over 
the  landscape,  keeping  the  imagination  awake  by  touches  of  mys- 
tery and  terror. 

From  Castellamare  to  Sorrento,  a  noble  road  has  within  a  few 
years  past  been  constructed  between  the  mountains  and  the  sea, 


1  I  consider  these  among  the  best  reading-books  for  schools,  evincing  good 
taste  and  judgment  in  the  selections,  and  just  views  in  the  critical  notices. 

2  I  always  regretted  that  this  valuable  volume  of  Essays  and  Dissertations  was 
only  "  printed  for  private  distribution,"  and  not  published  for  the  general  good. 

3  About  eighteen  miles  southeast  of  Naples. 


596 


GEORGE  S.  HILLARD. 


which  in  many  places  are  so  close  together  that  the  width  of  the 
road  occupies  the  whole  intervening  space.  On  the  right,  the 
traveller  looks  down  a  cliff  of  some  hundred  feet  or  more  upon 
the  bay,  whose  glossy  floor  is  dappled  with  patches  of  green, 
purple,  and  blue, — the  effect  of  varying  depth,  or  light  and  shade, 
or  clusters  of  rock  overgrown  with  sea-weed  scattered  over  a 
sandy  bottom.1  The  road  combined  rare  elements  of  beauty ;  for 
it  nowhere  pursued  a  monotonous  straight  line,  but  followed  the 
windings  and  turnings  of  this  many-curved  shore.  Sometimes  it 
was  cut  through  solid  ledges  of  rock ;  sometimes  it  was  carried 
on  bridges  over  deep  gorges  and  chasms,  wide  at  the  top  and  nar- 
rowing towards  the  bottom,  where  a  slender  stream  tripped  down 
to  the  sea.  The  sides  of  these  glens  were  often  planted  with 
orange  and  lemon  trees ;  and  we  could  look  down  upon  their 
rounded  tops,  presenting,  with  their  dark-green  foliage,  their 
bright,  almost  luminous  fruit,  and  their  snowy  blossoms,  the 
finest  combination  of  colors  \ which  the  vegetable  kingdom,  in  the 
temperate  zone  at  least,  can  show.  The  scenery  was  in  the 
highest  degree  grand,  beautiful,  and  picturesque, — with  the  most 
animated  contrasts  and  the  most  abrupt  breaks  in  the  line  of 
sight, —  yet  never  savage  or  scowling.  The  mountains  on  the  left 
were  not  bare  and  scalped,  but  shadowed  with  forests,  and  thickly 
overgrown  with  shrubbery, — such  wooded  heights  as  the  genius 
of  Greek  poetry  would  have  peopled  with  bearded  satyrs  and 
buskined  wood-nymphs,  and  made  vocal  with  the  reeds  of  Pan 
and  the  hounds  and  horn  of  Artemis.  All  the  space  near  the 
road  was  stamped  with  the  gentle  impress  of  human  cultivation. 
Fruit-trees  and  vines  were  thickly  planted;  garden  vegetables 
were  growing  in  favorable  exposures ;  and  nouses  were  nestling 
in  the  hollows  or  hanging  to  the  sides  of  the  cliff.  Over  the 
whole  region  there  is  a  smiling  expression  of  wooing  and  invita- 
tion, to  which  the  sparkling  sea  murmured  a  fitting  accompani- 
ment. No  pitiless  ice  and  granite  chill  or  wound  the  eye ;  no 
funereal  cedars  and  pines  darken  the  mind  with  their  Arctic 
shadows ;  but  bloom  and  verdure,  thrown  over  rounded  surfaces, 
and  rich  and  gay  forms  of  foliage  mantling  gray  cliffs  or  waving 
from  rocky  ledges,  give  to  the  face  of  Nature  that  mixture  of 
animation  and  softness  which  is  equally  fitted  to  soothe  a  wounded 
spirit  or  restore  an  overtasked  mind.  If  one  could  only  forget 
the  existence  of  such  words  as  "  duty"  and  "  progress/'  and  step 


1  "  The  colors  of  the  bay  of  Naples  were  a  constant  surprise  and  delight  to  ine, 
from  the  predominance  of  blue  and  purple  over  the  grays  and  greens  of  our 
coast.  I  was  glad  to  find  that  my  impressions  on  this  point  were  confirmed 
by  the  practised  eye  of  Cooper.  There  seem  to  be  some  elements  affecting 
the  color  of  the  sea,  not  derived  from  the  atmosphere  or  the  reflection  of  the 
heavens." 


GEORGE    S.  HILLARD. 


597 


aside  from  the  rushing  stream  of  onward-moving  life,  and  be  con- 
tent with  being,  merely,  and  not  doing;  if  these  lovely  forms 
could  fill  all  the  claims  and  calls  of  one's  nature,  and  all  that  we 
ask  of  sympathy  and  companionship  could  be  found  in  mountain 
breezes  and  breaking  waves ;  if  days  passed  in  communion  with 
nature,  in  which  decay  is  not  hastened  by  anxious  vigils  or  ambi- 
tious toils,  made  up  the  sum  of  life, — where  could  a  better  retreat 
be  found  than  along  this  enchanting  coast  ?  Here  are  the  moun- 
tains, and  there  is  the  sea.  Here  is  a  climate  of  delicious  soft- 
ness, where  no  sharp  extremes  of  heat  and  cold  put  strife  between 
man  and  nature.  Here  is  a  smiling  and  good-natured  population, 
among  whom  no  question  of  religion,  politics,  science,  literature,  or 
humanity  is  ever  discussed,  and  the  surface  of  the  placid  hours  is 
not  ruffled  by  argument  or  contradiction.  Here  a  man  could  hang 
and  ripen,  like  an  orange  on  the  tree,  and  drop  as  gently  out  of 
life  upon  the  bosom  of  the  earth.  There  is  a  fine  couplet  of 
Yirgil,  which  is  full  of  that  tenderness  and  sensibility  which  form 
the  highest  charm  of  his  poetry,  as  they  probably  did  of  his  cha- 
racter, and  they  came  to  my  mind  in  driving  along  this  beautiful 
road  : — 

"  Hie  gelidi  fontes  ;  hie  mollia  prat  a,  Lycori; 
Hie  nemus;  liic  ipso  tecum  consumerer  sevo."1 

There  is  something  in  the  musical  flow  of  these  lines  which 
seems  to  express  the  movement  of  a  quiet  life,  from  which  day 
after  day  loosens  and  falls,  like  leaf  after  leaf  from  a  tree  in  a 
calm  day  of  autumn.  But  Virgil's  air-castle  includes  a  Lycoris; 
that  is,  sympathy,  affection,  and  the  heart's  daily  food.  With 
these,  fountains,  meadows,  and  groves  may  be  dispensed  with ; 
and  without  them,  they  are  not  much  better  than  a  painted 
panorama.  To  have  something  to  do,  and  to  do  it,  is  the  best 
appointment  for  us  all.  Nature,  stern  and  coy,  reserves  her  most 
dazzling  smiles  for  those  who  have  earned  them  by  hard  work 
and  cheerful  sacrifice.  Planted  on  these  shores  and  lapped  in 
pleasurable  sensations,  man  would  turn  into  an  indolent  dreamer 
and  a  soft  voluptuary.  He  is  neither  a  fig  nor  an  orange ;  and 
he  thrives  best  in  the  sharp  air  of  self-denial  and  on  the  rocks 
of  toil. 


Here  cooling  fountains  roll  through  flowing  meads, 
Here  woods,  Lycoris,  lift  their  verdant  heads, 
Here  could  I  wear  my  careless  life  away, 
And  in  thy  arms  insensibly  decay.'' 

Virgil's  Bucolics,  x.  42,  Wkarton'a  version. 


598 


GEORGE   S.  HILLARD. 


SPAIN. 

History  is  ever  justifying  the  ways  of  God  to  man,  and  never 
more  forcibly  than  in  the  fortunes  of  Spain.  If  the  power  has 
been  taken  away  from  her,  it  is  because  it  was  abused ;  if  the 
sceptre  has  been  wrested  from  her  grasp,  it  is  because  it  was  con- 
verted into  a  scourge.  To  no  men  it  is  permitted  to  do  wrong 
with  impunity;  least  of  all  to  the  rulers  of  the  earth.  The 
selfishness  of  tyranny  is  punished  by  the  weakness  to  which  it 
leads,  and  bigotry  extinguishes  in  time  the  religious  principle 
from  which  its  power  to  do  mischief  is  derived.  In  her  present 
weakness,  Spain  is  reaping  the  harvest  of  wrong-doing.  If  her 
ships,  colonies,  and  commerce  are  gone;  if  agriculture  and  manu- 
factures are  neglected  j  if  she  has  no  railroads,  no  active  press, 
no  generally-diffused  education, —  it  is  because  her  rulers  have 
been  tyrants,  her  ministers  of  religion  iron-hearted  and  narrow- 
minded  bigots,  and  her  nobles  indolent  and  profligate  courtiers. 
In  her  desolate  estate  insulted  humanity  is  avenged,  and  the 
retributive  justice  which  has  overtaken  her,  speaks  in  a  voice 
of  warning  to  the  oppressor  and  of  consolation  to  his  victim. 

And  is  there  hope  for  Spain  ?  Will  the  night  pass  away  and 
the  morning  dawn  ?  To  hazard  even  a  conjectural  answer  to 
these  questions  requires  far  more  knowledge  of  the  country  than 
we  possess.  No  traveller  has  visited  Spain  without  bringing  away 
a  strong  sense  alike  of  the  virtues  and  the  capacities  of  her 
people.  With  God  all  things  are  possible;  and  for  mourning 
Iberia  the  hour  may  yet  strike,  and  the  man  may  yet  come.  Who 
would  not  rejoice  to  see  that  prostrate  form  reared  again,  and  the 
light  of  hope  once  more  kindling  those  downcast  eyes, —  the 
golden  harvest  of  opportunity  again  waving  over  her  plains,  and 
the  future  once  more  unbarring  to  the  enterprise  of  her  sons  its 
gates  of  sunrise  ? 

BOOKS. 

In  that  most  interesting  and  instructive  book,  Boswell's  Life 
of  Johnson,  an  incident  is  mentioned  which  I  beg  leave  to  quote 
in  illustration  of  this  part  of  my  subject.  The  Doctor  and  his 
biographer  were  going  down  the  Thames,  in  a  boat,  to  Green- 
wich, and  the  conversation  turned  upon  the  benefits  of  learning, 
which  Dr.  Johnson  maintained  to  be  of  use  to  all  men.  "  '  And 
yet/  said  Boswell,  (  people  go  through  the  world  very  well,  and 
carry  on  the  business  of  life  to  good  advantage,  without  learning/ 
*  Why,  sir/  replied  Dr.  Johnson,  <  that  may  be  true  in  cases  where 
learning  cannot  possibly  be  of  any  use ;  for  instance,  this  boy 
rows  us  as  well  without  learning  as  if  he  could  sing  the  song  of 


GEORGE  S.  HILLARD. 


599 


Orpheus  to  the  Argonauts,  who  were  the  first  sailors/  He  then 
called  to  the  boy,  '  What  would  you  give,  my  lad,  to  know  about 
the  Argonauts  V  '  Sir,'  said  the  boy,  1 1  would  give  what  I  have/ 
Johnson  was  much  pleased  with  this  answer,  and  we  gave  him  a 
double  fare.  Dr.  Johnson  then  turning  to  me,  '  Sir,'  said  he, 
'  a  desire  of  knowledge  is  the  natural  feeling  of  mankind ;  and 
every  human  being,  whose  mind  is  not  debauched,  will  be  willing 
to  give  all  that  he  has  to  get  knowledge/  ;; 

For  the  knowledge  that  comes  from  books  I  would  claim  no 
more  than  it  is  fairly  entitled  to.  I  am  well  aware  that  there  is 
no  inevitable  connection  between  intellectual  cultivation,  on  the 
one  hand,  and  individual  virtue  or  social  well-being,  on  the  other. 
"  The  tree  of  knowledge  is  not  the  tree  of  life."  I  admit  that 
genius  and  learning  are  sometimes  found  in  combination  with 
gross  vices,  and  not  unfrequently  with  contemptible  weaknesses, 
and  that  a  community  at  once  cultivated  and  corrupt  is  no  im- 
possible monster.  But  it  is  no  overstatement  to  say  that,  other 
things  being  equal,  the  man  who  has  the  greatest  amount  of 
intellectual  resources  is  in  the  least  danger  from  inferior  tempta- 
tions ;  if  for  no  other  reason,  because  he  has  fewer  idle  moments. 
The  ruin  of  most  men  dates  from  some  vacant  hour.  Occupation 
is  the  armor  of  the  soul,  and  the  train  of  Idleness  is  borne  up  by 
all  the  vices.  I  remember  a  satirical  poem  in  which  the  Devil  is 
represented  as  fishing  for  men,  and  adapting  his  baits  to  the  taste 
and  temperament  of  his  prey ;  but  the  idler,  he  said,  pleased  him 
most,  because  he  bit  the  naked  hook.  To  a  young  man  away 
from  home,  friendless  and  forlorn  in  a  great  city,  the  hours  of 
peril  are  those  between  sunset  and  bedtime,  for  the  moon  and 
stars  see  more  of  evil  in  a  single  hour  than  the  sun  in  his  whole 
day's  circuit.  The  poet's  visions  of  evening  are  all  compact  of 
tender  and  soothing  images.  It  brings  the  wanderer  to  his  home, 
the  child  to  his  mother's  arms,  the  ox  to  his  stall,  and  the  weary 
laborer  to  his  rest.  But  to  the  gentle-hearted  youth  who  is 
thrown  upon  the  rocks  of  a  pitiless  city,  and  stands  "  homeless 
amid  a  thousand  homes,"  the  approach  of  evening  brings  with  it 
an  aching  sense  of  loneliness  and  desolation  which  comes  down 
upon  the  spirit  like  darkness  upon  the  earth.  In  this  mood, 
his  best  impulses  become  a  snare  to  him,  and  he  is  led  astray 
because  he  is  social,  affectionate,  sympathetic,  and  warm-hearted. 
If  there  be  a  young  man  thus  circumstanced  within  the  sound 
of  my  voice,  let  me  say  to  him  that  books  are  the  friends  of  the 
friendless,  and  that  a  library  is  the  home  of  the  homeless.  A 
taste  for  reading  will  always  carry  you  into  the  best  possible  com- 
pany, and  enable  you  to  converse  with  men  who  will  instruct  you 
by  their  wisdom  and  charm  you  by  their  wit,  who  will  soothe 
you  when .  fretted,  refresh  you  when  weary,  counsel  you  when 


600 


LUCRETIA  MARIA  DAVIDSON. 


perplexed,  and  sympathize  with  you  at  all  times.  Evil  spirits, 
in  the  Middle  Ages,  were  exorcised  and  driven  away  by  bell, 
book,  and  candle ;  you  want  but  two  of  these  agents,  the  book 
and  the  candle. 

Address  before  the  Mercantile  Library  Association. 


LUCRETIA  MARIA  DAVIDSON,  1808—1825. 

Lucretia  Maria  Davidson,  second  daughter  of  Dr.  Oliver  Davidson,  was 
born,  September  27,  180S,  at  Plattsburg,  on  Lake  Ckamplain.  Her  parents  were 
in  straitened  circumstances,  and  her  mother  in  feeble  health,  and  from  these 
causes  it  became  necessary  that  she  should  devote  most  of  her  time  to  domestic 
duties.  But  for  these  she  had  no  inclination ;  and  therefore,  when  her  work  was 
done,  she  retired  to  enjoy  those  intellectual  and  imaginative  pursuits  in  which 
her  whole  heart  was  engaged.  Her  thirst  for  knowledge  was  wonderful ;  and 
before  she  was  twelve  years  old,  she  had  read  Shakspeare,  and  many  of  the 
standard  English  poets.  Though  she  had  no  one  to  direct  or  advise  her,  she 
continued  not  only  to  read  poetry,  but  also  to  write  it  so  as  to  excite  the  astonish- 
ment and  admiration  of  every  one.  When  about  twelve  years  old,  a  gentleman 
who  was  delighted  with  her  verses  sent  her  a  bank-note  of  twenty  dollars.  Her 
first  joyful  thought  was  that  she  had  now  the  means  of  increasing  her  little  stock 
of  books;  but,  looking  towards  the  sick  bed  of  her  mother,  who  had  been  confined 
by  illness  for  many  months,  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  instantly  put  the 
note  into  her  father's  hand,  saying,  "  Take  it,  father :  it  will  buy  many  comforts 
for  mother.  I  can  do  without  the  books."  Such  an  exhibition  of  filial  love  and 
gratitude  endears  her  to  us  far  more  than  all  her  poetry. 

When  she  had  just  passed  sixteen,  a  gentleman  who  was  on  a  visit  at  Platts- 
burg, being  made  acquainted  with  her  history,  genius,  and  limited  means,  resolved 
to  afford  her  the  benefits  of  a  good  education.  Accordingly,  she  was  placed  at  the 
"  Troy  Female  Seminary,"  where  she  had  all  the  advantages  for  which  she  had 
hungered  and  thirsted.  Here  her  application  was  incessant,  and  its  effects  on  her 
constitution — already  somewhat  debilitated  by  previous  disease — soon  became 
apparent.  On  her  return  home  in  vacation,  she  had  a  serious  illness,  which  left 
her  more  feeble  than  ever,  and  she  gradually  declined,  till  death  released  her 
pure  spirit  from  its  prison-house  on  the  27th  of  August,  1S25.  "In  our  own  lan- 
guage," says  the  poet  Southey,  "we  can  call  to  mind  no  instance,  except  in  the 
cases  of  Chatterton  and  Kirke  White,  of  so  early,  so  ardent,  and  so  fatal  a  pursuit 
of  intellectual  advancement."1 


1  "Let  no  parent  wish  for  a  child  of  precocious  genius,  nor  rejoice  over  such  a 
one,  without  fear  and  trembling!  Great  endowments,  whether  of  nature  or  of 
fortune,  bring  with  them  their  full  proportion  of  temptations  and  dangers ;  and, 
perhaps,  in  the  endowments  of  nature  the  danger  is  greatest,  because  there  is 
most  at  stake.  It  seems,  in  most  cases,  as  if  the  seeds  of  moral  and  intellectual 
excellence  were  not  designed  to  bring  forth  fruits  on  earth,  but  that  they  are 
brought  into  existence,  and  developed  here,  only  for  transportation  to  a  world 
where  there  shall  be  nothing  to  corrupt  or  hurt  them,  nothing  to  impede  their 


LUCRETIA  MARIA  DAVIDSON. 


601 


In  person,  Miss  Davidson  was  singularly  beautiful :  sbe  had  a  high,  open  fore- 
head, a  soft  black  eye,  perfect  symmetry  of  features,  a  fair  complexion,  and  luxu- 
riant, dark  hair.    The  prevailing  expression  of  her  face  was  melancholy. 


SONG  AT  TWILIGHT.1 

When  evening  spreads  her  shades  around, 
And  darkness  fills  the  arch  of  heaven ; 

When  not  a  murmur,  not  a  sound, 
To  Fancy's  sportive  ear  is  given; 

When  the  broad  orb  of  heaven  is  bright, 
And  looks  around  with  golden  eye ; 

When  Nature,  soften'd  by  her  light, 
Seems  calmly,  solemnly  to  lie; 

Then,  when  our  thoughts  are  raised  above 
This  world,  and  all  this  world  can  give, 

Oh,  sister,  sing  the  song  I  love, 
And  tears  of  gratitude  receive  ! 

The  song  which  thrills  my  bosom's  core, 
And,  hovering,  trembles  half  afraid, 

Oh,  sister,  sing  the  song  once  more 
Which  ne'er  for  mortal  ear  was  made. 

'Twere  almost  sacrilege  to  sing 

Those  notes  amid  the  glare  of  day; 

Notes  borne  by  angels'  purest  wing, 
And  wafted  by  their  breath  away. 

When,  sleeping  in  my  grass-grown  bed, 
Shouldst  thou  still  linger  here  above, 

Wilt  thou  not  kneel  beside  my  head, 
And,  sister,  sing  the  song  I  love? 


THE  PROPHECY. 

Let  me  gaze  a  while  on  that  marble  brow, 

On  that  full  dark  eye,  on  that  cheek's  warm  glow; 

Let  me  gaze  for  a  moment,  that,  ere  I  die, 

I  may  read  thee,  maiden,  a  prophecy. 

That  brow  may  beam  in  glory  a  while ; 

That  cheek  may  bloom,  and  that  lip  may  smile ; 

That  full,  dark  eye  may  brightly  beam 

In  life's  gay  morn,  in  hope's  young  dream; 

But  clouds  shall  darken  that  brow  of  snow, 

And  sorrow  blight  thy  bosom's  glow. 

I  know  by  that  spirit  so  haughty  and  high, 

I  know  by  that  brightly-flashing  eye, 


growth  in  goodness,  and  their  progress  towards  perfection."  Head  the  article  in 
the  "  Quarterly  Review"  for  November,  1829,  by  the  poet  Southey;  also  "  Re- 
mains," by  S.  F.  B.  Morse. 

1  Addressed  to  her  sister,  requesting  her  to  sing  Moore's  "Farewell  to  his 
Harp." 

51 


602 


LUCRETIA  MARIA  DAVIDSON. 


That,  maiden,  there's  that  within  thy  breast 

Which  hath  marked  thee  out  for  a  soul  unbless'd; 

The  strife  of  love  with  pride  shall  wring 

Thy  youthful  bosom's  tenderest  string; 

And  the  cup  of  sorrow,  mingled  for  thee, 

Shall  be  drain' d  to  the  dregs  in  agony. 

Yes,  maiden,  yes,  I  read  in  thine  eye 

A  dark  and  a  doubtful  prophecy. 

Thou  shalt  love,  and  that  love  shall  be  thy  curse; 

Thou  wilt  need  no  heavier,  shalt  feel  no  worse. 

I  see  the  cloud  and  the  tempest  near; 

The  voice  of  the  troubled  tide  I  hear; 

The  torrent  of  sorrow,  the  sea  of  grief, 

The  rushing  waves  of  a  wretched  life ; 

Thy  bosom's  bark  on  the  surge  I  see, 

And,  maiden,  thy  loved  one  is  there  with  thee. 

Not  a  star  in  the  heavens,  not  a  light  on  the  wave ! 

Maiden,  I've  gazed  on  thine  early  grave. 

"When  I  am  cold,  and  the  hand  of  Death 

Hath  crown'd  my  brow  with  an  icy  wreath ; 

When  the  dew  hangs  damp  on  this  motionless  lip ; 

When  this  eye  is  closed  in  its  long,  last  sleep, — 

Then,  maiden,  pause,  when  thy  heart  beats  high, 

And  think  on  my  last,  sad  prophecy. 


TO  MY  MOTHER.1 

0  thou  whose  care  sustain'd  my  infant  years, 
And  taught  my  prattling  lip  each  note  of  love ; 

Whose  soothing  voice  breathed  comfort  to  my  fears, 
And  round  my  brow  hope's  brightest  garland  wove; 

To  thee  my  lay  is  due,  the  simplest  song 

Which  Nature  gave  me  at  life's  opening  day ; 

To  thee  these  rude,  these  untaught  strains  belong, 
Whose  heart  indulgent  will  not  spurn  my  lay. 

Oh,  say,  amid  this  wildei-ness  of  life, 

What  bosom  would  have  throbb'd  like  thine  for  me  ? 
Who  would  have  smiled  responsive  ? — who  in  grief 

Would  e'er  have  felt,  and,  feeling,  grieved  like  thee  ? 

Who  would  have  guarded,  with  a  falcon  eye, 
Each  trembling  footstep,  or  each  sport  of  fear  ? 

Who  would  have  mark'd  my  bosom  bounding  high, 
And  clasp'd  me  to  her  heart,  with  love's  bright  tear  ? 

Who  would  have  hung  around  my  sleepless  couch, 
And  fann'd,  with  anxious  hand,  my  burning  brow  ? 

Who  would  have  fondly  pressed  my  fever'd  lip, 
In  all  the  agony  of  love  and  woe  ? 

None  bufe  a  mother, — none  but  one  like  thee, 
Whose  bloom  has  faded  in  the  midnight  watch ; 


1  This  was  written  but  a  few  months  before  her  death. 


HANNAH  F.  GOULD. 


603 


Whose  eye,  for  me,  lias  lost  its  witchery  ; 
Whose  form  has  felt  disease's  mildew  touch. 

Yes,  thou  hast  lighted  me  to  health  and  life, 
By  the  bright  lustre  of  thy  youthful  bloom, — 

Yes,  thou  hast  wept  so  oft  o'er  every  grief, 

That  woe  hath  traced  thy  brow  with  marks  of  gloom. 

Oh,  then,  to  thee,  this  rude  and  simple  song, 

Which  breathes  of  thankfulness  and  love  for  thee, 

To  thee,  my  mother,  shall  this  lay  belong, 
Whose  life  is  spent  in  toil  and  care  for  me. 


HANNAH  FLAGG  GOULD. 

Hannah  Flagg  Gould  was  born  in  Lancaster,  Vermont;  but  while  yet  a 
child  her  father  removed  to  Newburyport,  Massachusetts.  She  early  wrote  for 
several  periodicals,  and  in  1S32  her  poetical  pieces  were  collected  in  a  volume. 
In  1835  and  in  1841,  a  second  and  third  volume  appeared,  entitled  simply  Poems; 
and  in  1846  she  collected  a  volume  of  her  prose  compositions,  entitled  Gathered 
Leaves.  Of  her  poetry,  a  writer  in  the  "  Christian  Examiner"1  remarks  that  it  is 
impossible  to  find  fault.  It  is  so  sweet  and  unpretending,  so  pure  in  purpose, 
and  so  gentle  in  expression,  that  criticism  is  disarmed  of  all  severity,  and  en- 
gaged to  say  nothing  of  it  but  good.  It  is  poetry  for  a  sober,  quiet,  kindly- 
affectioned  Christian  heart.  It  is  poetry  for  a  united  family  circle  in  their  hours 
of  peace  and  leisure.  For  such  companionship  it  was  made,  and  into  such  it 
will  find  and  has  found  its  way. 

A  NAME  IN  THE  SAND. 

Alone  I  walk'd  the  ocean  strand ; 
A  pearly  shell  was  in  my  hand : 
I  stoop'd  and  wrote  upon  the  sand 

My  name — the  year — the  day. 
As  onward  from  the  spot  I  pass'd, 
One  lingering  look  behind  I  cast  : 
A  wave  came  rolling  high  and  fast, 

And  wash'd  my  lines  away. 

And  so,  methought,  'twill  shortly  be 
With  every  mark  on  earth  from  me : 
A  wave  of  dark  Oblivion's  sea 

Will  sweep  across  the  place 
Where  I  have  trod  the  sandy  shore 
Of  Time,  and  been  to  be  no  more, 
Of  me — my  day — the  name  I  bore, 

To  leave  nor  track  nor  trace. 


i  Vol.  xiv.  p.  320. 


604 


HANNAH  F.  GOULD. 


And  yet,  with  Him  who  counts  the  sands, 
And  holds  the  waters  in  his  hands, 
I  know  a  lasting  record  stands, 

Inscribed  against  my  name, 
Of  all  this  mortal  part  has  wrought; 
Of  all  this  thinking  soul  has  thought : 
And  from  these  fleeting  moments  caught 

For  glory  or  for  shame. 


THE  PEBBLE  AND  THE  ACORN. 

"  I  am  a  Pebble !  and  yield  to  none  !" 
Were  the  swelling  words  of  a  tiny  stone  ; — 
"  Nor  time  nor  seasons  can  alter  me  ; 
I  am  abiding,  while  ages  flee. 
The  pelting  hail  and  the  drizzling  rain 
Have  tried  to  soften  me,  long,  in  vain ; 
And  the  tender  dew  has  sought  to  melt 
Or  touch  my  heart ;  but  it  was  not  felt. 
There's  none  can  tell  about  my  birth, 
For  I'm  old  as  the  big,  round  earth. 
The  children  of  men  arise,  and  pass 
Out  of  the  world,  like  the  blades  of  grass ; 
And  many  a  foot  on  me  has  trod, 
That's  gone  from  sight,  and  under  the  sod. 
I  am  a  Pebble !  but  who  art  thou, 
Rattling  along  from  the  restless  bough  !" 

The  Acorn  was  shock'd  at  this  rude  salute, 
And  lay  for  a  moment  abash'd  and  mute ; 
She  never  before  had  been  so  near 
This  gravelly  ball,  the  mundane  sphere ; 
And  she  felt  for  a  time  at  a  loss  to  know 
How  to  answer  a  thing  so  coarse  and  low. 
But  to  give  reproof  of  a  nobler  sort 
Than  the  angry  look,  or  the  keen  retort, 
At  length  she  said,  in  a  gentle  tone, 
"  Since  it  has  happen'd  that  I  am  thrown 
From  the  lighter  element  where  I  grew, 
Down  to  another  so  hard  and  new, 
And  beside  a  personage  so  august, 
Abased,  I  will  cover  my  head  with  dust, 
And  quickly  retire  from  the  sight  of  one 
Whom  time,  nor  season,  nor  storm,  nor  sun, 
Nor  the  gentle  dew,  nor  the  grinding  heel, 
Has  ever  subdued,  or  made  to  feel!" 
And  soon  in  the  eai'th  she  sank  away 
From  the  comfortless  spot  where  the  Pebble  lay. 

But  it  was  not  long  ere  the  soil  was  broke 
By  the  peering  head  of  an  infant  oak ! 
And,  as  it  arose,  and  its  branches  spread, 
The  Pebble  looked  up,  and.  wondering,  said, 
"A  modest  Acorn — never  to  tell 
What  was  enclosed  in  its  simple  shell ! 


HANNAH  F.  GOULD. 


605 


That  the  pride  of  the  forest  was  folded  up 

In  the  narrow  space  of  its  little  cup ! 

And  meekly  to  sink  in  the  darksome  earth, 

Which  proves  that  nothing  could  hide  her  worth ! 

And,  oh !  how  many  will  tread  on  me, 

To  come  and  admire  the  beautiful  tree, 

Whose  head  is  towering  toward  the  sky, 

Above  such  a  worthless  thing  as  I! 

Useless  and  vain,  a  cumberer  here, 

I  have  been  idling  from  year  to  year. 

But  never  from  this  shall  a  vaunting  word 

From  the  humbled  Pebble  again  be  heard, 

Till  something  without  me  or  within 

Shall  show  the  purpose  for  which  I've  been!" 

The  Pebble  its  vow  could  not  forget, 

And  it  lies  there  wrapt  in  silence  yet. 


THE  FROST. 

The  Frost  look'd  forth  one  still  clear  night, 
And  whisper'd,  "  Now  I  shall  be  out  of  sight: 
So,  through  the  valley,  and  over  the  height, 

In  silence  I'll  take  my  way. 
I  will  not  go  on  like  that  blustering  train — 
The  Wind  and  the  Snow,  the  Hail  and  the  Rain — 
Who  make  so  much  bustle  and  noise  in  vain ; 

But  I'll  be  as  busy  as  they." 

Then  he  flew  to  the  mountain  and  powder'd  its  crest ; 
He  lit  on  the  trees,  and  their  boughs  he  drest 
In  diamond  beads  ;  and  over  the  breast 

Of  the  quivering  lake  he  spread 
A  coat  of  mail,  that  it  need  not  fear 
The  downward  point  of  many  a  spear 
That  he  hung  on  its  margin,  far  and  near 

Where  a  rock  could  rear  its  head. 

He  went  to  the  windows  of  those  who  slept, 
And  over  each  pane,  like  a  fairy,  crept ; 
Wherever  he  breathed,  wherever  he  stept, 

By  the  light  of  the  moon,  were  seen 
Most  beautiful  things  :  there  were  flowers  and  trees ; 
There  were  bevies  of  birds,  and  swarms  of  bees ; 
There  were  cities,  with  temples  and  towers, — and  these 

All  pictured  in  silver  sheen ! 

But  he  did  one  thing  that  was  hardly  fair : 
He  peep'd  in  the  cupboaixl,  and  finding  there 
That  all  had  forgotten  for  him  to  prepare — 

"  Now,  just  to  set  them  a-thinking, 
I'll  bite  this  basket  of  fruit,"  said  he, 
"  This  costly  pitcher  I'll  burst  in  three  ; 
And  the  glass  of  water  they've  left  for  me 

Shall  'tchick!'  to  tell  them  I'm  drinking." 
51* 


G06 


JOHN  G.  WHITTIER. 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

Tnis  true  poet  of  freedom  and  humanity,  known  and  loved  in  both  hemispheres, 
is  of  a  Quaker  family,  and  was  born  near  Haverhill,  Massachusetts,  in  1808. 
Until  he  was  eighteen  years  of  age,  he  remained  at  home,  passing  his  time  in  the 
district  school,  in  assisting  his  father  on  the  farm,  and  writing  occasional  verses 
for  the  "Haverhill  Gazette."  After  spending  two  years  in  the  Academy  at 
Haverhill,  he  went  to  Boston  in  1828,  and  became  editor  of  the  "American 
Manufacturer,"  a  newspaper  devoted  to  the  interest  of  a  protective  tariff.  In 
1830,  he  became  editor  of  the  "New  England  "Weekly  Review,"  published  at 
Hartford,  and  remained  connected  with  it  for  about  two  years ;  during  which 
period  he  published  a  volume  of  poems  and  prose  sketches,  entitled  Legends  of 
New  England.  He  then  returned  home,  and  soon  after  was  elected  by  the  town 
of  Haverhill  a  representative  to  the  Legislature  of  his  native  State.  In  1836,  he 
was  elected  Secretary  of  the  American  Anti-Slavery  Society,  and  defended  its 
principles  as  editor  of  the  "Pennsylvania  Freeman,"  a  weekly  paper  published  in 
Philadelphia.  About  this  time  appeared  his  longest  poem,  Mogg  Megone,  an  In- 
dian story,  which  takes  its  name  from  a  leader  among  the  Saco  Indians  in  the 
bloody  war  of  1677. 

In  1840,  Mr.  Whittier  removed  to  Amesburjr,  Massachusetts,  where  all  his 
later  publications  have  been  written.  In  1845  appeared  The  Stranger  in  Lowell, 
a  series  of  sketches  of  scenery  and  character  such  as  that  famed  manufacturing 
town  might  naturally  suggest.  In  1847,  he  became  corresponding  editor  of  the 
"National  Era,"  published  at  Washington,  and  gave  to  that  paper  no  small  share 
of  its  deserved  celebrity.  The  next  year,  a  beautifully-illustrated  edition  of  all 
his  poems,  including  his  Voices  of  Freedom,  was  published  by  Mussey,  of  Boston. 
In  1S49  appeared  his  Leaves  from  Margaret  Smith's  Journal,  written  in  the  antique 
style  by  the  fictitious  fair  journalist,  who  visits  New  England  in  1678,  and  writes 
letters  to  a  gentleman  in  England,  to  whom  she  is  to  be  married,  descriptive  of 
the  manners  and  influences  of  the  times.  In  1850  appeared  his  volume  Old  Por- 
traits and  Modem  Sketches,  a  series  of  prose  essays  on  Bunyan,  Baxter,  &c. ; 
and,  in  the  same  year,  Songs  of  Labor,  and  other  Poems,  in  which  he  dignifies  and 
renders  interesting  the  mechanic  arts  by  the  associations  of  history  and  fancy. 
Since  that  time  he  has  published  Lays  of  Home,  and  The  Chapel  of  the  Hermits, 
and  other  Poems;  while  he  frequently  enriches  the  columns  of  the  "National 
Era"  with  some  felicitous  prose  essay,  or  some  soul-stirring  poem.  Since  the 
establishment  of  the  "Atlantic  Monthly"  he  has  contributed  to  almost  every 
number. 

Though  boldness,  energy,  and  strength  are  Whittier's  leading  characteristics, 
and  though  many  of  his  poems  breathe,  in  soul-stirring  language,  a  defiant  tone 
to  the  oppressor,  and  show  a  hatred  of  slavery  as  intense,  if  possible,  as  it  de- 
serves, yet  many  of  his  prose  works  and  poems  are  marked  by  a  tenderness, 
a  grace,  and  a  beauty  not  exceeded  by  those  of  any  other  American  writer.  Ho 
thus  unites  qualities  seemingly  opposite  in  a  heart  every  pulsation  of  which  beats 
warmly  for  humanity. 


JOHN  G.  WHITTIER. 


PALESTINE. 

Blest  land  of  Judea !  thrice  hallow'd  of  song, 
Where  the  holiest  of  memories  pilgrim-like  throng ; 
In  the  shade  of  thy  palms,  by  the  shores  of  thy  sea, 
On  the  hills  of  thy  beauty,  my  heart  is  with  thee. 

With  the  eye  of  a  spirit  I  look  on  that  shore, 
Where  pilgrim  and  prophet  have  linger'd  before ; 
With  the  glide  of  a  spirit  I  traverse  the  sod 
Made  bright  by  the  steps  of  the  angels  of  God. 

Lo,  Bethlehem's  hill-side  before  me  is  seen, 
With  the  mountains  around  and  the  valleys  between ; 
There  rested  the  shepherds  of  Judah,  and  there 
The  song  of  the  angels  rose  sweet  on  the  air. 

And  Bethany's  palm-trees  in  beauty  still  throw 
Their  shadows  at  noon  on  the  ruins  below  ; 
But  where  are  the  sisters  who  hasten'd  to  greet 
The  lowly  Redeemer,  and  sit  at  His  feet  ? 

I  tread  where  the  twelve  in  their  wayfaring  trod ; 
I  stand  where  they  stood  with  the  chosen  of  God, — 
Where  His  blessings  were  heard  and  His  lessons  were  taught, 
Where  the  blind  were  restored  and  the  healing  was  wrought. 

Oh,  here  with  His  flock  the  sad  Wanderer  came, — 
These  hills  He  toil'd  over  in  grief,  are  the  same, — 
The  founts  where  He  drank  by  the  wayside  still  flow, 
And  the  same  airs  are  blowing  which  breathed  on  his  brow ! 

And  throned  on  her  hills  sits  Jerusalem  yet, 
But  with  dust  on  her  forehead,  and  chains  on  her  feet ; 
For  the  crown  of  her  pride  to  the  mocker  hath  gone, 
And  the  holy  Shechinah  is  dark  where  it  shone. 

But  wherefore  this  dream  of  the  earthly  abode 
Of  humanity  clothed  in  the  brightness  of  God  ? 
Were  my  spirit  but  turned  from  the  outward  and  dim, 
It  could  gaze,  even  now,  on  the  presence  of  Him. 

Not  in  clouds  and  in  terrors,  but  gentle  as  when, 

In  love  and  in  meekness,  He  moved  among  men  ; 

And  the  voice  which  breathed  peace  to  the  waves  of  the  sea, 

In  the  hush  of  my  spirit  would  whisper  to  me ! 

And  what  if  my  feet  may  not  tread  where  He  stood, 
Nor  my  ears  hear  the  dashing  of  Galilee's  flood, 
Nor  my  eyes  see  the  cross  which  He  bow'd  him  to  bear, 
Nor  my  knees  press  Gethsemane's  garden  of  prayer. 

Yet,  Loved  of  the  Father,  Thy  Spirit  is  near 
To  the  meek,  and  the  lowly,  and  penitent  here  ; 
And  the  voice  of  thy  love  is  the  same  even  now, 
As  at  Bethany's  tomb,  or  on  Olivet's  brow. 


608 


JOHN  G.  WHITTIER. 


Oh,  the  outward  hath  gone ! — but,  in  glory  and  power, 
The  Spirit  surviveth  the  things  of  an  hour ; 
Unchanged,  undecaying,  its  Pentecost  flame 
On  the  heart's  secret  altar  is  burning  the  same ! 


CLERICAL  OPPRESSORS. 

[In  the  Report  of  the  celebrated  pro-slavery  meeting  in  Charleston,  South  Carolina,  on  the 
4th  of  9th  month,  1835,  published  in  the  "Courier"  of  that  city,  it  is  stated, — 4iThe  CLERGY 
of  all  dmominations  attended  in  a  body,  lending  their  sanction  to  the  proceedings,  and 
adding  by  their  presence  to  the  impressive  character  of  the  scene."] 

Just  God  !  and  these  are  they 
Who  minister  at  thine  altar,  God  of  Right! 
Men  who  their  hands  with  prayer  and  blessing  lay 

On  Israel's  Ark  of  light ! 

What !  preach,  and  kidnap  men  ? 
Give  thanks, — and  rob  Thy  own  afflicted  poor  ? 
Talk  of  Thy  glorious  liberty,  and  then 

Bolt  hard  the  captive's  door ! 

What !  servants  of  Thy  own 
Merciful  Son,  who  came  to  seek  and  save 
The  homeless  and  the  outcast, — fettering  down 

The  task'd  and  plunder'd  slave ! 

Pilot  and  Herod,  friends ! 
Chief  priests  and  rulers,  as  of  old,  combine ! 
Just  God  and  holy  !  is  that  church,  which  lends 

Strength  to  the  spoiler,  Thine  ? 

Paid  hypocrites,  who  turn 
Judgment  aside,  and  rob  the  Holy  Book 
Of  those  high  words  of  truth  which  search  and  burn 

In  warning  and  rebuke  ; 

Feed  fat,  ye  locusts,  feed  ! 
And,  in  your  tassell'd  pulpits,  thank  the  Lord 
That,  from  the  toiling  bondman's  utter  need, 

Ye  pile  your  own  full  board. 

How  long,  0  Lord !  how  long 
Shall  such  a  priesthood  barter  truth  away, 
And,  in  Thy  name,  for  robbery  and  wrong 

At  Thy  own  altars  pray  ? 

Is  not  Thy  hand  stretch'd  forth 
Visibly  in  the  heavens,  to  awe  and  smite  ? 
Shall  not  the  living  God  of  all  the  earth, 

And  heaven  above,  do  right  ? 

Woe,  then,  to  all  who  grind 
Their  brethren  of  a  common  Father  down  ! 
To  all  who  plunder  from  the  immortal  mind 

Its  bright  and  glorious  crown! 

Woe  to  the  priesthood  !  woe 
To  those  whose  hire  is  with  the  price  of  blood, — 


JOHN  G.  WHITTIER. 


609 


Perverting,  darkening,  changing  as  they  go, 
The  searching  truths  of  God ! 

Their  glory  and  their  might 
Shall  perish  ;  and  their  very  names  shall  be 
Vile  before  all  the  people,  in  the  light 

Of  a  world's  liberty. 

Oh  !  speed  the  moment  on 
When  Wrong  shall  cease, — and  Liberty  and  Love, 
And  Truth,  and  Right,  throughout  the  earth  be  known 

As  in  their  home  above. 


ICHABOD  I 

So  fallen !  so  lost !  the  light  withdrawn 

Which  once  he  wore  ! 
The  glory  from  his  gray  hairs  gone 

For  evermore ! 

Revile  him  not, — the  Tempter  hath 

A  snare  for  all ! 
And  pitying  tears,  not  scorn  and  wrath, 

Befit  his  fall. 

Oh !  dumb  be  passion's  stormy  rage, 

When  he  who  might 
Have  lighted  up  and  led  his  age 

Falls  back  in  night. 

Scorn !  would  the  angels  laugh  to  mark 

A  bright  soul  driven, 
Fiend-goaded,  down  the  endless  dark, 

From  hope  and  heaven  ? 

Let  not  the  land,  once  proud  of  him, 

Insult  him  now, 
Nor  brand  with  deeper  shame  his  dim 

Dishonor'd  brow. 

But  let  its  humbled  sons,  instead, 

From  sea  to  lake, 
A  long  lament,  as  for  the  dead, 

In  sadness  make. 

Of  all  we  loved  and  honor'd,  nought 

Save  power  remains, — 
A  fallen  angel's  pride  of  thought 

Still  strong  in  chains. 

All  else  is  gone ;  from  those  great  eyes 

The  soul  has  fled: 
When  faith  is  lost,  when  honor  dies, 

The  man  is  dead! 


1  These  lines,  so  full  of  tender  regret,  deep  grief,  and  touching  pathos,  were 
written  when  the  news  came  of  the  sad  course  of  Daniel  Webster  in  supporting  the 
''Compromise  Measures,"  including  the  "  Fugitive  Slave  Law,"  in  his  speech  de- 
livered in  the  United  States  Senate,  on  the  7th  of  March,  1850. 


JOHN  G.  WHITTIER. 


Then  pay  the  reverence  of  old  days 

To  his  dead  fame  ; 
Walk  backward  with  averted  gaze, 

And  hide  the  shame  ! 


MAUD  MULLER. 

Maud  Muller,  on  a  summer's  day, 
Raked  the  meadow  sweet  with  hay. 

Beneath  her  torn  hat  glow'd  the  wealth 
Of  simple  beauty  and  rustic  health. 

Singing,  she  wrought,  and  her  merry  glee 
The  mock-bird  echoed  from  his  tree. 

But,  when  she  glanced  to  the  far-off  town, 
White  from  its  hill-slope  looking  down, 

The  sweet  song  died,  and  a  vague  unrest 
And  a  nameless  longing  fill'd  her  breast, — 

A  wish  that  she  hardly  dared  to  own, 
For  something  better  than  she  had  known. 

The  Judge  rode  slowly  down  the  lane, 
Smoothing  his  horse's  chestnut  mane. 

He  drew  his  bridle  in  the  shade 

Of  the  apple-trees,  to  greet  the  maid ; 

And  ask'd  a  draught  from  the  spring  that  flow'd 
Through  the  meadow  across  the  road. 

She  stoop'd  where  the  cool  spring  bubbled  up, 
And  fill'd  for  him  her  small  tin  cup, 

And  blush'd  as  she  gave  it,  looking  down 
On  her  feet  so  bare,  and  her  tatter'd  gown. 

"  Thanks  !"  said  the  Judge,  "  a  sweeter  draught 
From  a  fairer  hand  was  never  quaff 'd." 

He  spoke  of  the  grass  and  flowers  and  trees 
Of  the  singing  birds  and  the  humming  bees ; 

Then  talk'd  of  the  haying,  and  wonder'd  whether 
The  cloud  in  the  west  would  bring  foul  weather. 

And  Maud  forgot  her  brier-torn  gown, 
And  her  graceful  ankles  bare  and  brown ; 

And  listen'd,  while  a  pleased  surprise 
Look'd  from  her  long-lash'd  hazel  eyes. 

At  last,  like  one  who  for  delay 
Seeks  a  vain  excuse,  he  rode  away. 

Maud  Muller  look'd  and  sigh'd :  "Ah  me! 
That  I  the  Judge's  bride  might  be ! 

"He  would  dress  me  up  in  silks  so  fine, 
And  praise  and  toast  me  at  his  wine. 


JOHN  G.  WHITTIER. 


"  My  father  should  wear  a  broadcloth  coat ; 
My  brother  should  sail  a  painted  boat. 

"  I'd  dress  my  mother  so  grand  and  gay, 
And  the  baby  should  have  a  new  toy  each  day. 

"  And  I'd  feed  the  hungry,  and  clothe  the  poor, 
And  all  should  bless  me  who  left  our  door." 

The  Judge  look'd  back  as  he  climb'd  the  hill, 
And  saw  Maud  Muller  standing  still. 

"  A  form  more  fair,  a  face  more  sweet, 
Ne*er  hath  it  been  my  lot  to  meet. 

"And  her  modest  answer  and  graceful  air 
Show  her  wise  and  good  as  she  is  fair. 

"  Would  she  were  mine,  and  I  to-day, 
Like  her,  a  harv ester  of  hay  : 

"  No  doubtful  balance  of  rights  and  wrongs, 
Nor  weary  lawyers  with  endless  tongues, 

"  But  low  of  cattle  and  song  of  birds, 
And  health,  and  quiet,  and  loving  words." 

But  he  thought  of  his  sisters  proud  and  cold, 
And  his  mother  vain  of  her  rank  and  gold. 

So,  closing  his  heart,  the  Judge  rode  on, 
And  Maud  was  left  in  the  field  alone. 

But  the  lawyers  smiled  that  afternoon, 
When  he  humm'd  in  court  an  old  love-tune ; 

And  the  young  girl  mused  beside  the  well, 
Till  the  rain  on  the  unraked  clover  fell. 

He  wedded  a  wife  of  richest  dower, 
Who  lived  for  fashion,  as  he  for  power. 

Yet  oft,  in  his  marble  hearth's  bright  glow, 
He  watch'd  a  picture  come  and  go : 

And  sweet  Maud  Muller' s  hazel  eyes 
Look'd  out  in  their  innocent  surprise. 

Oft,  when  the  wine  in  his  glass  was  red, 
He  long'd  for  the  wayside  well  instead, 

And  closed  his  eyes  on  his  garnish'd  rooms, 
To  dream  of  meadows  and  clover-blooms. 

And  the  proud  man  sigh'd,  with  a  secret  pain : 
"Ah,  that  I  were  free  again! 

"  Free  as  when  I  rode  that  day, 

Where  the  barefoot  maiden  raked  her  hay." 

She  wedded  a  man  unlearn'd  and  poor, 
And  many  children  play'd  round  her  door. 

But  care,  and  sorrow,  and  childbirth  pain, 
Left  their  traces  on  heart  and  brain. 


612 


JOHN  G.  "WHITTIER. 


And  oft,  "when  the  summer  sun  shone  hot 
On  the  new-mown  hay  in  the  meadow  lot, 

And  she  heard  the  little  spring  brook  fall 
Over  the  roadside,  through  the  wall, 

In  the  shade  of  the  apple-tree  again 
She  saw  a  rider  draw  his  rein, 

And,  gazing  down  "with  timid  grace, 
She  felt  his  pleased  eyes  read  her  face. 

Sometimes  her  narrow  kitchen  walls 
Stretch'd  away  into  stately  halls ; 

The  weary  wheel  to  a  spinnet  turn'd, 
The  tallow  candle  an  astral  burn'd, 

And  for  him  who  sat  by  the  chimney  lug, 
Dozing  and  grumbling  o'er  pipe  and  mug, 

A  manly  form  at  her  side  she  saw, 
And  joy  was  duty,  and  loye  was  law. 

Then  she  took  up  her  burden  of  life  again, 
Saying  only,  "It  might  have  been." 

Alas  for  maiden,  alas  for  Judge, 

For  rich  repiner  and  household  drudge  ! 

God  pity  them  both,  and  pity  us  all, 
Who  vainly  the  dreams  of  youth  recall. 

For  of  all  sad  words  of  tongue  or  pen, 

The  saddest  are  these :  "It  might  have  been  !" 

Ah,  well !  for  us  all  some  sweet  hope  lies 
Deeply  buried  from  human  eyes  ; 

And,  in  the  hereafter,  angels  may 
Roll  the  stone  from  its  grave  away  ! 


THE  WISH  OF  TO-DAY. 

I  ask  not  now  for  gold  to  gild 

With  mocking  shine  a  weary  frame  ; 

The  yearning  of  the  mind  is  still'd, — 
I  ask  not  now  for  Fame. 

A  rose-cloud,  dimly  seen  above, 

Melting  in  heaven's  blue  depths  away, — 
Oh  !  sweet,  fond  dream  of  human  Love  ! 

For  thee  I  may  not  pray. 

But,  bow'd  in  lowliness  of  mind, 

I  make  my  humble  wishes  known, — 

I  only  ask  a  will  re  sign' d, 
0  Father,  to  thine  own  ! 


JOHN  G.  WHITTIER. 


To-day,  beneath  thy  chastening  eye, 
I  crave  alone  for  peace  and  rest, 

Submissive  in  thy  hand  to  lie, 
And  feel  that  it  is  best. 

A  marvel  seems  the  Universe, 
A  miracle  our  Life  and  Death  ; 

A  mystery  which  I  cannot  pierce, 
Around,  above,  beneath. 

In  vain  I  task  my  aching  brain, 
In  vain  the  sage's  thought  I  scan  ; 

I  only  feel  how  weak  and  vain, 
How  poor  and  blind,  is  man.- 

And  now  my  spirit  sighs  for  home, 
And  longs  for  light  whereby  to  see, 

And,  like  a  weary  child,  would  come, 
0  Father,  unto  Thee  ! 

Though  oft,  like  letters  traced  on  sand, 
My  weak  resolves  have  pass;d  away, 

In  mercy  lend  thy  helping  hand 
Unto  my  prayer  to-day  ! 


VIRTUE  ALONE  BEAUTIFUL. 

"  Handsome  is  that  handsome  does, — hold  up  your  hands, 
girls,"  is  the  language  of  Primrose  in  the  play,  when  addressing 
her  daughters.  The  worthy  matron  was  right.  Would  that  all 
my  female  readers,  who  are  sorrowing  foolishly  because  they  are 
not  in  all  respects  like  Dubufe's  Eve,  or  that  statue  of  Venus 
which  enchants  the  world,  could  be  persuaded  to  listen  to  her. 
What  is  good-looking,  as  Horace  Smith  remarks,  but  looking 
good  ?  Be  good,  be  womanly,  be  gentle, — generous  in  your  sym- 
pathies, heedful  of  the  well-being  of  those  around  you,  and,  my 
word  for  it,  you  will  not  lack  kind  words  or  admiration.  Loving 
and  pleasant  associations  will  gather  about  you.  Never  mind  the 
ugly  reflection  which  your  glass  may  give  you.  That  mirror  has 
no  heart.  But  quite  another  picture  is  given  you  on  the  retina 
of  human  sympathy.  There  the  beauty  of  holiness,  of  purity, 
of  that  inward  grace  "  which  passeth  show,"  rests  over  it,  soften- 
ing and  mellowing  its  features,  just  as  the  full,  calm  moonlight 
melts  those  of  a  rough  landscape  into  harmonious  loveliness. 

"  Hold  up  your  heads,  girls  I  repeat  after  Primrose.  Why 
should  you  not  ?  Every  mother's  daughter  of  you  can  be  beauti- 
ful. You  can  envelop  yourselves  in  an  atmosphere  of  moral  and 
intellectual  beauty,  through  which  your  otherwise  plain  faces  will 
look  forth  like  those  of  angels.  Beautiful  to  Ledyard,  stiffening 
in  the  cold  of  a  northern  winter,  seemed  the  diminutive,  smoke- 


614  EMMA  C.  EMBURY. 

stained  women  of  Lapland,  who  wrapped  him  in  their  furs,  and 
ministered  to  his  necessities  with  kind  and  gentle  words  of  com- 
passion. Lovely  to  the  home-sick  Park  seemed  the  dark  maids 
of  Sigo,  as  they  sung  their  low  and  simple  songs  of  welcome 
beside  his  bed,  and  sought  to  comfort  the  white  stranger  who  had 
"  no  mother  to  bring  him  milk,  and  no  wife  to  grind  him  corn/' 
Oh  !  talk  as  you  may  of  beauty,  as  a  thing  to  be  chiselled  upon 
marble  or  wrought  on  canvas, — speculate  as  you  may  upon  its 
colors  and  outline, — what  is  it  but  an  intellectual  abstraction  after 
all  ?  The  heart  feels  a  beauty  of  another  kind, — looking  through 
outward  environments,  it  discovers  a  deeper  and  more  real  love- 
liness. 

This  was  well  understood  by  the  old  painters.  In  their  pictures 
of  Mary,  the  virgin  mother,  the  beauty  which  melts  and  subdues 
the  gazer  is  that  of  the  soul  and  the  affections, — uniting  the  awe 
and  the  mystery  of  the  mother's  miraculous  allotment  with  the 
inexpressible  love,  the  unutterable  tenderness,  of  young  maternity, 
— Heaven's  crowning  miracle  with  nature's  sweetest  and  holiest 
instinct.  And  their  pale  Magdalens,  holy  with  the  look  of  sins 
forgiven, — how  the  divine  beauty  of  their  penitence  sinks  into  the 
heart !  Do  we  not  feel  that  the  only  real  deformity  is  sin,  and 
that  goodness  evermore  hallows  and  sanctifies  its  dwelling-place  ? 


EMMA  C.  EMBURY. 

Among  American  female  writers,  Emma  C.  Embury  takes  no  mean  rank.  She 
is  the  daughter  of  Dr.  James  R.  Manly,  an  eminent  physician  of  New  York, 
and  in  1828  was  married  to  Daniel  Embury,  a  gentleman  of  wealth,  residing  in 
Brooklyn,  and  much  valued  for  his  intellectual  and  social  qualities, — having  the 
taste  to  appreciate  the  talents  of  his  gifted  wife,  and  the  good  sense  to  encourage 
and  aid  her  in  her  literary  pursuits.  But  these  pursuits,  happily,  have  never 
caused  her  to  neglect  the  duties  of  a  wife  or  a  mother. 

Mrs.  Embury's  published  works  are — Guido,  and  other  Poems,  by  Tan  the  ;  a 
volume  on  Female  Education  ;  The  Blind  Girl,  and  other  Tales;  Pictures  of 
Early  Life;  Glimpses  of  Home  Life,  or  Causes  and  Consequences;  Nature's 
Gems,  or  American  Wild  Flowers;  Love's  Token-Flowers;  The  Waldorf  Family, 
or  Grandfather's  Legends.  All  her  writings  exhibit  good  sense,  true  cultivation, 
and  healthy  natural  feeling,  united  to  much  refinement;  and  it  is  to  be  deeply 
lamented  that  a  protracted  illness  has  deprived  her,  for  many  years,  of  the  phy- 
sical and  mental  power  requisite  for  literary  pursuits,  or  even  for  domestic  duties. 
Great  nervous  debility  and  paralysis  have  shattered  her  vigorous  body  and  her 
noble  mind,  and  have  left  only  the  gentle  affections  of  her  nature  untouched. 


EMMA  C.  EMBURY. 


615 


THE  WIDOW'S  WOOER. 

He  wooes  me  with  those  honey'd  words 

That  women  love  to  hear, 
Those  gentle  flatteries  that  fall 

So  sweet  on  every  ear. 
He  tells  me  that  my  face  is  fair, 

Too  fair  for  grief  to  shade : 
My  cheek,  he  says,  was  never  meant 

In  sorrow's  gloom  to  fade. 

He  stands  beside  me,  when  I  sing 

The  songs  of  other  days, 
And  whispers,  in  love's  thrilling  tones, 

The  words  of  heartfelt  praise ; 
And  often  in  my  eyes  he  looks, 

Some  answering  love  to  see, — 
In  vain !  he  there  can  only  read 

The  faith  of  memory. 

He  little  knows  what  thoughts  awake 

With  every  gentle  word  ; 
How,  by  his  looks  and  tones,  the  founts 

Of  tenderness  are  stirr'd. 
The  visions  of  my  youth  return, 

Joys  far  too  bright  to  last ; 
And  while  he  speaks  of  future  bliss, 

I  think  but  of  the  past. 

Like  lamps  in  Eastern  sepulchres, 

Amid  my  heart's  deep  gloom, 
Affection  sheds  its  holiest  light 

Upon  my  husband's  tomb. 
And,  as  those  lamps,  if  brought  once  more 

To  upper  air,  grow  dim, 
So  my  soul's  love  is  cold  and  dead, 

Unless  it  glow  for  him. 


OH!  TELL  ME  NOT  OF  LOFTY  FATE. 

Oh  !  tell  me  not  of  lofty  fate, 

Of  glory's  deathless  name ; 
The  bosom  love  leaves  desolate 

Has  naught  to  do  with  fame. 

Vainly  philosophy  would  soar, — 
Love's  height  it  may  not  reach  ; 

The  heart  soon  learns  a  sweeter  lore 
Than  ever  sage  could  teach. 

The  cup  may  bear  a  poison'd  draught, 

The  altar  may  be  cold ; 
But  yet  the  chalice  may  be  quaff'd, — 

The  shrine  sought  as  of  old. 


EMMA  C.  EMBURY. 


Man's  sterner  nature  turns  away 

To  seek  ambition's  goal ! 
Wealth's  glittering  gifts,  and  pleasure's  ray, 

May  charm  his  weary  soul ; 

But  woman  knows  one  only  dream, — 

That  broken,  all  is  o'er ; 
For  on  life's  dark  and  sluggish  stream 

Hope's  sunbeam  rests  no  more. 


THE  MAIDEN  SAT  AT  HER  BUSY  WHEEL. 

The  maiden  sat  at  her  busy  wheel, 

Her  heart  was  light  and  free, 
And  ever  in  cheerful  song  broke  forth 

Her  bosom's  harmless  glee  : 
Her  song  was  in  mockery  of  Love, 

And  oft  I  heard  her  say, 
"  The  gather' d  rose  and  the  stolen  heart 

Can  charm  but  for  a  day." 

I  look'd  on  the  maiden's  rosy  cheek, 

And  her  lip  so  full  and  bright, 
And  I  sigh'd  to  think  that  the  traitor  Love 

Should  conquer  a  heart  so  light : 
But  she  thought  not  of  future  days  of  woe, 

While  she  caroll'd  in  tones  so  gay, — 
"  The  gather' d  rose  and  the  stolen  heart 

Can  charm  but  for  a  day." 

A  year  pass'd  on,  and  again  I  stood 

By  the  humble  cottage  door ; 
The  maiden  sat  at  her  busy  wheel, 

But  her  look  was  blithe  no  more  ; 
The  big  tear  stood  in  her  downcast  eye, 

And  with  sighs  I  heard  her  say, 
"  The  gather'd  rose  and  the  stolen  heart 

Can  charm  but  for  a  day." 

Oh.  well  I  knew  what  had  dimm'd  her  eye 

And  made  her  cheek  so  pale  : 
The  maid  had  forgotten  her  early  song, 

While  she  listen'd  to  Love's  soft  tale ; 
She  had  tasted  the  sweets  of  his  poison'd  cup, 

It  had  wasted  her  life  away, — 
And  the  stolen  heart,  like  the  gather'd  rose, 

Had  charm'd  but  for  a  day. 


PARK  BENJAMIN. 


617 


PARK  BENJAMIN. 

This  gentleman  is  the  author  of  a  great  number  of  unclaimed  poems ;  and 
some  of  them,  written  many  years  ago,  are  still  "  going  the  rounds  of  the  press," 
both  in  this  country  and  in  Great  Britain.  They  have  never  been  collected  into 
a  volume,  as  they  richly  deserve  to  be, — for  they  have  not  only  been  very  popular, 
but  they  have  received  high  praise  from  "  mouths  of  wisest  censure."  Mr.  Ben- 
jamin has  also  written  largely  in  prose;  and  many  of  his  articles  have  appeared 
in  the  "  Noi-th  American  Review,"  the  "  New  York  Review,"  the  "  American 
Monthly,"  and  other  prominent  magazines.  , 

Mr.  Benjamin  was  born  in  Demerara,  South  America,  in  the  year  1809.  His 
father  was  a  highly-respected  merchant,  a  native  of  New  England,  and  his 
mother  an  English  lady,  closely  allied  to  a  noble  family.  Their  son  Park  was 
sent  to  this  country  at  a  very  tender  age,  under  the  care  of  an  excellent  female 
guardian.  From  the  age  of  fourteen  until  his  graduation  from  college,  he 
resided  chiefly  in  Boston  and  its  vicinity.  He  studied  law  under  the  eminent  Mr. 
Justice  Story,  and  also  in  the  school  of  Chief-Justice  Daggett,  in  Yale  College. 
He  commenced  the  practice  in  Boston,  but  was  soon  lured  away  by  his  love  of 
letters,  to  which  he  has  with  great  fidelity  devoted  himself.  He  has  edited  several 
very  successful  periodicals  : — first,  the  "  New  England  Magazine,"  and  then,  on 
his  removal  to  New  York  in  1836,  the  "American  Monthly;"  afterwards,  in  con- 
nection with  Horace  Greeley,  he  conducted  the  "New-Yorker;"  then,  with  Rufua 
W.  Griswold,  the  "  Brother  Jonathan."  But  the  paper  with  which  Mr.  Benjamin 
was  longest  connected,  and  which  was  for  years  under  his  sole  charge,  was  "  The 
New  >Yorld."  This  hebdomadal  has  never  been  excelled  as  a  repository  of  the 
best  literature  of  the  day,  and  for  its  fair  and  able  criticisms.  "Weary  of  excessive 
literary  toil,  notwithstanding  its  satisfactory  results,  Mr.  Benjamin  disposed  of 
his  interest  in  The  New  World,  with  the  design  of  spending  some  years  in 
Europe. 

Our  limits  permit  us  to  say  no  more  than  that  since  that  time  this  writer  has 
continued  his  literary  pursuits  with  ardor  and  success.  He  has  delivered  lec- 
tures in  many  of  our  principal  towns  and  cities,  which  have  been  universally 
liked  and  have  won  him  "golden  opinions."  He  is  still  by  profession  a  public 
speaker,  resides  in  New  York  City,  and  is  constantly  invited  to  deliver  poems  and 
addresses  before  various  literary  associations.  Of  the  following  selections,  the 
sonnet — A  Life  of  Lettered  Ease — has  never  before,  we  believe,  appeared  in 
print. 

THE  DEPARTED. 

The  departed !  the  departed ! 

They  visit  us  in  dreams, 
And  they  glide  above  our  memories 

Like  shadows  over  streams  ; 
But  where  the  cheerful  lights  of  home 

In  constant  lustre  burn, 
52* 


PARK  BENJAMIN. 


The  departed,  the  departed 
Can  never  more  return ! 

The  good,  the  brave,  the  beautiful, 

How  dreamless  is  their  sleep, 
Where  rolls  the  dirge-like  music 

Of  the  ever-tossing  deep  ! 
Or  where  the  hurrying  night-winds 

Pale  winter's  robes  have  spread 
Above  their  narrow  palaces, 

In  the  cities  of  the  dead ! 

I  look  around,  and  feel  the  awe 

Of  one  who  walks  alone 
Among  the  wrecks  of  former  days, 

In  mournful  ruin  strown ; 
I  start  to  hear  the  stirring  sounds 

Among  the  cypress-trees, 
For  the  voice  of  the  departed 

Is  borne  upon  the  breeze. 

That  solemn  voice  !  it  mingles  with 

Each  free  and  careless  strain ; 
I  scarce  can  think  earth's  minstrelsy 

Will  cheer  my  heart  again. 
The  melody  of  summer  waves, 

The  thrilling  notes  of  birds, 
Can  never  be  so  dear  to  me 

As  their  remember'd  words. 

I  sometimes  dream  their  pleasant  smiles 

Still  on  me  sweetly  fall, 
Their  tones  of  love  I  faintly  hear 

My  name  in  sadness  call. 
I  know  that  they  are  happy, 

With  their  angel-plumage  on, 
But  my  heart  is  very  desolate 

To  think  that  they  are  gone. 


HOW  CHEERY  ARE  THE  MARINERS!" 

How  cheery  are  the  mariners, — 

Those  lovers  of  the  sea ! 
Their  hearts  are  like  its  yesty  waves, 

As  bounding  and  as  free. 
They  whistle  when  the  storm-bird  wheels 

In  circles  round  the  mast ; 
And  sing  when  deep  in  foam  the  ship 

Ploughs  onward  to  the  blast. 

What  care  the  mariners  for  gales  ? 

There's  music  in  their  roar, 
When  wide  the  berth  along  the  lee. 

And  leagues  of  room  before. 


PARK  BENJAMIN. 


Lefe  billows  toss  to  mountain-heights, 

Or  sink  to  chasms  low, 
The  vessel  stout  will  ride  it  out, 

Nor  reel  beneath  the  blow. 

With  streamers  down  and  canvass  furl'd, 

The  gallant  hull  will  float 
Securely,  as  on  inland  lake 

A  silken-tassell'd  boat : 
And  sound  asleep  some  mariners, 

And  some  with  watchful  eyes, 
Will  fearless  be  of  dangers  dark 

That  roll  along  the  skies. 

God  keep  those  cheery  mariners ! 

And  temper  all  the  gales 
That  sweep  against  the  rocky  coast 

To  their  storm-shatter'd  sails  ; 
And  men  on  shore  will  bless  the  ship 

That  could  so  guided  be, 
Safe  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand, 

To  brave  the  mighty  sea  ! 


SPORT. 

To  see  a  fellow  of  a  summer's  morning, 

With  a  large  foxhound  of  a  slumberous  eye, 
And  a  slim  gun,  go  slowly  lounging  by, 

About  to  give  the  feather'd  bipeds  warning 
That  probably  they  may  be  shot  hereafter, 
Excites  in  me  a  quiet  kind  of  laughter ; 

For,  though  I  am  no  lover  of  the  sport 
Of  harmless  murder,  yet  it  is  to  me 
Almost  the  funniest  thing  on  earth  to  see 

A  corpulent  person,  breathing  with  a  snort, 

Go  on  a  shooting-frolic  all  alone ; 

For  well  I  know  that,  when  he's  out  of  town, 
He  and  his  dog  and  gun  will  all  lie  down, 

And  undestructive  sleep  till  game  and  light  are  flown. 


PRESS  ON. 

Press  on  !  there's  no  such  word  as  fail ! 

Press  nobly  on !  the  goal  is  near, — 
Ascend  the  mountain  !  breast  the  gale  ! 

Look  upward,  onward, — never  fear ! 
Why  shouldst  thou  faint  ?    Heaven  smiles  above, 

Though  storm  and  vapor  intervene  ; 
That  sun  shines  on,  whose  name  is  Love, 

Serenely  o'er  Life's  shadow'd  scene. 

Press  on  !  surmount  the  rocky  steeps, 
Climb  boldly  o'er  the  torrent's  arch ; 

He  fails  alone  who  feebly  creeps  ; 

He  wins,  who  dares  the  hero's  march.  . 


PARK  BENJAMIN. 


Be  thou  a  hero  !  let  thy  might 
Tramp  on  eternal  snows  its  way, 

And  through  the  ebon  walls  of  night 
Hew  down  a  passage  unto  day. 

Press  on !  if  Fortune  play  thee  false 

To-day,  to-morrow  she'll  be  true  ; 
Whom  now  she  sinks  she  now  exalts, 

Taking  old  gifts  and  granting  new. 
The  wisdom  of  the  present  hour 

Makes  up  for  follies  past  and  gone, — 
To  weakness  strength  succeeds,  and  power 

From  frailty  springs, — press  on !  press  on ! 

Press  on  !  what  though  upon  the  ground 

Thy  love  has  been  pour'd  out  like  rain  ? 
That  happiness  is  always  found 

The  sweetest,  which  is  born  of  pain. 
Oft  'mid  the  forest's  deepest  glooms, 

A  bird  sings  from  some  blighted  tree, 
And,  in  the  dreariest  desert,  blooms 

A  never-dying  rose  for  thee. 

Therefore,  press  on!  and  reach  the  goal, 

And  gain  the  prize,  and  wear  the  crown ; 
Faint  not !  for  to  the  steadfast  soul 

Come  wealth  and  honor  and  renown. 
To  thine  own  self  be  true,  and  keep 

Thy  mind  from  sloth,  thy  heart  from  soil ; 
Press  on !  and  thou  shalt  surely  reap 

A  heavenly  harvest  for  thy  toil ! 


THE  SEXTON. 

Nigh  to  a  grave  that  was  newly  made, 
Lean'd  a  sexton  old  on  his  earth-worn  spade. 
His  work  was  done,  and  he  paused  to  wait 
The  funeral  train  through  the  open  gate: 
A  relic  of  bygone  days  was  he, 
And  his  locks  were  white  as  the  foamy  sea, — 
And  these  words  came  from  his  lips  so  thin : — 
"  I  gather  them  in  !  I  gather  them  in  ! 

"  I  gather  them  in !  for,  man  and  boy, 
Year  after  year  of  grief  and  joy, 
I've  builded  the  houses  that  lie  around 
In  every  nook  of  this  burial-ground. 
Mother  and  daughter,  father  and  son, 
Come  to  my  solitude  one  by  one, — 
But,  come  they  strangers  or  come  they  kin, 
I  gather  them  in  !  I  gather  them  in  ! 

"  Many  are  with  me,  but  still  I'm  alone ! 

I  am  king  of  the  dead, — and  I  make  my  throne 

On  a  monument-slab  of  marble  cold. 

And  my  sceptre  of  rule  is  the  spade  I  hold. 


ROBERT  T.  CONRAD. 


621 


Come  they  from  cottage  or  come  they  from  hall, — 
Mankind  are  my  subjects, — all,  all,  all! 
Let  them  loiter  in  pleasure  or  toilf'ully  spin, — 
I  gather  them  in !  I  gather  them  in  ! 

"  I  gather  them  in, — and  their  final  rest, 

Is  here,  down  here  in  the  earth's  dark  breast;" — 

And  the  sexton  ceased, — for  the  funeral  train 

Wound  mutely  over  that  solemn  plain  : 

And  I  said  to  my  heart, — When  time  is  told, 

A  mightier  voice  than  that  sexton's  old 

Will  sound  o'er  the  last  trump's  dreadful  din, — 

"  I  gather  them  in !  I  gather  them  in !" 


A  LIFE  OF  LETTERED  EASE. 

A  life  of  letter'd  ease !  what  joy  to  lead 

A  life  of  intellectual  calm  and  peace : 

Such  as  a  poet  in  a  vale  of  Greece — 
Thine,  Arcacly — might  have  enjoy 'd,  indeed, 
Where  hour  on  hour,  untouch'd  by  haste  or  speed, 

Might  lapse  serenely  like  a  summer  stream ; 
Where  not  a  single  thought  of  gain  or  greed 

Could  mar  the  murmurous  music  of  his  dream. 
Oh  that  such  life  were  mine  ! — to  hoard,  not  spend ! — 

The  golden  moments  would  like  ingots  seem, 

Each  affluent  day  with  new-found  treasure  teem, 
And  my  large  wealth  have  neither  loss  nor  end. 
Meet  in  the  markets,  merchants,  as  you  please, — 
Be  mine  the  scholar's  life  of  letter'd  ease. 


ROBERT  T.  CONRAD,  1809—1858. 

Robert  T.  Conrad,  the  son  of  John  Conrad,  who  was  for  many  years  an  ex- 
tensive bookseller  and  publisher  in  Philadelphia,  was  born  in  that  city  on  the 
10th  of  June,  1809.  He  studied  law  with  his  uncle,  Thomas  Kittera,  an  eminent 
jurist,  and  was  admitted  to  practice  in  1830.  While  a  student,  he  wrote  his  first 
tragedy,  Conrad  of  Naples,  which  was  quite  successful,  and  is  regarded  by  many 
as  the  best  of  his  poems.  Shortly  after  he  was  admitted  to  the  bar,  he  connected 
himself  with  the  press,  and  shared  the  editorial  duties  of  some  of  the  leading 
journals  of  the  city ;  but,  the  labor  proving  too  much  for  his  health,  he  resumed 
the  practice  of  his  profession  in  1834.  On  the  15th  of  July,  1836,  he  was  ap- 
pointed by  Governor  Ritner  Recorder  of  the  Recorder's  Court;  and  on  the  27th 
of  March,  1838,  with  the  unanimous  recommendation  of  the  bar,  he  was  com- 
missioned by  the  same  Governor  to  be  a  Judge  of  the  Court  of  Criminal  Sessions 
for  the  city  and  county  of  Philadelphia, — being  a  higher  and  more  extended  juris- 
diction. Upon  the  union  of  the  several  municipalities  of  Philadelphia  into  one 
great  "  consolidated"  city  in  1854,  he  was  elected  Mayor  by  a  large  majority.  On 


622 


ROBERT  T.  CONRAD. 


the  resignation  of  Judge  Kelley  in  1856,  he  was  appointed  by  Governor  Pollock, 
on  the  30th  of  November  of  that  year,  to  fill  the  vacancy  in  the  Court  of  Common 
Pleas  and  Quarter  Sessions.  But  he  did  not  live  long  to  discharge  the  duties  of 
this  responsible  post,  as  he  died  on  Sunday,  June  27,  1858. 

In  1S52,  Judge  Conrad  published  Aylmere,  or  the  Bondman  of  Kent;  and  other 
Poems.  The  tragedy  of  Aylmere  is  his  principal  production,  and  its  merits  as  an 
acting  play  are  said  to  be  great.  The  hero,  who  assumes  the  name  of  Aylmere,  is 
Jack  Cade,  the  celebrated  leader  of  the  English  peasantry  in  the  insurrection  of 
1150.  The  other  principal  poems  of  our  author  are, —  The  Sons  of  the  Wilderness, 
a  meditative  poem  on  the  aborigines  of  our  land ;  and  a  series  of  Sonnets  on  the 
Lord's  Prayer,  marked  by  great  vigor  as  well  as  beauty  and  pathos. 

THE  PRIDE  OF  WORTH. 

There  is  a  joy  in  worth, 
A  high,  mysterious,  soul-pervading  charm; 
Which,  never  daunted,  ever  bright  and  warm, 

Mocks  at  the  idle,  shadowy  ills  of  earth ; 
Amid  the  gloom  is  bright,  and  tranquil  in  the  storm. 

It  asks,  it  needs  no  aid ; 
It  makes  the  proud  and  lofty  soul  its  throne : 
There,  in  its  self-created  heaven,  alone, 

No  fear  to  shake,  no  memory  to  upbraid, 
It  sits  a  lesser  God ; — life,  life  is  all  its  own  ! 

The  stoic  was  not  wrong : 
There  is  no  evil  to  the  virtuous  brave ; 
Or  in  the  battle's  rift,  or  on  the  wave, 

Worshipp'd  or  scorn'd,  alone  or  'mid  the  throng, 
He  is  himself, — a  man !  not  life's  nor  fortune's  slave. 

Power  and  wealth  and  fame 
Are  but  as  weeds  upon  life's  troubled  tide : 
Give  me  but  these, — a  spirit  tempest-tried, 

A  brow  unshrinking,  and  a  soul  of  flame, 
The  joy  of  conscious  worth,  its  courage  and  its  pride! 

SONNET. — THY  KINGDOM  COME  ! 

Thy  kingdom  come  !    Speed,  angel  Avings,  that  time  ! 

Then,  known  no  more  the  guile  of  gain,  the  leer 

Of  lewdness,  frowning  power  or  pallid  fear, 
The  shriek  of  suffering  or  the  howl  of  crime, 
All  will  be  Thine, — all  blest !    Thy  kingdom  come  ! 

Then,  in  Thy  arms  the  sinless  earth  will  rest, 

As  smiles  the  infant  on  its  mother's  breast. 
The  dripping  bayonet  and  the  kindling  drum 
Unknown, — for  not  a  foe;  the  thong  unknown, — 

For  not  a  slave ;  the  cells  o'er  which  Despair 

Flaps  his  black  wing  and  fans  the  sigh-swollen  air, 
Deserted  !    Night  will  pass  and  hear  no  groan ; 
Glad  Day  look  down,  nor  see  nor  guilt  nor  guile, 
And  all  that  Thou  hast  made  reflect  Thy  smile. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 


623 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  M.D.,  the  poet-physician,  is  a  son  of  the  Rev. 
Abiel  Holmes,  D.D.,  of  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  author  of  the  "  Annals  of 
America."  He  was  born  on  the  29th  of  August,  1809,  and  was  graduated  at  Har- 
vard University  in  1829.  He  then  studied  medicine,  and  in  1833  went  to  Europe. 
Returning  home  in  1835,  he  commenced  the  practice  of  medicine  in  Boston  the 
following  year.  In  1838,  he  was  elected  Professor  of  Anatomy  and  Physiology 
in  the  Medical  School  of  Dartmouth  College.  This  professorship  he  resigned  on 
his  marriage  in  1840,  and,  in  1847,  he  was  elected  to  the  chair  of  Anatomy  in 
Harvard  University,  vacated  by  the  resignation  of  Dr.  John  C.  Warren,  which  he 
still  fills.  In  1849,  he  relinquished  practice,  and  fixed  his  summer  residence  in 
Pittsfield,  Berkshire  County,  Massachusetts.    In  the  winter  he  resides  in  Boston. 

Dr.  Holmes  has  written  a  number  of  prize  medical  essays,  and  has  contributed 
occasionally  to  medical  journals;  but  he  was  earlier  and  better  known  to  the 
public  by  his  poems,  which,  by  their  genuine,  easy,  and  unaffected  wit,  are  un- 
rivalled in  our  literature.1  Within  the  last  year,  however,  Dr.  Holmes  has  dis- 
played more  fully  his  wonderful  powers  in  the  papers  commenced  in  the  "  Atlantic 
Monthly,"  in  November,  1857,  entitled  The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast- Table.  This 
series  of  papers  constitutes,  in  our  estimation,  one  of  the  most  racy,  interesting, 
and  brilliant  series  of  magazine-articles  ever  published  either  in  this  country  or  in 
England.  For  wit,  pathos,  profound  philosophical  speculation,  nice  descriptive 
powers,  keen  insight  into  human  nature,  aptness  and  force  of  illustration,  united 
to  great  wealth  of  literary,  scientific,  and  artistic  knowledge,  and  all  in  a  style 
that  is  a  model  for  the  light  essay,  these  papers  have  given  the  author  a  very 
high  rank  in  American  literature.2 


MY  AUNT. 

My  aunt !  my  dear  unmarried  aunt ! 

Long  years  have  o'er  her  flown ; 
Yet  still  she  strains  the  aching  clasp 

That  binds  her  virgin  zone  : 
I  know  it  hurts  her, — though  she  looks 

As  cheerful  as  she  can ; 
Her  waist  is  ampler  than  her  life, 

For  life  is  but  a  span. 

My  aunt,  my  poor  deluded  aunt ! 

Her  hair  is  almost  gray ; 
Why  will  she  train  that  winter  curl 

In  such  a  spring-like  way  ? 


1  A  beautiful  edition  of  his  poems  is  published  by  Ticknor  &  Fields. 

2  He  has  begun  a  series  of  similar  papers  in  the  same  magazine  for  1859, 
entitled  The  Professor  at  the  Breakfast- Table.  The  first  papers — The  Autocrat 
of  the  Breakfast- Table — have  been  published  in  one  vol.  by  Phillips  &  Sampson. 


624 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 


How  can  she  lay  her  glasses  down, 

And  say  she  reads  as  well, 
When,  through  a  double  convex  lens, 

She  just  makes  out  to  spell  ? 

Her  father — grandpapa !  forgive 

This  erring  lip  its  smiles — 
Vow'd  she  should  make  the  finest  girl 

Within  a  hundred  miles. 
He  sent  her  to  a  stylish  school; 

'Twas  in  her  thirteenth  June; 
And  with  her,  as  the  rules  required, 

"  Two  towels  and  a  spoon." 

They  braced  my  aunt  against  a  board, 

To  make  her  straight  and  tall ; 
They  laced  her  up,  they  starved  her  down, 

To  make  her  light  and  small ; 
They  pinclrd  her  feet,  they  singed  her  hair, 

They  screw'd  it  up  with  pins, — 
Oh,  never  mortal  suffer'd  more 

In  penance  for  her  sins. 

So,  when  my  precious  aunt  was  done, 

My  grandsire  brought  her  back ; 
(By  daylight,  lest  some  rabid  youth 

Might  follow  on  the  track;) 
"Ah!"'  said  my  grandsire,  as  he  shook 

Some  powder  in  his  pan, 
"What  could  this  lovely  creature  do 

Against  a  desperate  man  !" 

Alas  !  nor  chariot,  nor  barouche, 

Nor  bandit  cavalcade 
Tore  from  the  trembling  father's  arms 

His  all-accomplislrd  maid. 
For  her  how  happy  had  it  been ! 

And  Heaven  had  spared  to  me 
To  see  one  sad,  ungather'd  rose 

On  my  ancestral  tree. 


THE  HEIGHT  OF  THE  RIDICULOUS. 

I  wrote  some  lines  once  on  a  time 

In  wondrous  merry  mood, 
And  thought,  as  usual,  men  would  say 

They  were  exceeding  good. 

They  were  so  queer,  so  very  queer, 

I  laugh'd  as  I  would  die ; 
Albeit,  in  the  general  way, 

A  sober  man  am  I. 

I  call'd  my  servant,  and  he  came: 

How  kind  it  was  of  him, 
To  mind  a  slender  man  like  me, 

He  of  the  mighty  limb ! 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 


"  These  to  the  printer,"  I  exclaim'd, 

And,  in  my  humorous  way, 
I  added,  (as  a  trifling  jest,) 

**  There'll  be  the  devil  to  pay." 

He  took  the  paper,  and  I  watch'd, 

And  saw  him  peep  within ; 
At  the  first  line  he  read,  his  face 

Was  all  upon  the  grin. 

He  read  the  next ;  the  grin  grew  broad, 

And  shot  from  ear  to  ear  ; 
He  read  the  third  ;  a  chuckling  noise 

I  now  began  to  hear. 

The  fourth  ;  he  broke  into  a  roar; 

The  fifth,  his  waistband  split ; 
The  sixth,  he  burst  five  buttons  off, 

And  tumbled  in  a  fit. 

Ten  days  and  nights,  with  sleepless  eye, 
I  watch'd  that  wretched  man, 

And  since,  I  never  dare  to  write 
As  funny  as  I  can. 


THE  CHAMBERED  NAUTILUS. 

This  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign, 

Sails  the  unshadow'd  main, — ■ 

The  venturous  bark  that  flings 
On  the  sweet  summer  wind  its  purpled  wings 
In  gulfs  enchanted,  where  the  siren  sings, 

And  coral  reefs  lie  bare, 
Where  the  cold  sea-maids  rise  to  sun  their  streaming  hair. 

Its  webs  of  living  gauze  no  more  unfurl ; 

Wreck' d  is  the  ship  of  pearl ! 

And  every  chamber'd  cell, 
Where  its  dim  dreaming  life  was  wont  to  dwell, 
As  the  frail  tenant  shaped  his  growing  shell, 

Before  thee  lies  reveaFd, — 
Its  iris'd  ceiling  rent,  its  sunless  crypt  unseal'd ! 

Year  after  year  beheld  the  silent  toil 

That  spread  his  lustrous  coil  ; 

Still,  as  the  spiral  grew, 
He  left  the  past  year's  dwelling  for  the  new, 
Stole  with  soft  step  its  shining  archway  through, 

Built  up  its  idle  door, 
Stretch'd  in  his  last-found  home,  and  knew  the  old  no  more. 

Thanks  for  the  heavenly  message  brought  by  thee, 

Child  of  the  wandering  sea, 

Cast  from  her  lap,  forlorn  ! 
From  thy  dead  lips  a  clearer  note  is  born 
Than  ever  Triton  blew  from  wreathed  horn  I 
53 


626 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 


While  on  mine  ear  it  rings, 
Through  the  deep  caves  of  thought  I  hear  a  voice  that  sings : — 

Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  0  my  soul, 

As  the  swift  seasons  roll ! 

Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past ! 
Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last, 
Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast, 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 
Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  sea! 


THE  TWO  ARMIES. 

As  life's  unending  column  pours, 
Two  marshall'd  hosts  are  seen, — 

Two  armies  on  the  trampled  shores 
That  Death  flows  black  between. 

One  marches  to  the  drum-beat's  roll, 
The  wide-mouth'd  clarion's  bray, 

And  bears  upon  a  crimson  scroll, 
"  Our  glory  is  to  slay." 

One  moves  in  silence  by  the  stream, 

With  sad,  yet  watchful  eyes, 
Calm  as  the  patient  planet's  gleam 

That  walks  the  clouded  skies. 

Along  its  front  no  sabres  shine, 

No  blood-red  pennons  wave  : 
Its  banner  bears  the  single  line, 

"  Our  duty  is  to  save." 

For  those  no  death-bed's  lingering  shade ; 

At  Honor's  trumpet-call, 
With  knitted  brow  and  lifted  blade, 

In  Glory's  arms  they  fall. 

For  these  no  clashing  falchions  bright, 

No  stirring  battle-cry ; 
The  bloodless  stabber  calls  by  night, — 

Each  answers,  "  Here  am  I!" 

For  those  the  sculptor's  laurell'd  bust, 

The  builder's  marble  piles, 
The  anthems  pealing  o'er  their  dust 

Through  long  cathedral  aisles. 

For  these  the  blossom-sprinkled  turf 
That  floods  the  lonely  graves, 

When  Spring  rolls  in  her  sea-green  surf 
In  flowery-foaming  waves. 

Two  paths  lead  upward  from  below, 

And  angels  wait  above, 
Who  count  each  burning  life-drop's  flow, 

Each  falling  tear  of  Love. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 


627 


Though  from  the  Hero's  bleeding  breast 

Her  pulses  Freedom  drew, 
Though  the  white  lilies  in  her  crest 

Sprang  from  that  scarlet  dew, — 

While  Valor's  haughty  champions  wait 

Till  all  their  scars  are  shown, 
Love  walks  unchallenged  through  the  gate, 

To  sit  beside  the  Throne ! 


THE  FRONT  AND  SIDE  DOORS. 

Every  person's  feelings  have  a  front-door  and  a  side-door 
by  which  they  may  be  entered.  The  front-door  is  on  the 
street.  Some  keep  it  always  open ;  some  keep  it  latched ;  some, 
locked ;  some,  bolted, — with  a  chain  that  will  let  you  peep  in,  but 
not  get  in;  and  some  nail  it  up,  so  that  nothing  can  pass  its 
threshold.  This  front-door  leads  into  a  passage  which  opens  into 
an  ante-room,  and  this  into  the  interior  apartments.  The  side- 
door  opens  at  once  into  the  sacred  chambers. 

There  is  almost  always  at  least  one  key  to  this  side-door.  This 
is  carried  for  years  hidden  in  a  mother's  bosom.  Fathers,  bro- 
thers, sisters,  and  friends,  often,  but  by  no  means  so  universally, 
have  duplicates  of  it.  The  wedding-ring  conveys  a  right  to  one ; 
alas,  if  none  is  given  with  it ! 

Be  very  careful  to  whom  you  trust  one  of  these  keys  of  the  side- 
door.  The  fact  of  possessing  one  renders  those  even  who  are 
dear  to  you  very  terrible  at  times.  You  can  keep  the  world  out 
from  your  front-door,  or  receive  visitors  only  when  you  are  ready 
for  them;  but  those  of  your  own  flesh  and  blood,  or  of  certain 
grades  of  intimacy,  can  come  in  at  the  side-door,  if  they  will,  at 
any  hour  and  in  any  mood.  Some  of  them  have  a  scale  of  your 
whole  nervous  system,  and  can  play  all  the  gamut  of  your  sensi- 
bilities in  semitones, — touching  the  naked  nerve-pulps  as  a  pianist 
strikes  the  keys  of  his  instrument.  I  am  satisfied  that  there  are 
as  great  masters  of  this  nerve-playing  as  Vieuxtemps  or  Thalberg 
in  their  lines  of  performance.  Married  life  is  the  school  in  which 
the  most  accomplished  artists  in  this  department  are  found.  A 
delicate  woman  is  the  best  instrument;  she  has  such  a  magnificent 
compass  of  sensibilities  !  From  the  deep  inward  moan  which 
follows  pressure  on  the  great  nerves  of  right,  to  the  sharp  cry  as 
the  filaments  of  taste  are  struck  with  a  crashing  sweep,  is  a  range 
which  no  other  instrument  possesses.  A  lew  exercises  on  it  daily 
at  home  fit  a  man  wonderfully  for  his  habitual  labors,  and  refresh 
him  immensely  as  he  returns  from  them.  No  stranger  can  get  a 
great  many  notes  of  torture  out  of  a  human  soul :  it  takes  one  that 
knows  it  well, — parent,  child,  brother,  sister,  intimate.    Be  very 


628 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 


careful  to  whom  you  give  a  side-door  key ;  too  many  have  them 
already. 

OLD  AGE  AND  THE  PROFESSOR. 

Old  Age,  this  is  Mr.  Professor ;  Mr.  Professor,  this  is  Old  Age. 

Old  Age. — Mr.  Professor,  I  hope  to  see  you  well.  I  have 
known  you  for  some  time,  though  I  think  you  did  not  know  me. 
Shall  we  walk  down  the  street  together? 

Professor,  (drawing  back  a  little.) — We  can  talk  more  quietly, 
perhaps,  in  my  study.  Will  you  tell  me  how  it  is  you  seem  to  be 
acquainted  with  everybody  you  are  introduced  to,  though  he  evi- 
dently considers  you  an  entire  stranger  ? 

Old  Age. — I  make  it  a  rule  never  to  force  myself  upon  a  per- 
son's recognition  until  I  have  known  him  at  least  Jive  years. 

Professor. — Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  have  known  me  so 
long  as  that  ? 

Old  Age. — I  do.    I  left  my  card  on  you  longer  ago  than  that, 
but  I  am  afraid  you  never  read  it  j  yet  I  see  you  have  it  with  you. 
Professor. — Where  ? 

Old  Age. — There,  between  your  eyebrows,  —  three  straight 
lines  running  up  and  down  •  all  the  probate  courts  know  that 
token, — "  Old  Age,  his  mark."  Put  your  forefinger  on  the  inner 
end  of  one  eyebrow,  and  your  middle  finger  on  the  inner  end  of 
the  other  eyebrow ;  now  separate  the  fingers,  and  you  will  smooth 
out  my  sign  manual ;  that's  the  way  you  used  to  look  before  I  left 
my  card  on  you. 

Professor. — What  message  do  people  generally  send  back  when 
you  first  call  on  them  ? 

Old  Age. — Not  at  home.  Then  I  leave  a  card  and  go.  Next 
year  I  call ;  get  the  same  answer ;  leave  another  card.  So  for 
five  or  six — sometimes  ten — years  or  more.  At  last,  if  they  don't 
let  me  in,  I  break  in  through  the  front  door  or  the  windows. 

We  talked  together  in  this  way  some  time.  Then  Old  Age 
said  again, — Come,  let  us  walk  down  the  street  together, — and 
offered  me  a.  cane,  an  eye-glass,  a  tippet,  and  a  pair  of  over-shoes. 
— No,  much  obliged  to  you,  said  I.  I  don't  want  those  things, 
and  I  had  a  little  rather  talk  with  you  here,  privately,  in  my  study. 
So  I  dressed  myself  up  in  a  jaunty  way  and  walked  out  alone ; — 
got  a  fall,  caught  a  cold,  was  laid  up  with  a  lumbago,  and  had 
time  to  think  over  this  whole  matter. 

THE  BRAIN. 

Our  brains  are  seventy-year  clocks.  The  Angel  of  Life  winds 
them  up  once  for  all,  then  closes  the  case,  and  gives  the  key  into 
the  hands  of  the  Angel  of  the  Resurrection. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 


629 


Tic-tac !  tic-tac  !  go  the  wheels  of  thought  j  our  will  cannot 
stop  them  ;  they  cannot  stop  themselves ;  sleep  cannot  still  them  ; 
madness  only  makes  them  go  faster  ;  death  alone  can  break  into 
the  case,  and,  seizing  the  ever-swinging  pendulum,  which  we  call 
the  heart,  silence  at  last  the  clicking  of  the  terrible  escapement 
we  have  carried  so  long  beneath  our  wrinkled  foreheads. 


THE  SEA-SHORE  AND  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

I  have  lived  by  the  sea-shore  and  by  the  mountains.  No,  I  am 
not  going  to  say  which  is  best.  The  one  where  your  place  is  is 
the  best  for  you.  But  this  difference  there  is  :  you  can  domes- 
ticate mountains,  but  the  sea  is  ferae,  naturae.  You  may  have  a 
hut,  or  know  the  owner  of  one,  on  the  mountain-side  )  you  see  a 
light  half-way  up  its  ascent  in  the  evening,  and  you  know  there  is 
a  home,  and  you  might  share  it.  You  have  noted  certain  trees, 
perhaps ;  you  know  the  particular  zone  where  the  hemlocks  look 
so  black  in  October,  when  the  maples  and  beeches  have  faded. 
All  its  reliefs  and  intaglios  have  electrotyped  themselves  in  the 
medallions  that  hang  round  the  walls  of  your  memory's  chamber. 
The  sea  remembers  nothing.  It  is  feline.  It  licks  your  feet, — its 
huge  flanks  purr  very  pleasantly  for  you ;  but  it  will  crack  your 
bones  and  eat  you,  for  all  that,  and  wipe  the  crimsoned  foam  from 
its  jaws  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  The  mountains  give  their 
lost  children  berries  and  water ;  the  sea  mocks  their  thirst  and 
lets  them  die.  The  mountains  have  a  grand,  stupid,  lovable  tran- 
quillity ;  the  sea  has  a  fascinating,  treacherous  intelligence.  The 
mountains  lie  about  like  huge  ruminants,  their  broad  backs  awful 
to  look  upon,  but  safe  to  handle.  The  sea  smooths  its  silver  scales 
until  you  cannot  see  their  joints, — but  their  shining  is  that  of  a 
snake's  belly,  after  all.  In  deeper  suggestiveness  I  find  as  great 
a  difference.  The  mountains  dwarf  mankind  and  foreshorten  the 
procession  of  its  long  generations.  The  sea  drowns  out  humanity 
and  time;  it  has  no  sympathy  with  either;  for  it  belongs  to 
eternity,  and  of  that  it  sings  its  monotonous  song  for  ever 
and  ever. 

Yet  I  should  love  to  have  a  little  box  by  the  sea-shore.  I 
should  love  to  gaze  out  on  the  wild  feline  element  from  a  front 
window  of  my  own,  just  as  I  should  love  to  look  on  a  ca^ed 
panther,  and  see  it  stretch  its  shining  length,  and  then  curl  over 
and  lap  its  smooth  sides,  and  by-and-by  begin  to  lash  itself  into 
rage,  and  show  its  white  teeth,  and  spring  at  its  bars,  and  howl 
the  cry  of  its  mad,  but,  to  me,  harmless  fury. 


G30 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 


MY  LAST  WALK  WITH  THE  SCHOOLMISTRESS. 

I  can't  say  just  how  many  walks  she  and  I  had  taken  together 
before  this  one.  I  found  the  effect  of  going  out  every  morning 
was  decidedly  favorable  on  her  health.  Two  pleasing  dimples, 
the  places  for  which  were  just  marked  when  she  came,  played, 
shadowy,  in  her  freshening  cheeks  when  she  smiled  and  nodded 
good-morning  to  me  from  the  school-house  steps.  *  *  * 

The  schoolmistress  had  tried  life.  Once  in  a  while  one  meets 
with  a  single  soul  greater  than  all  the  living  pageant  that  passes 
before  it.  As  the  pale  astronomer  sits  in  his  study  with  sunken 
eyes  and  thin  fingers,  and  weighs  Uranus  or  Neptune  as  in  a 
balance,  so  there  are  meek,  slight  women  who  have  weighed  all 
which  this  planetary  life  can  offer,  and  hold  it  like  a  bauble  in  the 
palm  of  their  slender  hands.  This  was  one  of  them.  Fortune 
had  left  her,  sorrow  had  baptized  her;  the  routine  of  labor  and 
the  loneliness  of  almost  friendless  city-life  were  before  her.  Yet, 
as  I  looked  upon  her  tranquil  face,  gradually  regaining  a  cheerful- 
ness which  was  often  sprightly,  as  she  became  interested  in  the 
various  matters  we  talked  about  and  places  we  visited,  I  saw  that 
eye  and  lip  and  every  shifting  lineament  were  made  for  love, — 
unconscious  of  their  sweet  office  as  yet,  and  meeting  the  cold 
aspect  of  Duty  with  the  natural  graces  which  were  meant  for  the 
reward  of  nothing  less  than  the  Great  Passion. 

It  was  on  the  Common  that  we  were  walking.  The  mall,  or 
boulevard  of  our  Common,  you  know,  has  various  branches  lead- 
ing from  it  in  different  directions.  One  of  these  runs  downward 
from  opposite  J oy  Street  southward  across  the  whole  length  of  the 
Common  to  Boylston  Street.  We  called  it  the  long  path,  and 
were  fond  of  it. 

I  felt  very  weak  indeed  (though  of  a  tolerably  robust  habit)  as 
we  came  opposite  the  head  of  this  path  on  that  morning.  I  think 
I  tried  to  speak  twice  without  making  myself  distinctly  audible. 
At  last  I  got  out  the  question, — Will  you  take  the  long  path  with 
me  ?  Certainly, — said  the  schoolmistress, — with  much  pleasure. 
Think, — I  said, — before  you  answer  :  if  you  take  the  long  path 
with  me  now,  I  shall  interpret  it  that  we  are  to  part  no  more  ! 
The  schoolmistress  stepped  back  with  a  sudden  movement,  as  if 
an  arrow  had  struck  her. 

*One  of  the  long  granite  blocks  used  as  seats  was  hard  by, — the 
one  you  may  still  see  close  by  the  Gingko-tree.  Pray,  sit  down, 
— I  said.  No,  no, — she  answered,  softly, — I  will  walk  the  long 
pa  tit  with  you  ! 

The  old  gentleman  who  sits  opposite  met  us  walking,  arm  in 
arm,  about  the  middle  of  the  long  path,  and  said,  very  charm- 
ingly,— "  Good-morning,  my  dears  !" 


ALBERT  PIKE. 


G31 


ALBERT  PIKE. 

Albert  Pike  was  born  in  Boston,  December  29,  1809.  At  the  age  of  sixteen, 
he  was  admitted  to  Harvard  College,  but,  not  being  able  to  meet  its  expenses,  he 
became  an  assistant  teacher  in  a  grammar-school  at  Newburyport,  and  at  the 
end  of  the  year  its  principal.  In  1831  he  was  seized  with  a  spirit  of  adventure, 
and  started  in  his  travels  to  the  West  and  South,  going  through  New  York,  Ohio, 
Kentucky,  Tennessee,  to  St.  Louis, — thence  to  Santa  Fe,  where  he  was  engaged 
a  year  in  merchandise, — and  thence  along  the  Red  River  to  Little  Rock.  Here 
a  trifling  circumstance  caused  him  to  make  that  place  his  home ;  for,  being 
out  of  funds,  he  wrote  some  pieces  of  poetry  for  a  newspaper  printed  there,  with 
which  the  editor  was  so  much  pleased  that  he  invited  him  to  become  his  partner. 
The  proposition  was  gladly  accepted,  and  here  commenced  a  new  era  of  his  life. 
The  "  Arkansas  Advocate"  was  edited  by  him  to  the  close  of  the  year  1834,  when 
it  became  his  property.  Soon  after  this  he  studied  law,  was  admitted  to  the  bar, 
sold  his  printing-establishment,  and  devoted  himself  to  his  profession. 

Mr.  Pike  has  published  a  volume  entitled  Prose  Sketches  and  Poems.  Among 
the  latter  is  a  beautiful  and  spirited  piece,  for  which  he  deserves  to  be  remem- 
bered, entitled 

TO  THE  MOCKING-BIRD. 

Thou  glorious  mocker  of  the  world !    I  hear 
Thy  many  voices  ringing  through  the  glooms 

Of  these  green  solitudes, — and  all  the  clear, 

Bright  joyance  of  their  song  enthralls  the  ear 
And  floods  the  heart.    Over  the  sphered  tombs 

Of  vanish'd  nations  rolls  thy  music-tide. 

No  light  from  history's  starlike  page  illumes 

The  memory  of  those  nations, — they  have  died. 

None  cares  for  them  but  thou,  and  thou  mayst  sing, 
Perhaps,  o'er  me, — as  now  thy  song  doth  ring 

Over  their  bones  by  whom  thou  once  wast  deified. 

Thou  scorner  of  all  cities  !    Thou  dost  leave 

The  world's  turmoil  and  never-ceasing  din, 
Where  one  from  others  no  existence  weaves, 
Where  the  old  sighs,  the  young  turns  gray  and  grieves, 

Where  misery  gnaws  the  maiden's  heart  within  ; 
And  thou  dost  flee  into  the  broad,  green  woods, 

And  with  thy  soul  of  music  thou  dost  win 
Their  heart  to  harmony, — no  jar  intrudes 

Upon  thy  sounding  melody.    Oh,  where, 

Amid  the  sweet  musicians  of  the  air, 
Is  one  so  dear  as  thee  to  these  old  solitudes  ? 

Ha !  what  a  burst  was  that !  the  iEolian  strain 
Goes  floating  through  the  tangled  passages 

Of  the  lone  woods, — and  now  it  comes  again, — 

A  multitudinous  melody, — like  a  rain 
Of  glossy  music  under  echoing  trees, 


632 


ANNA  PEYRE  DINNIES. 


Over  a  ringing  lake ;  it  -wraps  the  soul 
With  a  bright  harmony  of  happiness, — 

Even  as  a  gem  is  wrapt,  when  round  it  roll 

Their  waves  of  brilliant  flame, — till  we  become, 
E'en  with  the  excess  of  our  deep  pleasure,  dumb, 

And  pant  like  some  swift  runner  clinging  to  the  goal. 

I  would,  sweet  bird,  that  I  might  live  with  thee, 
Amid  the  eloquent  grandeur  of  the  shades, 

Alone  with  nature, — but  it  may  not  be ; 

I  have  to  struggle  with  the  tumbling  sea 
Of  human  life  until  existence  fades 

Into  death's  darkness.    Thou  wilt  sing  and  soar 

Through  the  thick  woods  and  shadow-checker'd  glades, 

While  naught  of  sorrow  casts  a  dimness  o'er 
The  brilliance  of  thy  heart, — but  I  must  wear, 
As  now,  my  garmenting  of  pain  and  care, — 

As  penitents  of  old  their  galling  sackcloth  wore. 

Yet  why  complain  ? — What  though  fond  hopes  deferr'd 
Have  overshadow'd  Youth's  green  paths  with  gloom ! 

Still,  joy's  rich  music  is  not  all  unheard, — 

There  is  a  voice  sweeter  than  thine,  sweet  bird, 
To  welcome  me,  within  my  humble  home ; — 

There  is  an  eye  with  love's  devotion  bright, 
The  darkness  of  existence  to  illume  ! 

Then  why  complain  ?    When  death  shall  cast  his  blight 
Over  the  spirit,  then  my  bones  shall  rest 
Beneath  these  trees, — and  from  thy  swelling  breast, 

O'er  them  thy  song  shall  pour  like  a  rich  flood  of  light. 


ANNA  PEYRE  DINNIES. 

Anna  Peyre  Dinnies  is  the  daughter  of  Judge  Shackelford,  of  Georgetown, 
South  Carolina.  When  a  child,  her  father  removed  to  Charleston,  where  she  was 
educated.  Eor  many  years  she  wrote  poetry  for  various  magazines,  under  the 
signature  of  Ifoina.  In  1830,  she  was  married  to  Mr.  John  C.  Dinnies,  of  St.  Louis, 
Missouri,  where  she  resided  for  many  years.  In  1845,  her  husband  removed  to 
New  Orleans,  where  she  now  lives.  In  1846,  she  published  a  richly-illustrated 
volume,  entitled  The  Floral  Year.  Her  pieces  celebrating  the  domestic  affections 
are  marked  by  unusual  grace  and  tenderness. 

THE  WIFE. 

"  She  flung  her  white  arm  round  him—'  Thou  art  all 
That  this  poor  heart  can  cling  to.'  " 

I  could  have  stemm'd  misfortune's  tide, 

And  borne  the  rich  one's  sneer, 
Have  braved  the  haughty  glance  of  pride, 

Nor  shed  a  single  tear. 


ANNA  PEYRE  DINNIES. 


633 


I  could  have  smiled  on  every  blow 
From  Life's  full  quiver  thrown, 

While  I  might  gaze  on  thee,  and  know 
I  should  not  be  "alone." 

I  could — I  think  I  could — have  brook'd, 

E'en  for  a  time,  that  thou 
Upon  my  fading  face  hadst  look'd 

With  less  of  love  than  now ; 
For  then  I  should  at  least  have  felt 

The  sweet  hope  still  my  own 
To  win  thee  back,  and,  whilst  thou  dwelt 

On  earth,  not  been  "alone." 

But  thus  to  see,  from  day  to  day, 

Thy  brightening  eye  and  cheek, 
And  watch  thy  life-sands  waste  away 

Unnumber'd,  slowly,  meek ; 
To  meet  thy  smiles  of  tenderness, 

And  catch  the  feeble  tone 
Of  kindness,  ever  breathed  to  bless, 

And  feel,  I'll  be  "alone;" 

To  mark  thy  strength  each  hour  decay, 

And  yet  thy  hopes  grow  stronger, 
As,  fill'd  with  heavenward  trust,  they  say, 

"  Earth  may  not  claim  thee  longer  ;" 
Nay,  dearest,  'tis  too  much, — this  heart 

Must  break  when  thou  art  gone : 
It  must  not  be ;  we  may  not  part: 

I  could  not  live  "alone !" 


TO  MY  HUSBAND'S  FIRST  GRAY  HAIR. 

"  I  know  thee  not, — I  loathe  thy  race ; 
But  in  thy  lineaments  I  trace 
What  time  shall  strengthen, — not  efface." 

Giaour. 

Thou  strange,  unbidden  guest !  from  whence 

Thus  early  hast  thou  come? 
And  wherefore  ?    Rude  intruder,  hence  ! 

And  seek  some  fitter  home  ! 
These  rich  young  locks  are  all  too  dear, — 
Indeed,  thou  must  not  linger  here  ! 

Go  !  take  thy  sober  aspect  where 

The  youthful  cheek  is  fading, 
Or  find  some  furrow'd  brow,  which  Care 

And  Passion  have  been  shading ; 
And  add  thy  sad,  malignant  trace, 
To  mar  the  aged  or  anguish'd  face ! 

Thou  wilt  not  go  ?    Then  answer  me, 
And  tell  what  brought  thee  hire! 

Not  one  of  all  thy  tribe  I  see 
Beside  thyself  appear, 


634 


WILLIS  GAYLORD  CLARK. 


And  through  these  bright,  and  clustering  curls 
Thou  shinest,  a  tiny  thread  of  pearls. 

Thou  art  a  moralist  ?  ah,  well ! 

And  cornest  from  Wisdom's  land, 
A  few  sage  axioms  just  to  tell  ? 

Well !  well !  I  understand  : — 
Old  Truth  has  sent  thee  here  to  bear 
The  maxims  which  we  fain  must  hear. 

And  now,  as  I  observe  thee  nearer, 
Thou'rt  pretty — very  pretty — quite 

As  glossy  and  as  fair — nay,  fairer — 
Than  these,  but  not  so  bright; 

And  since  thou  came  Truth's  messenger, 

Thou  shalt  remain,  and  speak  of  her. 

She  says  thou  art  a  herald,  sent 

In  kind  and  friendly  warning, 
To  mix  with  locks  by  Beauty  blent, 

(The  fair  young  brow  adorning,) 
And  'midst  their  wild  luxuriance  taught 
To  show  thyself,  and  waken  thought. 

That  thought,  which  to  the  dreamer  preaches 

A  lesson  stern  as  true, 
That  all  things  pass  away,  and  teaches 

How  youth  must  vanish  too  ! 
And  thou  wert  sent  to  rouse  anew 
This  thought,  whene'er  thou  meet'st  the  view. 

And  comes  there  not  a  whispering  sound, 

A  low,  faint,  murmuring  breath, 
Which,  as  thou  movest,  floats  around 

Like  Echoes  in  their  death  ? 
"  Time  onward  sweeps,  youth  flies,  prepard'' — 
Such  is  thine  errand,  First  Gray  Hair. 


WILLIS  GAYLORD  CLARK,  1810—1841. 

Willis  Gaylord  Clark1  was  born  in  Otisco,  Onondaga  County,  New  York,  in 
the  year  1810.  His  father  was  an  intelligent  farmer,  and  early  saw  the  indica- 
tions of  that  poetic  talent  which  manifested  itself  in  many  beautiful  effusions 
while  he  was  yet  a  youth.  After  completing  his  scholastic  course,  when  about 
twenty  years  of  age,  he  repaired  to  Philadelphia,  where  his  reputation  as  a  poet 
had  already  preceded  him,  and,  under  the  auspices  of  his  friend,  the  Rev.  Ezra 
Stiles  Ely,  D.D.,  he  commenced  a  weekly  miscellany,  similar  in  its  design  and 
character  to  the  "Mirror"  of  New  York.    He  soon  found,  however,  that  the 


1  His  twin-bi-other,  Lewis  Gaylord  Clark,  is  the  editor  of  the  "Knickerbocker 
Magazine,"  to  the  popularity  of  which  he  has  largely  contributed  by  his  lively 
and  instructive  monthly  lucubrations, — "The  Editor's  Table,"  and  "  Gossip  with 
Readers  and  Correspondents." 


WILLIS  GAYLORD  CLARK. 


G35 


profits  were  disproportioned  to  the  labor,  and  was  induced  to  abandon  it.  He 
then  assumed,  in  conjunction  with  the  Rev.  Dr.  Brantley,  the  charge  of  the 
"  Columbian  Star,"  a  religious  and  literary  periodical  of  a  high  character.  While 
connected  with  this,  he  published  numerous  fugitive  pieces  of  great  merit,  which 
were  collected  and  published  in  a  volunn,  under  the  simple  title  of  Poems.  He 
also  wrote  for  the  ""Knickerbocker"  an  admirable  series  of  papers,  called  Olla- 
podiana,  which  also  were  published  in  one  volume. 

After  being  associated  a  few  years  with  the  editor  of  the  "  Columbian  Star,"  he 
was  solicited  to  take  charge  of  the  "Philadelphia  Gazette,"  one  of  the  oldest  and 
most  respectable  daily  papers  of  the  city.  He  ultimately  became  its  proprietor 
and  conducted  it  with  great  ability  to  the  time  of  his  death.  In  1836,  he  was 
married  to  Anne  Poyntell  Caldcleugh,  a  lady  of  great  personal  attractions  and 
rare  accomplishments.  But,  of  a  naturally  delicate  constitution,  she  was  taken 
away  in  the  very  midst  of  her  youth  and  happiness.  The  blow  fell  with  a  crush- 
ing weight  upon  her  husband,  and  from  this  time  his  health  gradually  declined. 
He  continued,  however,  to  write  for  his  paper  until  the  last  day  of  his  life,  the 
12th  of  June,  1841.' 

MEMORY. 

'Tis  sweet  to  remember !    I  would  not  forego 

The  charm  which  the  past  o;er  the  present  can  throw, 

For  all  the  gay  visions  that  Fancy  may  weave 

In  her  web  of  illusion,  that  shines  to  deceive. 

We  know  not  the  future, — the  past  we  have  felt, — ■ 

Its  cherish'd  enjoyments  the  bosom  can  melt ; 

Its  raptures  anew  o'er  our  pulses  may  roll, 

When  thoughts  of  the  morrow  fall  cold  on  the  soul. 

'Tis  sweet  to  remember !  when  storms  are  abroad, 
To  see  in  the  rainbow  the  promise  of  God  : 
The  day  may  be  darkened,  but,  far  in  the  west, 
In  vermilion  and  gold,  sinks  the  sun  to  his  rest ; 
With  smiles  like  the  morning  he  passeth  away : 
Thus  the  beams  of  delight  on  the  spirit  can  play, 


1  "Mr.  Clark's  distinguishing  traits  are  tenderness,  pathos,  and  melody.  In 
style  and  sentiment  he  is  wholly  original;  but,  if  he  resemble  any  writer,  it  is  Mr. 
Bryant.  The  same  lofty  tone  of  sentiment,  the  same  touches  of  melting  pathos, 
the  same  refined  sympathies  with  the  beauties  and  harmonies  of  nature,  and  the 
same  melody  of  style,  characterize,  in  an  almost  equal  degree,  these  delightful 
poets.  The  ordinary  tone  of  Mr.  Clark's  poetry  is  gentle,  solemn,  and  tender. 
His  effusions  flow  in  melody  from  a  heart  full  of  the  sweetest  affections,  and  upon 
their  surface  is  mirrored  all  that  is  gentle  and  beautiful  in  nature,  rendered  more 
beautiful  by  the  light  of  a  lofty  and  religious  imagination.  He  is  one  of  the  few 
writers  who  have  succeeded  in  making  the  poetry  of  relif/ion  attractive.  Young 
is  sad  and  austere,  Cowper  is  at  times  constrained,  and  Wordsworth  is  much  too 
dreamy  for  the  mass;  but  with  Clark  religion  is  unaffectedly  blended  with  the 
simplest  and  sweetest  affections  of  the  heart.  His  poetry  glitters  with  the  dew, 
not  of  Castalia,  but  of  heaven.  No  man,  however  cold,  can  resist  the  winning 
and  natural  sweetness  and  melody  of  the  tone  of  piety  that  pervades  his  poems." 
— American  Quarterly  Review,  xxii.  462. 

A  feeling  and  beautifully-written  memoir  of  Mr.  Clark  will  be  found  in  the 
eighteenth  volume  of  the  "  Knickerbocker." 


636 


WILLIS  GAYLORD  CLARK. 


When  in  calm  reminiscence  we  gather  the  flowers 
Which  love  scatter'd  round  us  in  happier  hours. 

'Tis  sweet  to  remember!    When  friends  are  unkind, 
When  their  coldness  and  carelessness  shadow  the  mind : 
Then,  to  draw  back  the  veil  which  envelops  a  land 
Where  delectable  prospects  in  beauty  expand  ; 
To  smell  the  green  fields,  the  fresh  waters  to  hear 
Whose  once  fairy  music  enchanted  the  ear ; 
To  drink  in  the  smiles  that  delighted  us  then, 
To  list  the  fond  voices  of  childhood  again, — 
Oh,  this  the  sad  heart,  like  a  reed  that  is  bruised, 
Binds  up,  when  the  banquet  of  hope  is  refused. 

;Tis  sweet  to  remember!    And  naught  can  destroy 

The  balm-breathing  comfort,  the  glory,  the  joy, 

Which  spring  from  that  fountain,  to  gladden  our  way, 

When  the  changeful  and  faithless  desert  or  betray. 

I  would  not  forget! — though  my  thoughts  should  be  dark, 

O'er  the  ocean  of  life  I  look  back  from  my  bark, 

And  I  see  the  lost  Eden,  where  once  I  was  blest, 

A  type  and  a  promise  of  heavenly  rest. 


THE  INVITATION. 

"They  that  seek  me  early  shall  find  me." 

Come,  while  the  blossoms  of  thy  years  are  brightest, 

Thou  youthful  wanderer  in  a  flowery  maze, 
Come,  while  the  restless  heart  is  bounding  lightest, 

And  joy's  pure  sunbeams  tremble  in  thy  ways ; 
Come,  while  sweet  thoughts,  like  summer-buds  unfolding, 

AVaken  rich  feelings  in  the  careless  breast, 
While  yet  thy  hand  the  ephemeral  wreath  is  holding, 

Come, — and  secure  interminable  rest ! 

Soon  will  the  freshness  of  thy  days  be  over, 

And  thy  free  buoyancy  of  soul  be  flown; 
Pleasure  will  fold  her  wing,  and  friend  and  lover 

Will  to  the  embraces  of  the  worm  have  gone ; 
Those  who  now  love  thee  will  have  pass'd  forever, 

Their  looks  of  kindness  will  be  lost  to  thee ; 
Thou  wilt  need  balm  to  heal  thy  spix-it's  fever, 

As  thy  sick  heart  broods  over  years  to  be ! 

Come,  while  the  morning  of  thy  life  is  glowing, 

Ere  the  dim  phantoms  thou  art  chasing  die ; 
Ere  the  gay  spell  which  earth  is  round  thee  throwing 

Fades,  like  the  crimson  from  a  sunset  sky ; 
Life  hath  but  shadows,  save  a  promise  given, 

Which  lights  the  future  with  a  fadeless  ray : 
Oh,  touch  the  sceptre! — win  a  hope  in  heaven! 

Come,  turn  thy  spirit  from  the  world  away  ! 

Then  will  the  crosses  of  this  brief  existence 
Seem  airy  nothings  to  thine  ardent  soul : — 


WILLIS  GAYLORD  CLARK. 


And,  shining  brightly  in  the  forward  distance, 
Will  of  thy  patient  race  appear  the  goal : 

Home  of  the  weary ! — where,  in  peace  reposing, 
The  spirit  lingers  in  unclouded  bliss, 

Though  o'er  its  dust  the  curtain'd  grave  is  closing, 
Who  would  not,  early,  choose  a  lot  like  this  ? 


DEATH  OF  THE  FIRST-BORN. 

Young  mother,  he  is  gone  ! 
His  dimpled  cheek  no  more  will  touch  thy  breast; 

No  more  the  music-tone 
Float  from  his  lips,  to  thine  all  fondly  press'd ; 
His  smile  and  happy  laugh  are  lost  to  thee ; 
Earth  must  his  mother  and  his  pillow  be. 

His  was  the  morning  hour, 
And  he  had  pass'd  in  beauty  from  the  day, 

A  bud,  not  yet  a  flower, 
Torn,  in  its  sweetness,  from  the  parent  spray; 
The  death-wind  swept  him  to  his  soft  repose, 
As  frost,  in  spring-time,  blights  the  early  rose. 

Never  on  earth  again 
Will  his  rich  accents  charm  thy  listening  ear, 

Like  some  iEolian  strain, 
Breathing  at  eventide  serene  and  clear; 
His  voice  is  choked  in  dust,  and  on  his  eyes 
The  unbroken  seal  of  peace  and  silence  lies. 

And  from  thy  yearning  heart, 
Whose  inmost  core  was  waimi  with  love  for  him, 

A  gladness  must  depart, 
And  those  kind  eyes  with  many  tears  be  dim; 
While  lonely  memories,  an  unceasing  train, 
Will  turn  the  raptures  of  the  past  to  pain. 

Yet,  mourner,  while  the  day 
Rolls  like  the  darkness  of  a  funeral  by, 

And  hope  forbids  one  ray 
To  stream  athwart  the  grief-discolor'd  sky, 
There  breaks  upon  thy  sorrow's  evening  gloom 
A  trembling  lustre  from  beyond  the  tomb. 

'Tis  from  the  better  land ! 
There,  bathed  in  radiance  that  around  them  springs, 

Thy  loved  one's  wings  expand ; 
As  with  the  choiring  cherubim  he  sings, 
And  all  the  glory  of  that  God  can  see, 
Who  said,  on  earth,  to  children,  "Come  to  me." 

Mother,  thy  child  is  bless' d  ; 
And  though  his  presence  may  be  lost  to  thee, 

And  vacant  leave  thy  breast, 
And  miss'd,  a  sweet  load  from  thy  parent  knee ; 
Though  tones  familiar  from  thine  ear  have  pass'd, 
Thou'lt  meet  thy  first-born  with  his  Lord  at  last. 
54 


C38 


EDGAR  ALLEN  POE. 


EDGAR  ALLEN  POE,  1811—1849. 

Edgar  Allen  Poe  was  born  in  Baltimore,  in  January,  1811,  was  left  an  orphan 
by  the  death  of  his  parents  at  Richmond,  Virginia,  in  1815,  and  adopted  by  John 
Allen,  a  wealthy  merchant  of  that  city.  This  gentleman  indulged  his  protege  in- 
judiciously, and  thus  increased  his  naturally  proud  and  petulant  disposition.  In 
1816,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Allen  visited  England,  taking  Edgar  with  them.  He  re- 
mained there  five  years  at  school,  returned  in  1822,  and  soon  after  entered  the 
University  of  Virginia,  where  he  was  graduated  in  1826.  After  this,  he  led  a 
wandering,  and  dissipated  life:  first  he  is  in  Europe  for  a  year;  then,  returning 
home,  at  West  Point;  then  as  a  common  soldier  in  the  army;  then  in  Charles- 
ton, South  Carolina,  as  editor  of  the  '•Southern  Literary  Messenger;"  till,  in 
1838,  he  settled  in  Philadelphia,  having  married  his  cousin,  Virginia  Clemm,  and 
became  the  chief  editor  of  the  "  Gentleman's  Magazine,"  and  "  Graham's  Maga- 
zine. In  1844,  he  went  to  New  York,  and  found  employment  in  editing  the 
"Broadway  Journal,"  and  in  contributing  to  various  other  magazines.  In  1845 
appeared  his  popular  poem  of  The  Raven;  but  he  could  not,  or  would  not,  break 
through  his  habits  of  dissipation,  and  he  was  reduced  to  the  greatest  poverty;  and 
in  the  winter  of  the  next  year  his  wife  died. 

In  August  of  1849,  he  left  New  York  to  deliver  some  lectures  in  Virginia.  On 
his  return,  he  stopped  for  a  feAV  hours  in  Baltimore.  Here  he  met  with  acquaint- 
ances who  invited  him  to  drink  :  all  his  resolutions  and  duties  were  soon  forgotten; 
and  such  were  the  effects  of  his  carousing,  that  he  was  carried  to  an  hospital ;  and 
there,  on  the  evening  of  the  7th  of  October,  1849,  he  died,  at  the  age  of  thirty- 
eight  years. 

Mr.  Poe  is  known  chiefly  for  his  criticisms,  poems,  and  tales.  In  his  criticisms 
he  has  displayed  a  keen  analysis,  a  clear  discrimination :  they  are  sharp  and 
well  defined,  but  unfair.  Influenced  greatly  by  fear  or  favor,  they  are  often  ab- 
surdly contradictory  ;  and  through  many  of  them  there  run  a  petty  spirit  of  fault- 
finding, a  burning  jealousy,  a  self-complacent  egotism.  In  his  poems  he  has 
evinced  the  same  subtlety  of  analysis,  the  same  distinctness,  the  same  deep  know- 
ledge of  the  power  of  words.  Their  elaboration  is  minute,  their  metre  exquisite, 
both  in  its  adaptation  and  polish;  but  they  do  not  move  the  heart,  for  of  feeling 
there  is  an  essential  want.  His  poetry,  as  he  himself  tells  us,  is  the  result  of  cold, 
mathematical  calculation. 

But  it  is  through  his  tales  that  Mr.  Poe  is  best  known,  and  in  them  is  displayed 
the  real  bent  of  his  genius.  Their  chief  characteristic  is  a  grim  horror, — some- 
times tangible,  but  usually  shadowy  and  dim.  He  revelled  in  faintly  sketching 
scenes  of  ghastly  gloom,  in  imagining  the  most  impossible  plots,  and  in  making 
them  seem  real  by  minute  detail.  His  wild  and  weird  conceptions  have  great 
power;  but  they  affect  the  fears  only,  rarely  the  heart;  while  sometimes  his 
morbid  creations  are  repulsive  and  shocking;  yet,  in  the  path  which  he  had 
chosen,  he  is  unrivalled.1 

1  A  fine  edition  of  his  works,  with  a  memoir  by  R.  W.  Griswold,  and  notices  of 
his  life  and  genius  by  N.  P.  Willis  and  J.  R.  Lowell,  has  been  published  by  Red 
field,  New  York,  in  four  volumes.  Read  a  good  article  on  Poe  and  his  works  in 
the  "  North  American  Review,"  October,  1856. 


EDGAR  ALLEN  POE. 


639 


THE  RAVEN.1 

Once  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  ponder'd,  weak  and  weary, 
Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  volume  of  forgotten  lore, — 
While  I  nodded,  nearly  napping,  suddenly  there  came  a  tapping, 
As  of  some  one  gently  rapping,  rapping  at  my  chamber-door ; 
"'Tis  some  visitor,"  I  mutter'd,  "tapping  at  my  chamber-door, — 
Only  this,  and  nothing  more." 

Ah  !  distinctly  I  remember,  it  was  in  the  bleak  December, 
And  each  separate  dying  ember  wrought  its  ghost  upon  the  floor. 
Eagerly  I  wish'd  the  morrow ; — vainly  I  had  sought  to  borrow 
From  my  books  surcease  of  sorrow, — sorrow  for  the  lost  Lenore, — 
For  the  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore, — 
Nameless  here  for  evermore. 

And  the  silken  sad  uncertain  rustling  of  each  purple  curtain 
Thrill' d  me, — fill'd  me  with  fantastic  terrors  never  felt  before ; 
So  that  now,  to  still  the  beating  of  my  heart,  I  stood  repeating 
"'Tis  some  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber-door, — 
Some  late  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber-door : 
This  it  is,  and  nothing  more." 

Presently  my  soul  grew  stronger ;  hesitating  then  no  longer, 
"  Sir,"  said  I,  "or  madam,  truly  your  forgiveness  I  implore  ; 
But  the  fact  is  I  was  napping,  and  so  gently  you  came  rapping, 
And  so  faintly  you  came  tapping,  tapping  at  my  chamber-door, 
That  I  scarce  was  sure  I  heard  you," — here  I  opcn'd  wide  the  door, — 
Darkness  there,  and  nothing  more. 

Deep  into  that  darkness  peering,  long  I  stood  there,  wondering,  fearing, 
Doubting,  dreaming  dreams  no  mortal  ever  dared  to  dream  before ; 
But  the  silence  was  unbroken,  and  the  stillness  gave  no  token, 
And  the  only  word  there  spoken  was  the  whisper'd  word,  "Lenore!" 
This  I  whisper'd,  and  an  echo  murmur'd  back  the  word,  "Lenore!" — 
Merely  this,  and  nothing  more. 

Back  into  the  chamber  turning,  all  my  soul  within  me  burning, 
Soon  again  I  heard  a  tapping  something  louder  than  before. 
"  Surely,"  said  I, — "  surely  that  is  something  at  my  window-lattice  ; 
Let  me  see,  then,  what  thereat  is,  and  this  mystery  explore, — 
Let  my  heart  be  still  a  moment,  and  this  mystery  explore ; — 
'Tis  the  wind,  and  nothing  more." 

Open  here  I  flung  the  shutter,  when,  with  many  a  flirt  and  flutter, 
In  there  stepp'd  a  stately  Raven  of  the  saintly  days  of  yore. 
Not  the  least  obeisance  made  he ;  not  a  minute  stopp'd  or  stay'd  he ; 
But,  with  mien  of  lord  or  lady,  perch'd  above  my  chamber-door, — 
Perch'd  upon  a  bust  of  Pallas,  just  above  my  chamber-door, — 
Perch'd,  and  sat,  and  nothing  more. 


1  This  poem  is  generally  allowed  to  be  one  of  the  most  remarkable  examples  of 
a  harmony  of  sentiment  with  rhythmical  expression  to  be  found  in  any  language. 
While  the  poet  sits  musing  in  his  study,  endeavoring  to  win  from  books  "  sur- 
cease of  sorrow  for  the  lost  Lenore,"  a  raven — the  symbol  of  despair — enters  the 
room  and  perches  upon  a  bust  of  Pallas.  A  colloquy  follows  between  the  poet 
and  the  bird  of  ill  omen  with  its  haunting  croak  of  "  Never  more." 


640 


EDGAR  ALLEN  POE. 


Then  this  ebony  bird  beguiling  my  sad  fancy  into  smiling, 

By  the  grave  and  stern  decorum  of  the  countenance  it  wore, 

"  Though  thy  crest  be  shorn  and  shaven,  thou,"  I  said,  "art  sure  no  craven, 

Ghastly,  grim,  and  ancient  Raven,  wandering  from  the  nightly  shore, — 

Tell  me  what  thy  lordly  name  is  on  the  night's  Plutonian  shore !" 

Quoth  the  Haven,  "Nevermore." 

Much  I  marvell'd  this  ungainly  fowl  to  hear  discourse  so  plainly, 
Though  its  answer  little  meaning — little  relevancy — bore  ; 
For  we  cannot  help  agreeing  that  no  living  human  being 
Ever  yet  was  bless'd  with  seeing  bird  above  his  chamber-door, — 
Bird  or  beast  upon  the  sculptured  bust  above  his  chamber-door, — 
With  such  name  as  "  Nevermore." 

But  the  Raven,  sitting  lonely  on  that  placid  bust,  spoke  only 
That  one  word,  as  if  his  soul  in  that  one  word  he  did  outpour. 
Nothing  further  then  he  utter'd; — not  a  feather  then  he  flutter'd ; — 
Till  I  scarcely  more  than  mutter'd,  "  Other  friends  have  flown  before— 
On  the  morrow  he  will  leave  me,  as  my  hopes  have  flown  before." 

Then  the  bird  said,  "  Never  more." 

Startled  at  the  stillness  broken  by  reply  so  aptly  spoken, 
"  Doubtless,"  said  I,  "what  it  utters  is  its  only  stock  and  store, 
Caught  from  some  unhappy  master,  whom  unmerciful  disaster 
Follow'd  fast  and  follow'd  faster,  till  his  songs  one  burden  bore, — 
Till  the  dirges  of  his  hope  that  melancholy  burden  bore, 
Of  'Never — never  more.'  " 

But  the  Raven  still  beguiling  all  my  sad  soul  into  smiling, 
Straight  I  wheel'd  a  cushioned  seat  in  front  of  bird  and  bust  and  door ; 
Then  upon  the  velvet  sinking,  I  betook  myself  to  linking 
Fancy  unto  fancy,  thinking  what  this  ominous  bird  of  yore, — 
What  this  grim,  ungainly,  ghastly,  gaunt,  and  ominous  bird  of  yore 
Meant  in  croaking,  "Never  more." 

This  I  sat  engaged  in  guessing,  but  no  syllable  expressing 
To  the  fowl  whose  fiery  eyes  now  burned  into  my  bosom's  core ; 
This  and  more  I  sat  divining,  with  my  head  at  ease  reclining 
On  the  cushion's  velvet  lining  that  the  lamp-light  gloated  o'er, 
But  whose  velvet  violet  lining  with  the  lamp-light  gloating  o'er 
She  shall  press,  ah,  never  more  ! 

Then,  methought,  the  air  grew  denser,  perfumed  from  an  unseen  censer 
Swung  by  seraphim,  whose  footfalls  tinkled  on  the  tufted  floor, 
"Wretch!"  I  cried,  "thy  god  hath  lent  thee — by  these  angels  he  hath 
sent  thee 

Respite — respite  and  nepenthe  from  thy  memories  of  Lenore ! 
Quaff,  0  quaff  this  kind  nepenthe,  and  forget  this  lost  Lenore!" 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "Never  more  !" 

"  Prophet !"  said  I,  "thing  of  evil! — prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil ! — 
Whether  tempter  sent,  or  whether  tempest  toss'd  thee  here  ashore, 
Desolate,  yet  all  undaunted,  on  this  desert  land  enchanted, — 
On  this  home  by  horror  haunted, — tell  me  truly,  I  implore, — 
Is  there — is  there  balm  in  Gilead  ? — tell  me — tell  me,  I  implore  !" 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Never  more." 

"  Prophet !"  said  I,  "  thing  of  evil ! — prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil ! 
By  that  heaven  that  bends  above  us — by  that  God  we  both  adore, 


EDGAR  ALLEN  POE. 


641 


Tell  this  soul,  w.th  sorrow  laden,  if  within  the  distant  Aiden1 
It  shall  clasp  a  sainted  maiden,  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore, — 
Clasp  a  rare  and  radiant  maiden,  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore!" 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "Never  more." 

'•'  Be  that  word  our  sign  of  parting,  bird  or  fiend  !"  I  shrieked,  upstarting — 
"  Get  thee  back  into  the  tempest  and  the  night's  Plutonian  shore  ! 
Leave  no  black  plume  as  a  token  of  that  lie  thy  soul  hath  spoken! 
Leave  my  loneliness  unbroken  ! — quit  the  bust  above  my  door ! 
Take  thy  beak  from  out  my  heart,  and  take  thy  form  from  off  my  door !" 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "Never  more." 

And  the  Raven,  never  flitting,  still  is  sitting,  still  is  sitting, 
On  the  pallid  bust  of  Pallas,  just  above  my  chamber-door; 
And  his  eyes  have  all  the  seeming  of  a  demon's  that  is  dreaming, 
And  the  lamp-light,  o'er  him  streaming,  throws  his  shadow  on  the  floor; 
And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow  that  lies  floating  on  the  floor 
Shall  be  lifted — never  more  ! 

It  is  difficult  to  make  any  selections  from  Mr.  Poe's  prose  works  that  will  give 
a  correct  idea  of  his  manner  and  style,  because  his  stories  to  be  fully  appreciated 
must  be  read  as  a  whole.  We  will  venture,  however,  to  make  an  extract  from 
The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher.  The  narrator  has  been  invited  to  spend  some 
weeks  with  the  proprietor  of  the  mansion,  Roderick  Usher,  who  had  been  one  of 
his  "  boon  companions  in  boyhood."  AVhile  there,  a  tenderly-beloved  sister — his 
sole  companion  for  long  years,  Madeline  by  name,  his  last  relative  on  earth — died 
of  a  severe  illness.    The  following  is  a  part  of  the  story, — the  account  of 

THE  BURIAL  OF  LADY  MADELINE. 

At  the  request  of  Usher.  I  personally  aided  him  in  the  arrange- 
ments for  the  temporary  entombment.  The  body  having  been 
encoffined,  we  two  alone  bore  it  to  its  rest.  The  vault  in  which 
we  placed  it  (and  which  had  been  so  long  unopened  that  our 
torches,  half  smothered  in  its  oppressive  atmosphere,  gave  us 
little  opportunity  for  investigation)  was  small,  damp,  and  entirely 
without  means  of  admission  for  light;  lying,  at  great  depth,  im- 
mediately beneath  that  portion  of  the  building  in  which  was  my 
own  sleeping-apartment.  It  had  been  used,  apparently,  in  remote 
feudal  times,  for  the  worst  purposes  of  a  donjon-keep,  and,  in  later 
days,  as  a  place  of  deposit  for  powder  or  some  other  highly  com- 
bustible substance,  as  a  portion  of  its  floor,  and  the  whole  interior 
of  a  long  archway  through  which  we  reached  it,  were  carefully 
sheathed  with  copper.  The  door,  of  massive  iron,  had  been  also 
similarly  protected.  Its  immense  weight  caused  an  unusually 
sharp  grating  sound  as  it  moved  upon  its  hinges. 

Having  deposited  our  mournful  burden  upon  tressels  within 
this  region  of  horror,  we  partially  turned  aside  the  yet  unscrewed 


The  Greek  accusative  of  "  Aides/'  the  same  as  "  Hades." 
54* 


642 


EDGAR  ALLEN  POE. 


lid  of  the  coffin,  and  looked  upon  the  face  of  the  tenant.  A 
striking  similitude  between  the  brother  and  sister  now  first  ar- 
rested my  attention  )  and  Usher,  divining,  perhaps,  my  thoughts, 
murmured  out  some  few  words,  from  which  I  learned  that  the 
deceased  and  himself  had  been  twins,  and  that  sympathies  of  a 
scarcely  intelligible  nature  had  always  existed  between  them. 
Our  glances,  however,  rested  not  long  upon  the  dead;  for  we 
could  not  regard  her  unawed.  The  disease  which  had  thus  en- 
tombed the  lady  in  the  maturity  of  youth  had  left,  as  usual  in  all 
maladies  of  a  strictly  cataleptical  character,  the  mockery  of  a  faint 
blush  upon  the  bosom  and  the  face,  and  that  suspiciously  linger- 
ing smile  upon  the  lip  which  is  so  terrible  in  death.  We  replaced 
and  screwed  down  the  lid,  and,  having  secured  the  door  of  iron, 
made  our  way,  with  toil,  into  the  scarcely  less  gloomy  apartments 
of  the  upper  portion  of  the  house. 

And  now,  some  days  of  bitter  grief  having  elapsed,  an  observable 
change  came  over  the  features  of  the  mental  disorder  of  my  friend. 
His  ordinary  manner  had  vanished.  His  ordinary  occupations 
were  neglected  or  forgotten.  He  roamed  from  chamber  to  cham- 
ber with  hurried,  unequal,  and  objectless  step.  The  pallor  of  his 
countenance  had  assumed,  if  possible,  a  more  ghastly  hue ;  but 
the  luminousness  of  his  eye  had  utterly  gone  out.  The  once  occa- 
sional huskiness  of  his  tone  was  heard  no  more )  and  a  tremulous 
quaver,  as  if  of  extreme  terror,  habitually  characterized  his  utter- 
ance. There  were  times,  indeed,  when  I  thought  his  unceasingly 
agitated  mind  was  laboring  with  some  oppressive  secret,  to  divulge 
which  he  struggled  for  the  necessary  courage.  At  times,  again,  I 
was  obliged  to  resolve  all  into  the  mere  inexplicable  vagaries  of 
madness ;  for  I  beheld  him  gazing  upon  vacancy  for  long  hours, 
in  an  attitude  of  the  profoundest  attention,  as  if  listening  to  some 
imaginary  sound.  It  was  no  wonder  that  his  condition  terrified, 
— that  it  infected  me.  I  felt  creeping  upon  me,  by  slow  yet  cer- 
tain degrees,  the  wild  influences  of  his  own  fantastic  yet  im- 
pressive superstitions. 

It  was  especially  upon  retiring  to  bed  late  at  night  of  the 
seventh  or  eighth  day  after  the  placing  of  the.  Lady  Madeline 
within  the  donjon,  that  I  experienced  the  full  power  of  such  feel- 
ings. Sleep  came  not  near  my  couch,  while  the  hours  waned 
and  waned  away.  I  struggled  to  reason  off  the  nervousness  which 
had  dominion  over  me.  I  endeavored  to  believe  that  much,  if  not 
all,  of  what  I  felt,  was  due  to  the  bewildering  influence  of  the 
gloomy  furniture  of  the  room, — of  the  dark  and  tattered  draperies 
which,  tortured  into  motion  by  the  breath  of  a  rising  tempest, 
swayed  fitfully  to  and  fro  upon  the  walls,  and  rustled  uneasily 
about  the  decorations  of  the  bed.  But  my  efforts  were  fruitless. 
An  irrepressible  tremor  gradually  pervaded  my  frame;  arid  at 


EDGAR  ALLEN  POE. 


643 


length  there  sat  upon  my  very  heart  an  incubus  of  utterly  cause- 
less alarm.  Shaking  this  ofi'  with  a  gasp  and  a  struggle,  1  uplifted 
myself  upon  the  pillows,  and,  peering  earnestly  within  the  intense 
darkness  of  the  chamber,  hearkened — I  know  not  why,  except 
that  an  instinctive  spirit  prompted  me — to  certain  low  and  inde- 
finite sounds  which  came,  through  the  pauses  of  the  storm,  at 
long  intervals,  I  knew  not  whence.  Overpowered  by  an  intense 
sentiment  of  horror,  unaccountable  yet  unendurable,  I  threw  on  my 
clothes  with  haste,  (for  I  felt  that  I  should  sleep  no  more  during 
the  night,)  and  endeavored  to  arouse  myself  from  the  pitiable  con- 
dition into  which  I  had  fallen,  by  pacing  rapidly  to  and  fro 
through  the  apartment. 

I  had  taken  but  few  turns  in  this  manner,  when  a  light  step  on 
an  adjoining  staircase  arrested  my  attention.  I  presently  recog- 
nised it  as  that  of  Usher.  In  an  instant  afterward  he  rapped, 
with  a  gentle  touch,  at  my  door,  and  entered,  bearing  a  lamp. 
His  countenance  was,  as  usual,  cadaverously  wan ;  but,  moreover, 
there  was  a  species  of  mad  hilarity  in  his  eyes, — an  evidently  re- 
strained hysteria  in  his  whole  demeanor.  His  air  appalled  me; 
but  any  thing  was  preferable  to  the  solitude  which  I  had  so  long 
endured,  and  I  even  welcomed  his  presence  as  a  relief. 

"  And  you  have  not  seen  it  V  he  said,  abruptly,  after  having 
stared  about  him  for  some  moments  in  silence, — u  you  have  not, 

then,  seen  it?"  "  Not  hear  it? — yes,  I  hear  it,  and  have  heard  it. 

Long — long — long — many  minutes,  many  hours,  many  days,  have 
I  heard  it, — yet  I  dared  not, — oh,  pity  me,  miserable  wretch  that 
I  am  ! — I  dared  not — I  dared  not  speak  !  We  have  -put  her  living 
in  the  tomb!  Said  I  not  that  my  senses  were  acute  ?  I  now  tell 
you  that  I  heard  her  first  feeble  movements  in  the  hollow  coffin. 
I  heard  them — many,  many  days  ago — yet  I  dared  not — 1  dared 
not  speak!  And  now — to-night — Ethelred — ha!  ha! — the  rend- 
ing of  her  coffin,  and  the  grating  of  the  iron  hinges  of  her  prison, 
and  her  struggles  within  the  coppered  archway  of  the  vault !  Oh, 
whither  shall  I  fly  1  Will  she  not  be  here  anon?  Madman! 
1  tell  you  that  she  now  stands  without  the  door!" 

Here  the  huge  antique  panels  to  which  the  speaker  pointed 
threw  slowly  back  upon  the  instant  their  ponderous  and  ebony 
jaws.  It  was  the  work  of  the  rushing  gust;  but  then  without 
those  doors  there  did  stand  the  lofty  and  enshrouded  figure  of  the 
Lady  Madeline  of  Usher.  There  was  blood  upon  her  white 
robes,  and  the  evidence  of  some  bitter  struggle  upon  every  por- 
tion of  her  emaciated  frame.  For  a  moment  she  remained 
trembling  and  reeling  to  and  fro  upon  the  threshold  ;  then,  with 
a  low  moaning  cry,  fell  heavily  inward  upon  the  person  of  her 
brother,  and,  in  her  violent  and  now  final  death-agonies,  bore  him  to 
the  floor  a  corpse;  and  a  victim  to  the  terrors  he  had  anticipated. 


644 


CHARLES  SUMNER. 


From  that  chamber  and  from  that  mansion  I  fled  aghast.  The 
storm  was  still  abroad  in  all  its  wrath  as  I  found  myself  crossing 
the  old  causeway.  Suddenly  there  shot  along  the  path  a  wild 
light,  and  I  turned  to  see  whence  a  gleam  so  unusual  could  have 
issued;  for  the  vast  house  and  its  shadows  were  alone  behind  me. 
The  radiance  was  that  of  the  full,  setting,  and  blood-red  moon, 
which  now  shone  vividly  through  that  once  barely-discernible 
fissure  of  which  I  have  before  spoken  as  extending  from  the  roof 
of  the  building,  in  a  zigzag  direction,  to  the  base.  While  I  gazed, 
this  fissure  rapidly  widened, — there  came  a  fierce  breath  of  the 
whirlwind, — the  entire  orb  of  the  satellite  burst  at  once  upon  my 
sight, — my  brain  reeled  as  I  saw  the  mighty  walls  rushing  asun- 
der,— there  was  a  long,  tumultuous,  shouting  sound  like  the  voice 
of  a  thousand  waters, — and  the  deep  and  dank  tarn  at  my  feet 
closed  sullenly  and  silently  over  the  fragments  of  the  "  House 
of  Usher." 


CHARLES  SUMNER. 

This  distinguished  scholar,  jurist,  statesman,  and  philanthropist1  is  the  son 
of  Charles  Pinckney  Sumner,  for  some  years  sheriff  of  Suffolk  County,  and  was 
born  in  Boston,  January  6,  1811.  He  Avas  graduated  at  Harvard  College  in 
1830,  and  in  1831  commenced  his  studies  at  the  Cambridge  law-school.  While 
yet  a  student,  he  wrote  several  articles  for  the  "American  Jurist,"  which  at- 
tracted attention  by  their  learning  and  ability ;  and  thereupon  he  became  the 
editor  of  that  periodical,  which  position  he  occupied  for  three  years.  In  1834, 
he  commenced  the  practice  of  his  profession  in  Boston;  and,  having  been  ap- 
pointed reporter  to  the  Circuit  Court,  he  published  three  volumes  known  as 
Sumner's  Reports.  In  1S36,  he  edited  "A  Treatise  on  the  Practice  of  the 
Courts  of  Admiralty  in  Civil  Causes  of  Maritime  Jurisdiction,  by  Andrew 
Dunlap,"  adding  an  "Appendix"  equal  in  extent  to  the  original  work.  In 
1837,  he  visited  Europe,  where  he  remained  three  years,  enjoying  unusual  advan- 
tages of  social  intercourse  with  the  most  distinguished  men  of  the  day. 

On  his  return  from  Europe,  Mr.  Sumner  lectured  at  the  Cambridge  law- 
school,  and  in  1S44  edited  an  edition  of  "  Vesey's  Reports,"  in  twenty  volumes, 
to  which  he  contributed  numerous  valuable  notes  and  treatises  on  the  points  in 
question.  The  next  year  he  delivered  an  Oration  on  the  True  Grandeur  of  Na- 
tions, before  the  authorities  of  the  city  of  Boston,  July  4, — taking  therein  a  posi- 
tion as  bold  and  novel  as  it  was  beautiful  and  truthful.2 


1  Well  and  beautifully  was  it  thus  written  by  Edmund  Burke's  schoolmaster — 
Abraham  Shackleton  :  "  The  memory  of  Edmund  Burke's  philanthropic  virtues 
will  outlive  the  period  when  his  shining  political  talents  will  cease  to  act.  Now 
fashions  of  political  sentiment  will  exist;  but  Philanthropy — IMMORTALE 
MANET." 

2  It  had  been  customary,  "from  time  immemorial,"  for  the  authorities  of  Bos- 
ton to  appoint  some  one  to  deliver  an  oration  before  them  and  the  assembled 


CHARLES  SU3INER. 


645 


From  this  time  forward,  Mr.  Sutnner  took  a  more  prominent  part  in  public 
affairs.  He  early  opposed  the  annexation  of  Texas  ;  and  when  the  Whig  party  in 
Massachusetts,  in  ISIS,  would  not  act  up  to  its  professions  against  that  ini- 
quitous scheme,  he  abandoned  it.  In  1851,  he  was  elected  to  the  Senate  of  the 
United  States,  from  Massachusetts,  as  the  successor  of  Mr.  Webster,  and  soon 
distinguished  himself  as  one  of  the  ablest  and  most  eloquent,  as  all  acknowledged 
him  the  most  learned,  of  that  body.  On  the  26th  of  August,  1S52,  he  delivered 
his  masterly  and  unanswerable  speech  on  the  unconstitutionality  and  wickedness 
of  the  "  Fugitive  Slave  Bill."1  So  powerful  were  his  efforts  in  the  cause  of  free- 
dom, and  so  unanswerable  his  positions,  that  some  of  the  more  violent  slave- 
holding  members  of  the  Senate  and  of  the  House  felt  that  he  must  be  silenced, 
and  employed  one  Preston  S.  Brooks,  a  member  of  the  House  from  South  Caro- 
lina, to  do  the  work.  On  the  22d  of  May,  1856,  he,  accompanied  by  L.  M.  Keitt, 
of  the  same  House  and  from  the  same  State,  entered  the  Senate-chamber,  after 
the  adjournment  of  the  Senate,  and  seeing  Mr.  Sumner,  with  no  one  near  him, 
seated  in  his  arm-chair  writing  at  his  desk,  (which  was  fastened  to  the  floor,) 
approached  him  with  a  heavy  bludgeon,  and,  by  one  severe  blow  upon  the  head, 
stunned  him  so  that  he  fell  upon  his  desk.  In  endeavoring  to  extricate  himself 
from  his  seat,  Mr.  Sumner  wrenched  the  desk  from  its  fastenings,  and  fell  sense- 
less and  bleeding  upon  the  floor.  His  assailant  renewed  the  blows  upon  the  head 
of  his  prostrate  victim,  until,  after  more  than  a  dozen  had  been  given,  he  was 
stopped  by  some  members  of  the  Senate  who  happened  to  be  present.  Mr. 
Sumner  was  taken  to  his  lodgings  in  a  carriage,  so  severely  injured  that  it  was 
thought  he  could  not  recover.  The  news  of  this  high-handed  assault  upon  such  a 
man,  and  in  such  a  place,  ran  like  lightning  through  the  nation,  and  aroused  the 
deepest  indignation  in  every  breast.  For  weeks,  Mr.  Sumner  was  confined  to  his 
room  and  bed;  but  he  gradually  gained  strength,  and  hoped  that  he  might  be  able 
to  return  to  the  Senate  in  the  December  following :  this  his  physicians  peremptorily 
forbade,  and  he  spent  the  winter  in  Boston.  In  the  spring  of  1857,  he  went  to 
Europe  for  his  health,  receiving  there,  from  all  the  noblest  and  most  learned 
wherever  he  went,  the  highest  marks  of  attention  and  respect.  He  returned  in 
the  fall,  somewhat  improved;  but,  his  former  symptoms  returning  as  soon  as  he 
began  to  apply  himself  to  public  duties,  his  physicians  urged  him  to  go  abroad 
again,  and  accordingly  he  sailed  for  Europe  in  the  spring  of  1858.  The  accounts 
received,  from  time  to  time,  of  the  state  of  his  health  are  rather  favorable ;  yet  it 
is  doubtful  whether  he  will  be  able  very  soon  to  resume  his  seat  in  the  Senate.2 


citizens  and  military  on  the  anniversary  of  our  national  independence.  These 
orations,  though  often  eloquent  and  learned,  were  generally  cast  in  about  the 
same  mould, — that  of  national  vanity  and  military  glory.  It  was  left  for  Charles 
Sumner  to  strike  out  in  an  entirely  new  path,  and  to  show,  by  rare  eloquence, 
learning,  and  by  an  array  of  facts  and  figures,  not  to  be  gainsaid,  on  the  cost,  the 
horrors,  and  the  inefficacy  of  Avar,  that  the  "  True  Grandeur  of  Nations"  consists 
in  cultivating  the  arts  of  peace. 

1  The  following  admirable  sentiment  from  Oliver  Cromwell  was  printed  on  the 
title-page  of  this  speech: — "If  any  man  thinks  that  the  interests  of  these  nations, 
and  the  interests  of  Christianity,  are  two  separate  and  distinct  things,  I  wish  my 
soul  may  never  cuter  into  his  secret." 

2  A  beautiful  edition  of  his  Speeches,  Addresses,  and  Literary  Essavs,  has  been 
published  by  Ticknor  &  Fields,  in  three  volumes. 


646 


CHARLES  SUMNER. 


EXPENSES  OF  WAR  AND  EDUCATION  COMPARED. 

It  appears  from  the  last  Report  of  the  Treasurer  of  Harvard 
University,  that  its  whole  available  property,  the  various  accu- 
mulations of  more  than  two  centuries  of  generosity,  amounts  to 
$703,175. 

There  now  swings  idly  at  her  moorings,  in  this  harbor,  a  ship 
of  the  line,  the  Ohio,  carrying  ninety  guns,  finished  as  late  as 
1836,  for  3547,888  ;  repaired  only  two  years  afterwards,  in  1838, 
for  8223,012 ;  with  an  armament  which  has  cost  $53,945 ;  making 
an  amount  of  $834,845,  as  the  actual  cost  at  this  moment  of  that 
single  ship  ;  more  than  $100,000  beyond  all  the  available  accu- 
mulations of  the  richest  and  most  ancient  seat  of  learning  in  the 
land  !  Choose  ye,  my  fellow-citizens  of  a  Christian  state,  between 
the  two  caskets, — that  wherein  is  the  loveliness  of  knowledge  and 
truth,  or  that  which  contains  the  carrion  death. 

Still  further  let  us  pursue  the  comparison.  The  pay  of  the 
captain  of  a  ship  like  the  Ohio  is  $4,500,  when  in  service; 
$3,500,  when  on  leave  of  absence,  or  off  duty.  The  salary  of  the 
President  of  the  Harvard  University  is  $2,205  ;  without  leave  of 
absence,  and  never  being  off  duty  ! 

If  the  large  endowments  of  Harvard  University  are  dwarfed  by 
a  comparison  with  the  expense  of  a  single  ship  of  the  line,  how 
much  more  must  it  be  so  with  those  of  other  institutions  of  learn- 
ing and  beneficence,  less  favored  by  the  bounty  of  many  genera- 
tions !  The  average  cost  of  a  sloop  of  war  is  $315,000;  more, 
probably,  than  all  the  endowments  of  those  twin  stars  of  learning 
in  the  western  part  of  Massachusetts,  the  colleges  at  Williams- 
town  and  Amherst,  and  of  that  single  star  in  the  East,  the  guide 
to  many  ingenuous  youth,  the  Seminary  at  Andover.  The  yearly 
cost  of  a  sloop  of  war  in  service  is  above  $50,000  ;  more  than  the 
annual  expenditures  of  these  three  institutions  combined. 

Take  all  the  institutions  of  learning  and  beneficence,  the  pre- 
cious jewels  of  the  Commonwealth,  the  schools,  colleges,  hospitals, 
and  asylums,  and  the  sums  by  which  they  have  been  purchased 
and  preserved  are  trivial  and  beggarly,  compared  with  the  trea- 
sures squandered  within  the  borders  of  Massachusetts  in  vain 
preparations  for  war.  There  is  the  Navy  Yard  at  Charlestown, 
with  its  stores  on  hand,  all  costing  $4,741,000  ;  the  fortifications 
in  the  harbors  of  Massachusetts,  in  which  have  been  sunk  already 
incalculable  sums,  and  in  which  it  is  now  proposed  to  sink 
$3,853,000  more;  and,  besides,  the  Arsenal  at  Springfield,  con- 
taining, in  1842,  175,118  muskets,  valued  at  $2,999,998,  and 
which  is  fed  by  an  annual  appropriation  of  about  $200,000,  but 
whose  highest  value  will  ever  be,  in  the  judgment  of  all  lovers  of 
truth,  that  it  inspired  a  poem  which  in  its  influence  shall  be 


CHARLES  SUMNER. 


mightier  than  a  battle,  and  shall  endure  when  arsenals  and  fortifi- 
cations have  crumbled  to  the  earth.1 

True  Grandeur  of  Xa lions. 

TRUE  GLORY. 

Whatever  may  be  the  temporary  applause  of  men,  or  the  ex- 
pressions of  public  opinion,  it  may  be  asserted,  without  fear  of 
contradiction,  that  no  true  and  permanent  Fame  can  be  founded, 
except  in  labors  which  promote  the  happiness  of  mankind.  There 
are  not  a  few  who  will  join  with  Milton  in  his  admirable  judg- 
ment of  martial  renown  : — 

"  They  err  who  count  it  glorious  to  subdue 
By  conquest  far  and  wide,  to  overrun 
Large  countries,  and  in  field  great  battles  win. 
Great  cities  by  assault.    What  do  these  worthies 
But  rob,  and  spoil,  burn,  slaughter,  and  enslave 
Peaceable  nations,  neighboring  or  remote, 
Made  captive,  yet  deserving  freedom  more 
Than  those,  their  conquerors,  who  leave  behind 
Nothing  but  ruin,  wheresoe'er  they  rove, 
And  all  the  flourishing  works  of  peace  destroy?"2 

Well 'does  the  poet  give  the  palm  to  moral  excellence!  But 
it  is  from  the  lips  of  a  successful  soldier,  cradled  in  war,  the  very 
pink  of  the  false  heroism  of  battle,  that  we  are  taught  to  appre- 
ciate the  literary  Fame,  which,  though  less  elevated  than  that 
derived  from  disinterested  acts  of  beneficence,  is  truer  and  more 
permanent  far  than  any  bloody  Glory.  I  allude  to  Wolfe,  the 
conqueror  of  Quebec,  who  has  attracted,  perhaps,  a  larger  share 
of  romantic  interest  than  any  of  the  gallant  generals  in  English 
history.  We  behold  him,  yet  young  in  years,  at  the  head  of  an 
adventurous  expedition,  destined  to  prostrate  the  French  empire 
in  Canada, — guiding  and  encouraging  the  firmness  of  his  troops 
in  unaccustomed  difficulties, — awakening  their  personal  attach- 
ment by  his  kindly  suavity,  and  their  ardor  by  his  own  example, — 
climbing  the  precipitous  steeps  which  conduct  to  the  heights  of  the 
strongest  fortress  on  the  American  continent, — there,  under  its  walls, 
joining  in  deadly  conflict, — wounded — stretched  upon  the  field — 
faint  with  the  loss  of  blood — with  sight  already  dimmed, — his  life 
ebbing  fast, — cheered  at  last  by  the  sudden  cry  that  the  enemy  is 
fleeing  in  all  directions, — and  then  his  dying  breath  mingling 
with  the  shouts  of  victory.  An  eminent  artist  has  portrayed  this 
scene  of  death  in  a  much-admired  picture.  History  and  poetry 
have  dwelt  upon  it  with  peculiar  fondness.    Such  is  the  Glory 


1  See  Longfellow's  "  Arsenal  of  Springfield,"  page  561. 
-  Paradise  Regained,  Book  iii.  v.  71. 


648 


CHARLES  SUMNER. 


of  arms  !  But  there  is,  happily,  preserved  to  us  a  tradition  of 
this  day,  which  affords  a  gleam  of  a  truer  Glory.  As  the  com- 
mander floated  down  the  currents  of  the  St.  Lawrence  in  his  boat, 
under  cover  of  the  night,  in  the  enforced  silence  of  a  military  ex- 
pedition, to  effect  a  landing  at  an  opportune  promontory,  he  was 
heard  to  repeat  to  himself  that  poem  of  exquisite  charms, — then 
only  recently  given  to  mankind,  now  familiar  as  a  household  word 
wherever  the  mother-tongue  of  Gray  is  spoken, — the  "  Elegy  in 
a  Country  Churchyard. "  Strange  and  unaccustomed  prelude  to 
the  discord  of  battle  !  And  as  the  ambitious  warrior  finished  the 
recitation,  he  said  to  his  companions,  in  a  low  but  earnest  tone, 
that  he  "  would  rather  be  the  author  of  that  poem  than  take 
Quebec."  And  surely  he  was  right.  The  Glory  of  that  victory 
is  already  dying  out,  like  a  candle  in  its  socket.  The  True  Glory 
of  the  poem  still  shines  with  star-bright,  immortal  beauty. 

Fame  and  Glory. 

PROGRESS  AND  REFORM. 

Cultivate  a  just  moderation.  Learn  to  reconcile  order  with 
change,  stability  with  Progress.  This  is  a  wise  conservatism; 
this  is  a  wise  reform.  Rightly  understanding  these  terms,  who 
would  not  be  a  conservative?  Who  would  not  be  a  reformer? 
A  conservative  of  all  that  is  good, — a  reformer  of  all  that  is  evil ; 
a  conservative  of  knowledge, — a  reformer  of  ignorance ;  a  conser- 
vative of  truths  and  principles,  whose  seat  is  the  bosom  of  God, — 
a  reformer  of  laws  and  institutions  which  are  but  the  wicked  or 
imperfect  work  of  man  ;  a  conservative  of  that  divine  order  which 
is  found  only  in  movement, — a  reformer  of  those,  earthly  wrongs 
and  abuses  which  spring  from  a  violation  of  the  great  Law  of 
Human  Progress.  Blending  these  two  characters  in  one,  let  us 
seek  to  be,  at  the  same  time,  Reforming  Conservatives  and  Con- 
servative Reformers. 

And,  finally,  let  a  confidence  in  the  Progress  of  our  race  be, 
under  God,  our  constant  faith.  Let  the  sentiment  of  loyalty, 
earth-born,  which  once  lavished  itself  on  King  or  Emperor,  give 
place  to  that  other  sentiment,  heaven-born,  of  devotion  to  Hu- 
manity. Let  Loyalty  to  one  Man  be  exchanged  for  Love  to  Man. 
And  be  it  our  privilege  to  extend  these  sacred  influences  through- 
out the  land.  So  shall  we  open  to  our  country  new  fields  of 
peaceful  victories,  which  shall  not  want  the  sympathies  and  gratu- 
lations  of  the  good  citizen,  or  the  praises  of  the  just  historian. 
Go  forth,  then,  my  country,  "  conquering  and  to  conquer,"  not  by 
brutish  violence ;  not  by  force  of  arms ;  not,  oh  !  not  on  dishonest 
fields  of  blood;  but  in  the  majesty  of  Peace,  of  Justice,  of  Free- 
dom, by  the  irresistible  might  of  Christian  Institutions. 

Phi  Beta  Kappa  Address  at  Union  College,  1848. 


CHARLES  SUMNER. 


C49 


JUDICIAL  TRIBUNALS. 

Let  me  here  say  that  I  hold  judges,  and  especially  the  Supreme 
Court  of  the  country,  in  much  respect;  but  I  am  too  familiar  with 
the  history  of  judicial  proceedings  to  regard  them  with  any  super- 
stitious reverence.  Judges  are  but  men,  and  in  all  ages  have 
shown  a  full  share  of  human  frailty.  Alas !  alas  !  the  worst 
crimes  of  history  have  been  perpetrated  under  their  sanction. 
The  blood  of  martyrs  and  of  patriots,  crying  from  the  ground, 
summons  them  to  judgment.  It  was  a  judicial  tribunal  which 
condemned  Socrates  to  drink  the  fatal  hemlock,  and  which  pushed 
the  Saviour  barefoot  over  the  pavements  of  Jerusalem,  bending 
beneath  his  cross.  It  was  a  judicial  tribunal  which,  against  the 
testimony  and  entreaties  of  her  father,  surrendered  the  fair  Vir- 
ginia as  a  slave ;  which  arrested  the  teachings  of  the  great  Apostle 
to  the  Gentiles,  and  sent  him  in  bonds  from  Judea  to  Rome  j 
which,  in  the  name  of  the  Old  Religion,  adjudged  the  saints  and 
fathers  of  the  Christian  church  to  death,  in  all  its  most  dreadful 
forms;  and  which  afterwards,  in  the  name  of  the  New  Religion, 
enforced  the  tortures  of  the  Inquisition,  amidst  the  shrieks  and 
agonies  of  its  victims,  while  it  compelled  Galileo  to  declare,  in 
solemn  denial  of  the  great  truth  he  had  disclosed,  that  the  earth 
did  not  move  round  the  sun.  It  was  a  judicial  tribunal  which,  in 
France,  during  the  long  reign  of  her  monarchs,  lent  itself  to  be 
the  instrument  of  every  tyranny,  as  during  the  brief  reign  of 
terror  it  did  not  hesitate  to  stand  forth  the  un pitying  accessary  of 
the  unpitying  guillotine.  Ay,  sir,  it  was  a  judicial  tribunal  in 
England,  surrounded  by  all  the  forms  of  law,  which  sanctioned 
every  despotic  caprice  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  from  the  unjust 
divorce  of  his  queen,  to  the  beheading  of  Sir  Thomas  More ; 
which  lighted  the  fires  of  persecution  that  glowed  at  Oxford  and 
Smithfield,  over  the  cinders  of  Latimer,  Ridley,  and  John  Rogers; 
which,  after  elaborate  argument,  upheld  the  fatal  tyranny  of  ship- 
money  against  the  patriot  resistance  of  Hampden ;  which,  in  de- 
fiance of  justice  and  humanit}^,  sent  Sidney  and  Russell  to  the 
block ;  which  persistently  enforced  the  laws  of  Conformity  that 
our  Puritan  Fathers  persistently  refused  to  obey ;  and  which 
afterwards,  with  Jeffries  on  the  bench,  crimsoned  the  pages  of 
English  history  with  massacre  and  murder — even  with  the  blood 
of  innocent  woman.  Ay,  sir,  and  it  was  a  judicial  tribunal  in  our 
country,  surrounded  by  all  the  forms  of  law,  which  hung  witches 
at  Salem, — which  affirmed  the  constitutionality  of  the  Stamp  Act, 
while  it  admonished  "jurors  and  the  people"  to  obey, — and  which 
now,  in  our  day,  has  lent  its  sanction  to  the  unutterable  atrocity 
of  the  Fugitive  Slave  Bill. 

Speech  at  Worcester,  September,  1854. 
53 


650  ANDREW  T.  PEABODY. 


ANDREW  P.  PEABODY. 

Rev.  Andrew  P.  Peabody,  D.D.,  was  born  in  Beverly,  Massachusetts,  in  1811, 
and  was  graduated  at  Harvard  College  in  1826.  He  studied  theology  at  Cambridge 
divinity-school,  and  after  completing  his  studies  was  elected  Tutor  of  Mathema- 
tics in  the  college.  In  1833,  he  became  the  pastor  of  the  South  Congregational 
Church  in  Portsmouth,  New  Hampshire,  in  which  position  he  still  remains.  In 
January,  1854,  the  editorship  of  the  "North  American  Review"  was  tendered  to 
him,  which  he  accepted,  and  the  duties  of  which  he  has  ever  since  discharged  with 
singular  tact,  judgment,  and  scholarship,  fully  sustaining  the  high  reputation  of 
that  time-honored  journal. 

Mr.  Peabody's  published  volumes  are,  Lectures  on  Christian  Doctrine,  which 
appeared  in  1814,  and  has  passed  through  numerous  editions;  and  Sermons  of 
Consolation,  which  appeared  in  1847.  Besides  these,  he  has  edited  many  volumes 
to  which  he  has  contributed  a  memoir  or  other  prefix;  and  has  published,  or 
rather  permitted  to  be  published,  a  large  number  of  occasional  sermons,  addresses, 
and  lectures.  His  contributions  to  the  "  Christian  Examiner"  and  the  "  North 
American  Review"  have  been  very  numerous  for  the  last  twenty-five  years  ;  and 
he  has  occasionally  written  for  other  periodicals. 

THE  MIRACLES  AND  WORK  OF  JESUS. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  gladness  sent  to  so  many  homes  and  hearts 
by  the  miracles  of  Jesus.  Has  he  ceased  to  exert  this  benign 
agency?  Or  have  outward  miracles,  having  discharged  their 
ministry,  yielded  place  to  still  "  greater  works"  ?  Would  you 
answer  this  question,  go  with  me  to  the  dwelling  of  as  happy  a 
family  as  you  may  find  among  a  thousand.  On  the  lips  of  the 
parents  is  the  law  of  love ;  tendernes  sand  reverence  are  blended 
in  every  look  and  tone  of  the  children.  An  unkind  word  is  never 
heard,  a  morose  countenance  never  seen  there.  The  father  daily 
stands  as  priest  at  his  own  household  altar,  and  his  overflowing 
gratitude  hardly  leaves  room  for  supplication.  On  the  Lord's 
day  they  go  up  to  the  sanctuary  together,  and  not  one  of  them 
retires  when  the  table  of  redeeming  love  is  spread.  Their  whole 
lives  adorn  the  doctrine  of  their  Saviour;  and  their  home  is  a 
radiating  place  for  pious  example  and  holy  influence. 

But  go  back  a  few  years,  and  what  was  that  family  ?  The 
father  a  self-made  maniac, — the  slave  of  brutal  appetite.  His 
chief  haunt  was  where  they  dig  graves  for  men's  souls;  and 
when  he  came  to  his  own  house,  it  was  but  to  curse  his  family, 
and  to  make  his  home  a  hell.  The  children  were  growing  up  in 
ignorance,  waywardness,  and  squalidness,  promising  only  to  add 
to  the  mass  of  pauperism  and  crime.    The  mother  alone  trusted 


ANDREW  P.  PEABODY. 


G51 


in  God;  and  her  heart  would  long  ago  have  broken,  had  she  not 
looked  for  a  rest  where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling.  But  the 
Divine  Redeemer  visited  that  family.  The  mother's  prayers  were 
at  length  heard.  The  father's  heart  was  touched.  The  Lord 
looked  upon  him,  and  he  wept.  His  tears  flowed  from  a  repent- 
ance not  to  be  repented  of.  His  Saviour's  face  shone  in  upon  his 
darkened  and  perverted  soul,  and  left  its  image  there.  And  then 
father  and  mother  together  bore  their  children  to  the  Redeemer 
for  his  blessing,  and,  in  united  prayer  and  effort,  consecrated  them 
to  his  altar  and  his  kingdom.  He  has  accepted  the  offering,  and 
set  his  seal  on  all  their  hearts.  Nor  is  this  a  scene  by  itself. 
Such  are  the  blessings  which  Jesus  has  shed  and  is  shedding 
abroad  in  thousands  of  families  all  over  Christendom.  Such  are 
the  fountains  of  compassion  that  still  flow  from  Him  whose  love 
we  this  morning  commemorate.  There  this  day  meet  in  his 
temple  and  surround  his  altar  multitudes  whom  he  has  ransomed 
from  the  lowest  degradation  and  the  foulest  guilt,  cleansed  from 
the  most  loathsome  leprosy,  and  brought  from  the  most  God- 
defying  madness,  to  sit  at  his  feet,  clothed  and  in  their  right 
mind. 

With  what  portion  of  our  well-being  and  happiness  is  not  the 
image  of  Jesus  blended  ?  What  is  there  that  renders  our  life 
here  blessed,  or  that  lights  up  the  future  with  promise,  which  he 
has  not  either  bestowed,  or  made  more  precious  and  availing  ? 
And  the  more  I  meditate  on  all  of  blessing  and  of  hope  that  is 
given  us  upon  earth,  the  more  do  I  feel  that  human  life  is  but  an 
extended  commentary  on  our  Saviour's  words, — "  I  and  the  Father 
are  one  m"  that  the  Father  and  the  Son  work  together  in  all  that 
gladdens  this  life,  and  in  all  that  fits  us  for  a  higher  and  better 
home  j  so  that  he  who,  by  his  own  negligence  or  guilt,  "  hath  not 
the  Son,  hath  not  the  Father."  I  feel  that  no  department  of  the 
Father's  goodness  is  complete  till  rays  from  Tabor  and  from  Cal- 
vary have  rested  upon  it  j  that  no  cup  which  the  Father  designs 
for  us  is  mingled  as  he  would  have  it,  till  Jesus  has  poured  into  it 
those  waters  of  which  he  that  drinketh  shall  thirst  no  more. 

Sermons  of  Consolation. 

CUVIER. 

Cuvier  has  performed  for  the  kingdoms  of  animated  nature  the 
work  which  Newton  wrought  for  the  mechanism  of  the  heavens. 
His  generalizations  now  seem  final  and  complete.  They  bind 
together  all  tribes  of  being  in  one  vast  and  beautiful  system,  per- 
vaded by  analogies  and  equivalent  provisions ;  and  reveal,  in  the 
structure  and  adaptations  of  the  animal  economy,  numberless 
mysteries  of  divine  wisdom  which  had  been  hidden  from  the 


652 


ANDREW  P.  PEABODY. 


foundation  of  the  world.  He  reached  these  sublime  results  be- 
cause his  religious  nature  prompted  him  to  look  for  unity  and 
harmony  in  the  works  of  God, — to  search  everywhere  for  traces 
of  the  all-pervading  and  all-perfect  mind, — to  seek  in  the  humblest 
zoophyte  the  expression  of  an  idea  of  God, — the  not  unworthy 
type  of  the  Infinite  Archetype.  He  wrought  in  glowing  faith. 
He  served  at  the  altar  of  science  as  a  priest  of  the  Most  High. 
Infidelity  went  from  his  presence  rebuked  and  humbled.  His 
soul  was  kindled,  his  lips  were  touched  ever  more  and  more  with 
the  fire  of  heaven,  as,  with  waning  strength  and  under  the  burden 
of  bereavement,  he  still  drew  bolder,  fuller  harmonies,  unheard 
before,  from  the  lyre  of  universal  nature.  Says  one  who  was  pre- 
sent at  the  lecture  from  which  he  went  home  to  die,  "In  the 
whole  of  this  lecture  there  was  an  omnipresence  of  the  Omni- 
potent and  Supreme  Cause.  The  examination  of  the  visible  world 
seemed  to  touch  upon  the  invisible.  The  search  into  creation 
invoked  the  presence  of  the  Creator.  It  seemed  as  if  the  veil 
were  to  be  torn  from  before  us,  and  science  was  about  to  reveal 
eternal  wisdom." 

Phi  Beta  Kappa  Oration,  1845. 
THE  HIGHER  LAW. 

In  the  whole  political  history  of  our  own  country,  there  has 
been  no  sin  so  atrocious  as  the  repudiation  of  a  higher  than 
human  law.  It  is  stark  atheism ;  for,  with  the  law,  this  position 
virtually  denies  also  the  providence,  of  God,  and  makes  men  and 
nations  sole  arbiters  of  their  own  fortunes.  But  "  the  Heavens 
do  rule."  If  there  be  institutions  or  measures  inconsistent  with 
immutable  rectitude,  they  are  fostered  only  under  the  ban  of  a 
righteous  God ;  they  inwrap  the  germs  of  their  own  harvest  of 
shame,  disorder,  vice,  and  wretchedness;  nay,  their  very  pros- 
perity is  but  the  verdure  and  blossoming  which  shall  mature  the 
apples  of  Sodom.  Oh,  how  often  have  our  legislators  had  reason 
to  recall  those  pregnant  words  of  Jefferson, — sad  indeed  is  it  that 
they  should  have  become  almost  too  trite  for  repetition,  without 
having  worked  their  way  into  the  national  conscience, — "  I  tremble 
for  my  country,  when  1  consider  that  God  is  just"  !  The  nations 
that  have  passed  away,  the  decaying  nations,  the  convulsed  thrones, 
the  smouldering  rebellion-fires,  of  the  Old  World,  reveal  the  ele- 
ments of  national  decline  and  ruin,  and  hold  out  baleful  signals 
over  the  career  on  which  our  republic  is  hurrying;  assuring  us, 
by  the  experience  of  all  climes  and  ages,  that  slavery,  the  unprin- 
cipled lust  of  power  and  territory,  official  corruption  and  venality, 
aggressive  war,  partisan  legislation,  are  but  "  sowing  the  wind  to 
reap  the  whirlwind." 


ALFRED  B.  STREET. 


Our  statesmen  of  the  "  manifest-destiny"  type  seem  to  imagine 
our  country  necessary  to  the  designs  of  Providence.  So  thought 
the  Hebrews,  and  on  far  more  plausible  grounds,  of  their  common- 
wealth ;  but,  rather  than  fulfil  to  such  degenerate  descendants  the 
promise  made  to  their  great  ancestor,  "  God  is  able,"  said  the 
divine  Teacher,  u  of  these  stones  to  raise  u§>  children  unto  Abra- 
ham." Our  destiny  must  be  evolved,  not  from  the  blending  of 
the  world's  noblest  races  in  our  ancestral  stock ;  not  from  a  posi- 
tion in  which  we  hold  the  keys  of  the  world's  commerce,  and  can 
say  to  the  North,  "  Give  up,"  and  to  the  South,  "  Keep  not 
back;"  not  from  our  capacity  to  absorb  and  assimilate  immigrant 
millions.  Destiny  is  but  the  concrete  of  character.  God  needs 
no  man  or  nation.  He  will  bring  in  the  reign  of  everlasting 
righteousness  j  and,  as  a  people,  we  must  stand  or  fall  as  we 
accept  or  spurn  that  reign.  Brethren,  scholars,  patriots  also,  I 
trust, — you  whose  generous  nurture  gives  you  large  and  enduring 
influence, — seek  for  the  country  of  your  pride  and  love,  above  all 
things  else,  her  establishment  on  the  eternal  right  as  on  the  Rock 
of  Ages.  Thus  shall  there  be  no  spot  on  her  fame,  no  limit  to  her 
growth,  no  waning  to  her  glory. 

Oration  at  Brown  University,  August,  1858. 


ALFRED  B.  STREET 

Is  the  son  of  the  late  General  R.  S.  Street,  and  was  born  in  Poughkeepsie,  Dut- 
chess County,  New  York,  on  the  ISth  of  December,  1811.  "When  he  was  quite 
young,  his  father  removed  with  his  family  to  Monticello,  Sullivan  County,  then 
called  "  the  wild  country,"  but  very  fertile.  Its  magnificent  scenery,  deep 
forests,  clear  streams,  gorges  of  piled  rocks  and  black  shade,  its  mountains,  and 
its  valleys,  all  tended  to  call  out  the  faculties  of  the  young  poet  ;  and  hence  his 
description  of  forest  life  and  scenery  are  so  true  to  nature.  He  studied  law  in 
the  office  of  his  father,  and,  on  his  admission  to  the  bar,  removed  to  the  city  of 
Albany,  where  he  now  resides.  For  a  series  of  years  he  has  held  the  office  of 
State  Librarian,  at  which  post  he  still  continues.  In  1817,  a  A'olume  of  his  fugi- 
tive poetry,  of  over  three  hundred  pages,  was  published  by  Clark  &  Austin,  and 
it  has  passed  through  several  editions.  In  the  following  year,  his  Metrical 
Romance  entitled  Frontenac  was  published  by  Bentley,  of  London,  and  re- 
published the  next  season  by  Scribner  &  Co.,  New  York.1  Of  late  years  Mr.  S. 
has  written  but  ver}'  little. 


1  Of  this  poem  the  "Britannia,"  a  London  periodical,  says,  "Mr.  Street  is 
one  of  the  writers  of  whom  his  country  has  reason  to  be  proud.  His  originality 
is  no  less  striking  than  his  talent.    In  dealing  with  the  Romance  of  North  Ame- 

55* 


654 


ALFRED  B.  STREET. 


THE  LOST  HUNTER. 

Numb'd  by  the  piercing,  freezing  air, 

And  burden'd  by  his  game, 
The  hunter,  struggling  with  despair, 

Dragg'd  on  his  shivering  frame ; 
The  rille  he  had  shoulder'd  late 
"Was  trail'd  along,  a  weary  weight; 

His  pouch  was  void  of  food  ; 
The  hours  were  speeding  in  their  flight, 
And  soon  the  long,  keen,  winter  night 

Would  wrap  the  solitude. 

Oft  did  he  stoop  a  listening  ear, 

Sweep  round  an  anxious  eye, — 
No  bark  or  axe-blow  could  he  hear, 

No  human  trace  descry. 
His  sinuous  path,  by  blazes,  wound 
Among  trunks  group'd  in  myriads  round ; 

Through  naked  boughs,  between 
Whose  tangled  architecture,  fraught 
With  many  a  shape  grotesquely  wrought, 

The  hemlock's  spire  was  seen. 

An  antler'd  dweller  of  the  wild 

Had  met  his  eager  gaze, 
And  far  his  wandering  steps  beguiled 

Within  an  unknown  maze  ; 
Stream,  rock,  and  run- way  he  had  cross' d, 
Unheeding,  till  the  marks  were  lost 

By  which  he  used  to  roam ; 
And  now  deep  swamp  and  wild  ravine 
And  rugged  mountain  were  between 

The  hunter  and  his  home. 

A  dusky  haze,  which  slow  had  crept 

On  high,  now  darken' d  there, 
And  a  few  snow-flakes  fluttering  swept 

Athwart  the  thick,  gray  air, 
Faster  and  faster,  till  between 
The  trunks  and  boughs  a  mottled  screen 

Of  glimmering  motes  was  spread, 
That  tick'd  against  each  object  round 
With  gentle  and  continuous  sound, 

Like  brook  o'er  pebbled  bed. 


ricau  life  at  a  time  when  the  red  man  waged  war  with  the  European  settlers,  ho 
has  skilfully  preserved  that  distinctive  reality  in  ideas,  habits,  and  actions  cha- 
racteristic of  the  Indian  tribes,  while  he  has  constructed  a  poem  of  singular 
power  and  beauty.  In  this  respect  Fronteuac  is  entirely  different  from  '  Gertrude 
of  AVyoming,'  which  presents  us  only  with  the  ideal  portraiture.  Mr.  Street,  has 
collected  all  his  materials  from  nature.  They  are  stamped  with  that  impress  of 
truth  which  is  at  once  visible  even  to  the  inexperienced  eye,  and,  like  a  great, 
artist,  he  has  exercised  his  imagination  only  in  forming  them  into  the  most 
■attractive,  picturescme,  and  beautiful  combinations." 


ALFRED  B.  STREET. 


The  laurel  tufts,  that  drooping  hung 

Close  roll'd  around  their  stems, 
And  the  sear  beech-leaves  still  that  clung, 

Were  white  with  powdering  gems. 
But,  hark  !  afar  a  sullen  moan 
Swell'd  out  to  louder,  deeper  tone, 

As  surging  near  it  pass'd, 
And,  bursting  with  a  roar,  and  shock 
That  made  the  groaning  forest  rock, 

On  rush'd  the  winter  blast. 

As  o'er  it  whistled,  shriek'd,  and  hiss'd, 

Caught  by  its  swooping  wings, 
The  snow  was  whirl'd  to  eddying  mist, 

Barb'd,  as  it  seem'd,  with  stings ; 
And  now  'twas  swept  with  lightning  flight 
Above  the  loftiest  hemlock's  height, 

Like  drifting  smoke,  and  now 
It  hid  the  air  with  shooting  clouds, 
And  robed  the  trees  with  circling  shrouds, 

Then  dash'd  in  heaps  below. 

Here,  plunging  in  a  billowy  wreath, 

There,  clinging  to  a  limb, 
The  suffering  hunter  gasp'd  for  breath, 

Brain  reel'd,  and  eye  grew  dim ; 
As  though  to  whelm  him  in  despair, 
Rapidly  changed  the  blackening  air 

To  murkiest  gloom  of  night, 
Till  naught  was  seen  around,  below, 
But  falling  flakes  and  mantled  snow, 

That  gleam' d  in  ghastly  white. 

At  every  blast  an  icy  dart 

Seem'd  through  his  nerves  to  fly, 
The  blood  was  freezing  to  his  heart, — 

Thought  whisper'd  he  must  die. 
The  thundering  tempest  echo'd  death, 
He  felt  it  in  his  tighten'd  bi-eath; 

Spoil,  rifle  dropp'd,  and  slow 
As  the  dread  torpor  crawling  came 
Along  his  staggering,  stiffening  frame, 

He  sunk  upon  the  snow. 

Reason  forsook  her  shatter'd  throne  : — 

He  deem'd  that  summer-hours 
Again  around  him  brightly  shone 

In  sunshine,  leaves,  and  flowers  ; 
Again  the  fresh,  green,  forest-sod, 
Rifle  in  hand,  he  lightly  trod, — 

He  heard  the  deer's  low  bleat; 
Or,  couch'd  within  the  shadowy  nook, 
He  drank  the  crystal  of  the  brook 

That  murmur'd  at  his  feet. 

It  changed  ; — his  cabin  roof  o'erspread, 
Rafter,  and  wall,  and  chair, 


656 


ALFRED  B.  STREET. 


Gleam'd  in  the  crackling  fire,  that  shed 

Its  warmth,  and  he  was  there  ; 
His  wife  had  clasp'd  his  hand,  and  now 
Her  gentle  kiss  was  on  his  brow, 

His  child  was  prattling  by ; 
The  hound  crouch'd,  dozing,  near  the  blaze, 
And  through  the  pane's  frost-pictured  haze 

He  saw  the  white  drifts  fly. 

That  pass'd  ; — before  his  swimming  sight 

Does  not  a  figure  bound, 
And  a  soft  voice,  with  wild  delight, 

Proclaim  the  lost  is  found  ? 
No,  hunter,  no  !  'tis  but  the  streak 
Of  whirling  snow, — the  tempest's  shriek, — 

No  human  aid  is  near  ! 
Never  again  that  form  will  meet 
Thy  clasp'd  embrace, — those  accents  sweet 

Speak  music  to  thine  ear. 

Morn  broke ; — away  the  clouds  were  chased, 

The  sky  was  pure  and  bright, 
And  on  its  blue  the  branches  traced 

Their  webs  of  glittering  white. 
Its  ivory  roof  the  hemlock  stoop'd, 
The  pine  its  silvery  tassel  droop'd, 

Down  bent  the  burden'd  wood, 
And,  scatter'd  round,  low  points  of  green, 
Peering  above  the  snowy  scene, 

Told  where  the  thickets  stood. 

In  a  deep  hollow,  drifted  high, 

A  wave-like  heap  was  thrown  ; 
Dazzlingly  in  the  sunny  sky 

A  diamond  blaze  it  shone  ; 
The  little  snow-bird,  chirping  sweet, 
Dotted  it  o'er  with  tripping  feet ; 

Unsullied,  smooth,  and  fair 
It  seem'd,  like  other  mounds,  where  trunk 
And  rock  amid  the  wreaths  were  sunk, 

But,  oh  ! — the  dead  was  there. 

Spring  came  with  wakening  breezes  bland, 

Soft  suns,  and  melting  rains, 
And,  touch'd  by  her  Ithuriel  wand, 

Earth  bursts  its  winter-chains. 
In  a  deep  nook,  where  moss  and  grass 
And  fern-leaves  wove  a  verdant  mass 

Some  scatter'd  bones  beside, 
A  mother,  kneeling  with  her  child, 
Told  by  her  tears  and  wailings  wild, 

That  there  the  lost  had  died. 


FRANCES  SARGENT  OSGOOD. 


657 


FRANCES  SARGENT  OSGOOD,  1812—1850. 

Frances  Sargent  Osgood  was  the  daughter  of  Joseph  Locke,  a  merchant  of 
Boston,  and  was  born  in  that  city  about  the  year  1812.1  Her  early  life  was 
passed  principally  in  Hiugham,  a  beautiful  village  on  the  shores  of  Massa- 
chusetts Bay  ;  and  here  she  early  displayed  that  poetical  genius  which  has  given 
her  a  place  among  our  best  poets  for  delicate  fancy,  and  ease  and  naturalness  of 
versification-.  Her  first  printed  productions  appeared  in  Mrs.  L.  M.  Child's  "Juve- 
nile Miscellany,"  when  she  was  about  seventeen  years  of  age.  Soon  after  this, 
she  wrote  for  the  "Ladies'  Magazine,"  edited  by  Mrs.  Sarah  J.  Hale,  under  the 
signature  of  "  Florence."  In  1835,  she  was  married  to  Mr.  Samuel  S.  Osgood,  an 
artist  of  distinction  and  of  cultivated  literary  taste,  who  fully  appreciated  the 
genius  of  his  wife.  Soon  after  their  marriage,  they  went  to  London,  where  Mr. 
Osgood  received  great  encouragement  in  the  exercise  of  his  art,  while  his  wife 
published  a  small  volume  called  The  Casket  of  Fate,  and  also  a  collection  of  her 
poems,  under  the  title  of  A  Wreath  of  Wild  Flowers  from  New  England,  both  of 
which  were  much  admired,  and  favorably  noticed  in  some  of  the  leading  literary 
journals. 

In  1840,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Osgood  returned  to  the  United  States,  and,  after  being 
some  time  in  Boston,  took  up  their  residence  in  New  York.  Here  she  wrote  con- 
tinually for  the  magazines,  and  edited  "  The  Poetry  of  Flowers  and  the  Flowers 
of  Poetry,"  and  "  The  Floral  Offering,"  two  richly-illustrated  souvenirs.  But 
her  health  began  gradually  to  decline,  and  in  the  winter  of  1847—48,  she  was  so 
much  of  an  invalid  as  to  be  confined  to  the  house.  Her  husband's  health,  also, 
was  feeble,  and  he  was  advised  to  seek  a  change  of  climate.  The  next  year,  as 
his  wife's  health  improved,  Mr.  Osgood  sailed  for  California,  with  fine  prospects 
there  in  the  line  of  his  profession.  He  returned  early  in  1850,  with  his  fortunes 
as  well  as  health  improved,  but  just  in  time  to  be  with  his  wife  in  the  last  few 
weeks  of  her  life;  for,  five  days  after,  she  breathed  her  last,  on  the  12th  of  May. 
Her  remains  were  removed  to  Boston,  and  laid  beside  those  of  her  mother  and 
daughter,  at  Mount  Auburn,  on  Wednesday  of  the  same  week.2 

new  England's  mountain-child. 

Where  foams  the  fall — a  tameless  storm — 

Through  Nature's  wild  and  rich  arcade, 
Which  forest-trees,  entwining,  form, 

There  trips  the  mountain-maid  ! 


1  Mrs.  Anna  Maria  Wells,  her  half-sister,  on  her  mother's  side,  was  no  mean 
poetess ;  and  Mr.  A.  A.  Locke,  her  brother,  was  a  fine  writer,  both  in  prose  and 
verse,  and  a  contributor  for  many  years  to  some  of  the  Boston  journals. 

2  Of  the  character  of  her  poetry  Edgar  A.  Poe  thus  writes  : — "  Mrs.  Osgood  has 
a  rich  fancy, — even  a  rich  imagination, — a  scrupulous  taste,  a  faultless  style,  and 
an  ear  finely  attuned  to  the  delicacies  of  melody.  In  that  vague  and  anomalous 
something  which  we  call  grace  for  want  of  a  more  definite  term,  and  which,  per- 
haps, in  its  supreme  development,  may  be  found  to  comprehend  nearly  all  that  is 
genuine  poetry, — in  this  magical  quality — magical  because  at  once  so  shadowy 
and  so  irresistible, — Mrs.  Osgood  has  assuredly  no  superior  in  America,  if  indeed 
she  has  any  ecpaal  under  the  sun." 


658 


FRANCES  SARGENT  OSGOOD. 


She  hinds  not  her  luxuriant  hair 
With  dazzling  gem  or  costly  plume, 

But  gayly  wreathes  a  rose-bud  there, 
To  match  her  maiden-bloom. 

She  clasps  no  golden  zone  of  pride 
Her  fair  and  simple  robe  around  ; 

By  flowing  ribbon,  lightly  tied, 
Its  graceful  folds  are  bound. 

And  thus  attired, — a  sportive  thing, 

Pure,  loving,  guileless,  bright,  and  wild, — 

Proud  Fashion  !  match  me,  in  your  ring, 
New  England's  mountain-child ! 

She  scorns  to  sell  her  rich,  warm  heart 
For  paltry  gold,  or  haughty  rank, — 

But  gives  her  love,  untaught  by  art, 
Confiding,  free,  and  frank  ! 

And,  once  bestow'd,  no  fortune-change 
That  high  and  generous  faith  can  alter ; 

Through  grief  and  pain — too  pure  to  range — 
She  will  not  fly  or  falter. 

Her  foot  will  bound  as  light  and  free 

In  lowly  hut,  as  palace-hall ; 
Her  sunny  smile  as  warm  will  be, — 

For  Love  to  her  is  all ! 

Hast  seen  where  in  our  woodland-gloom 
The  rich  magnolia  proudly  smiled  ? — ■ 

So  brightly  doth  she  bud  and  bloom, 
New  England's  mountain-child ! 


a  mother's  prayer  in  illness. 

Yes,  take  them  first,  my  Father  !    Let  my  doves 
Fold  their  white  wings  in  heaven,  safe  on  thy  breast, 
Ere  I  am  calFd  away :  I  dare  not  leave 

Their  young  hearts  here,  their  innocent,  thoughtless  hearts ! 
Ah,  how  the  shadowy  train  of  future  ills 
Comes  sweeping  down  life's  vista  as  I  gaze ! 

My  May  !  my  careless,  ardent-temper'd  May, 
My  frank  and  frolic  child,  in  whose  blue  eyes 
Wild  joy  and  passionate  woe  alternate  rise; 
Whose  cheek  the  morning  in  her  soul  illumes; 
Whose  little,  loving  heart  a  word,  a  glance, 
Can  sway  to  grief  or  glee;  who  leaves  her  play, 
And  puts  up  her  sweet  mouth  and  dimpled  arms 
Each  moment  for  a  kiss,  and  softly  asks, 
With  her  clear,  flutelike  voice,  ''Do  you  love  me?" 
Ah,  let  me  stay !  ah,  let  me  still  be  by, 
To  answer  her  and  meet  her  warm  caress ! 


FRANCES  SARGENT  OSGOOD. 


For,  I  away,  how  oft  in  this  rough  world 

That  earnest  question  will  be  ask'cl  in  vain ! 

How  oft  that  eager,  passionate,  petted  heart 

Will  shrink  abash'd  and  chill'd,  to  learn  at  length 

The  hateful,  withering  lesson  of  distrust ! 

Ah  !  let  her  ne>tle  still  upon  this  breast, 

In  which  each  shade  that  dims  her  darling  face 

Is  felt  and  answer d,  as  the  lake  reflects 

The  clouds  that  cross  yon  smiling  heaven  !    And  thou, 

My  modest  Ellen. — tender,  thoughtful,  true; 

Thy  soul  attuned  to  all  sweet  harmonies: 

My  pure,  proud,  noble  Ellen !  with  thy  gifts 

Of  genius,  grace,  and  loveliness,  half  hidden 

'Neath  the  soft  veil  of  innate  modesty, — 

How  will  the  world's  wild  discord  reach  thy  heart 

To  startle  and  appall !    Thy  generous  scorn 

Of  all  things  base  and  mean, — thy  quick,  keen  taste, 

Dainty  and  delicate, — thy  instinctive  fear 

Of  those  unworthy  of  a  soul  so  pure, — 

Thy  rare,  unchildlike  dignity  of  mien, 

All — they  will  all  bring  pain  to  thee,  my  child ! 

And  oh,  if  even  their  grace  and  goodness  meet 

Cold  looks  and  careless  greetings,  how  will  all 

The  latent  evil  yet  undisciplined 

In  their  young,  timid  souls,  forgiveness  find  ? 

Forgiveness,  and  forbearance,  and  soft  eludings, 

Which  I,  their  mother,  learn'd  of  Love  to  give! 

Ah,  let  me  stay  ? — albeit  my  heart  is  weary, 

Weary  and  worn,  tired  of  its  own  sad  beat, 

That  finds  no  echo  in  this  busy  world, 

Which  cannot  pause  to  answer, — tired  alike 

Of  joy  and  sorrow,  of  the  day  and  night, 

Ah,  take  them  first,  my  Father,  and  then  me ! 

And  for  their  sakes,  for  their  sweet  sakes,  my  Father, 

Let  me  find  rest  beside  them,  at  thy  feet ! 


LABORARE  EST  ORARE. 

Pause  not  to  dream  of  the  fut  ure  before  us : 
Pause  not  to  weep  the  wild  cares  that  come  o'er  us ; 
Hark,  how  Creation's  deep,  musical  chorus, 

Unintermitting,  goes  up  into  heaven! 
Never  the  ocean-wave  falters  in  flowing ; 
Never  the  little  seed  stops  in  its  growing; 
More  and  more  richly  the  Iloseheart  keeps  glowing, 

Till  from  its  nourishing  stem  it  is  riven. 

"  Labor  is  worship  !" — the  robin  is  singing  ; 
"Labor  is  worship!" — the  wild  bee  is  ringing: 
Listen !  that  eloquent  whisper,  upspringing. 

Speaks  to  thy  soul  from  out  nature's  great  heart. 
From  the  dark  cloud  flows  the  life-giving  shower; 
From  the  rough  sod  blows  the  soft-breathing  flower; 
From  the  small  insect,  the  rich  coral  bower; 

Only  man,  in  the  plan,  shrinks  from  his  part. 


660 


WILLIAM  II.  BURLEIGH. 


Labor  is  life  ! — 'Tis  the  still  water  faileth  ; 

Idleness  ever  despaireth,  bewaileth  ; 

Keep  the  watch  wound,  for  the  dark  rust  assaileth ! 

Flowers  droop  and  die  in  the  stillness  of  noon. 
Labor  is  glory  ! — the  flying  cloud  lightens  ; 
Only  the  waving  wing  changes  and  brightens ; 
Idle  hearts  only  the  dark  future  frightens: 

Play  the  sweet  keys,  wouldst  thou  keep  them  in  tune ! 

Labor  is  rest, — from  the  sorrows  that  greet  us  ; 
Rest  from  all  petty  vexations  that  meet  us, 
Rest  from  sin-promptings  that  ever  entreat  us, 

Rest  from  world-sirens  that  lure  us  to  ill. 
Work, — and  pure  slumbers  shall  wait  on  thy  pillow ; 
Work, — thou  shalt  ride  over  Care's  coming  billow ; 
Lie  not  down  wearied  'neath  AVoe's  weeping-willow ! 

Work  with  a  stout  heart  and  resolute  will! 

Labor  is  health, — lo  !  the  husbandman  reaping, 
How  through  his  veins  goes  the  life-current  leaping ! 
How  his  strong  arm  in  his  stalwart  pride  sweeping, 

True  as  a  sunbeam  the  swift  sickle  guides. 
Labor  is  wealth, — in  the  sea  the  pearl  groweth ; 
Rich  the  queen's  robe  from  the  frail  cocoon  floweth  ; 
From  the  fine  acorn  the  strong  forest  bloweth  ; 

Temple  and  statue  the  marble  block  hides. 

Droop  not,  though  shame,  sin,  and  anguish  are  round  thee! 
Bravely  fling  off  the  cold  chain  that  hath  bound  thee ! 
Look  to  yon  pure  heaven  smiling  beyond  thee ! 

Rest  not  content  in  thy  darkness, — a  clod ! 
Work — for  some  good,  be  it  ever  so  slowly  ; 
Cherish  some  flower,  be  it  ever  so  lowly : 
Labor ! — all  labor  is  noble  and  holy  : 

Let  thy  great  deeds  be  thy  prayer  to  thy  God. 


WILLIAM  II.  BURLEIGH. 

William  Hexry  Burleigh  was  born  in  Woodstock,  Connecticut,  on  the  2d  of 
February,  1812.  In  his  infancy  his  parents  removed  to  Plainfield,  where  his 
father  was  principal  of  an  academy  until  from  loss  of  sight  he  was  compelled  to 
resign  his  charge.  He  then  retired  to  a  farm,  so  that  the  son  passed  the  prin- 
cipal years  of  his  boyhood  in  agricultural  lahors,  with  no  other  means  of  educa- 
tion than  those  which  a  district  school  afforded,  till  he  reached  his  seventeenth 
year,  when  he  was  apprenticed  to  the  printing-business.  Since  that  period,  his 
life  has  been  singularly  varied,  his  time  having  been  divided  between  the  duties 
of  a  printer  and  editor,  and  a  public  lecturer.  He  conducted  at  one  time  "  The 
Literary  Journal,"  published  at  Schenectady.  Afterwards,  for  more  than  two 
years,  he  edited  "The  Christian  Witness,"  at  Pittsburg,  Pennsylvania,  and  re- 


WILLIAM  H.  BURLEIGH. 


661 


Bigned  it  to  take  charge  of  "The  Washington  Banner/'  published  at  Alleghany, 
opposite  to  Pittsburg.    A  volume  of  his  poems  appeared  in  Philadelphia  in  1840. 


THE  TIMES. 

Inaction  now  is  crime.    The  old  earth  reels 
Inebriate  with  guilt ;  and  Vice,  grown  bold, 
Laughs  Innocence  to  scorn.    The  thirst  for  gold 
Hath  made  men  demons,  till  the  heart  that  feels 
The  impulse  of  impartial  love,  nor  kneels 
In  worship  foul  to  Mammon,  is  contemnd. 
He  who  hath  kept  his  purer  faith,  and  stemm'd 
Corruption's  tide,  and  from  the  ruffian  heels 
Of  impious  tramplers  rescued  perilFd  right, 
Is  call'd  fanatic,  and  with  scoffs  and  jeers 
Maliciously  assail'd.    The  poor  man's  tears 
Are  unregarded;  the  oppressor's  might 

Revered  as  law :  and  he  whose  righteous  way 
Departs  from  evil,  makes  himself  a  prey. 


THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

Bold  men  were  they,  and  true,  that  pilgrim  band, 

Who  plough' d  with  venturous  prow  the  stormy  sea, 

Seeking  a  home  for  hunted  Liberty 
Amid  the  ancient  forests  of  a  land 
Wild,  gloomy,  vast,  magnificently  grand ! 

Friends,  country,  hallow'd  homes  they  left,  to  ue 
Pilgrims  for  Christ's  sake,  to  a  foreign  strand, — 

Beset  by  peril,  worn  with  toil,  yet  free! 
Tireless  in  zeal,  devotion,  labor,  hope  ; 

Constant  in  faith ;  in  justice  how  severe  ! 

Though  fools  deride  and  bigot-skeptics  sneer, 
Praise  tq  their  names !    If  call'd  like  them  to  cope, 

In  evil  times,  with  dark  and  evil  powers, 

Oh,  be  their  faith,  their  zeal,  their  courage,  ours ! 


JUNE. 

June,  with  its  roses, — June  ! 
The  gladdest  month  of  our  capricious  year, 
With  its  thick  foliage  and  its  sunlight  clear ; 

And  with  the  drowsy  tune 
Of  the  bright  leaping  waters,  as  they  pass 
Laughingly  on  amid  the  springing  grass ! 

Earth,  at  her  joyous  coming, 
Smiles  as  she  puts  her  gayest  mantle  on  ; 
And  Nature  greets  her  with  a  benison  ; 

56 


WILLIAM  H.  BURLEIGH. 


While  myriad  voices,  humming 
Their  welcome  song,  breathe  dreamy  music  round 
Till  seems  the  air  an  element  of  sound. 

The  overarching  sky 
Weareth  a  softer  tint,  a  lovelier  blue, 
As  if  the  light  of  heaven  were  melting  through 

Its  sapphire  home  on  high  ; 
Hiding  the  sunshine  in  their  vapory  breast, 
The  clouds  float  on  like  spirits  to  their  rest. 

A  deeper  melody, 
Pour'd  by  the  birds,  as  o'er  their  callow  young 
Watchful  they  hover,  to  the  breeze  is  flung — 

Gladsome,  yet  not  of  glee — 
Music  heart-born,  like  that  which  mothers  sing 
Above  their  cradled  infants  slumbering. 

On  the  warm  hill-side,  where 
The  sunlight,  lingers  latest,  through  the  grass 
Peepeth  the  luscious  strawberry!    As  they  pass, 

Young  children  gambol  there, 
Crushing  the  gather' d  fruit  in  playful  mood, 
And  staining  their  bright  faces  with  its  blood. 

A  deeper  blush  is  given 
To  the  half-ripen'd  cherry,  as  the  sun 
Day  after  day  pours  warmth  the  trees  upon, 

Till  the  rich  pulp  is  riven  ; 
The  truant  schoolboy  looks  with  longing  eyes, 
And  perils  limb  and  neck  to  win  the  prize. 

The  farmer,  in  his  field, 
Draws  the  rich  mould  around  the  tender  maize ; 
While  hope,  bright-pinion'd,  points  to  coming  days, 

When  all  his  toil  shall  yield 
An  ample  harvest,  and  around  his  hearth' 
There  shall  be  laughing  eyes  and  tones  of  mirth. 

Poised  on  his  rainbow-wing, 
The  butterfly,  whose  life  is  but  an  hour, 
Hovers  coquettishly  from  flower  to  flower, 

A  gay  and  happy  thing; 
Born  for  the  sunshine  and  the  summer-day, 
Soon  passing,  like  the  beautiful,  away ! 

These  are  thy  pictures,  June  ! 
Brightest  of  summer-months, — thou  month  of  flowers 
First-born  of  beauty,  whose  swift-footed  hours 

Dance  to  the  merry  tune 
Of  birds,  and  waters,  and  the  pleasant  shout 
Of  childhood  on  the  sunny  hills  peal'd  out. 

I  feel  it  were  not  wrong 
To  deem  thou  art  a  type  of  heaven's  clime, 
Only  that  there  the  clouds  and  storms  of  time 

Sweep  not  the  sky  along  ; 
The  flowers — air — beauty — music — all  are  thine, 
But  brighter — purer — lovelier — more  divine ! 


HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 


663 


HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 

Harriet  Elizabeth  Beecher,  daughter  of  Rev.  Lyman  Beecber,  D.D.,  was 
born  at  Litchfield,  Connecticut,  on  the  14th  of  June,  1S12.  She  was  educated  at 
her  sister  Catharine's  school  in  Hartford,  and  in  the  autumn  of  1832  removed 
with  her  father  to  Cincinnati,  Ohio.  Her  first  publication  was  the  story  of 
Uncle  Lot,  printed  with  a  different  title  in  Judge  Hall's  ••Monthly  Magazine,''  at 
Cincinnati,  in  1833;  in  which  year  also  she  was  married  to  Rev.  Calvin  E. 
Stowe,  at  that  time  Professor  of  Languages  and  Biblical  Literature  in  Lane 
Theological  Seminary.  During  her  residence  in  Cincinnati,  she  became  deeply 
interested  in  the  question  of  slavery,  from  seeing  many  fugitives  from  the  Slave 
States  and  hearing  from  them  their  tales  of  suffering.  From  the  date  of  her 
first  publication,  she  became  a  frequent  and  popular  writer  in  the  various  periodi- 
cals in  Cincinnati,  Philadelphia,  Xew  York,  and  Boston.  In  1819,  a  collection 
of  her  pieces  was  published  by  the  Harpers,  entitled  The  Mag  Floiccr,  which  was 
much  enlarged  in  a  new  edition  published  in  1855, — a  collection  of  tales  and 
essays  hardly  equalled  for  ease  and  naturalness  of  description,  touching  narra- 
tive, and  elevating  moral  tone. 

In  1850,  Professor  Stowe  was  called  to  Brunswick  College,  Maine,  and  removed 
thither  with  his  family.  The  passage  of  the  Fugitive  Slave  Bill  in  that  year 
excited  Mrs.  Stowe  to  write  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  or  Life  among  the  Loichj,  which 
she  wrote  with  almost  miraculous  rapidity,  under  a  constant  pressure  of  school 
and  family  cares,  and  frail  health, — enough  of  themselves  to  tax  the  most  vigor- 
ous intellect  to  its  utmost.  This  was  published  in  numbers  every  week,  in  the 
"  National  Era,"  at  Washington ;  and  in  1S52  it  appeared  in  book-form  from  tho 
press  of  John  P.  Jewett  &  Co.,  of  Boston.  Its  success  was  wonderful, — such  as 
no  other  book  has  ever  met  with.1  And  richly  did  it  deserve  it;  for,  independent 
of  its  being  one  of  the  most  powerful  blows  ever  aimed  at  slavery,  as  well  as 
of  its  high  and  pure  tone  of  Christian  morality,  and  its  truthfulness  through- 
out to  God  and  humanity,  it  exhibits  such  a  knowledge  of  human  nature,  such 
powers  of  description,  such  heart-stirring  pathos,  and  such  richness  and  beauty 
of  thought  and  language,  as  to  make  it  the  most  remarkable  book  published  in 
our  country. 

In  1S52,  Professor  Stowe  was  called  to  the  chair  of  Biblical  Literature  in  An- 


1  "By  the  end  of  November,  1852,  150,000  copies  had  been  sold  in  America: 
and  in  September  of  that  year  the  London  publishers  furnished  to  one  house 
10,000  copies  per  day  for  about  four  weeks.  We  cannot  follow  it  beyond  1852, 
but  at  that  time  more  than  a  million  of  copies  had  been  sold  in  England, — pro- 
bably ten  times  as  many  as  have  been  sold  of  any  other  work,  except  the  Bible 
and  Prayer-Book.  In  France,  Uncle  Tom  still  covers  the  shop-windows  of  the 
Boulevards,  and  one  publisher  alone,  Eustace  Basba,  has  sent  out  five  differ- 
ent editions  in  different  forms.  Before  the  end  of  1S52  it  had  been  translated 
into  Italian.  Spanish,  Danish,  Swedish,  Dutch,  Flemish,  German,  Polish,  and 
Magyar.  There  are  two  different  Dutch  translations,  and  twelve  different  Ger- 
man ones;  and  the  Italian  translation  enjoys  the  honor  of  the  Pope's  prohibi- 
tion. It  has  been  dramatized  in  twenty  different  forms,  and  acted  in  every 
capital  in  Europe  and  in  the  free  States  of  America." — Edinburgh  Review, 
April,  1855. 


664 


HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 


dover  Theological  Seminary.  As  Uncle  Tom  had  been  grossly  assailed  as  giving 
a  too  dark  and  a  false  view  of  slavery,  Mrs.  Stowe  published  the  Key  to  Uncle 
Tom,  consisting  of  a  collection  of  facts  drawn  chiefly  from  Southern  authorities, 
which  more  than  verified  all  that  she  had  before  depicted.  Soon  after  the  publi- 
cation of  the  Key,  Mrs.  Stowe,  with  her  husband  and  her  brother,  the  Rev. 
Charles  Beecher,  went  to  Europe  for  her  health,  where  she  was  received  every- 
where with  the  warmest  enthusiasm.  On  her  return,  she  published  Sunny  Memo- 
ries of  Foreign  Lands,  being  her  observations  and  reflections  on  what  she  saw 
abroad;  and  in  1855,  Bred,  or  a  Tale  of  the  Dismal  Swamp.  Though  not  equal 
to  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  in  the  unity  of  the  plot,  in  the  simplicity  and  naturalness 
of  the  story,  in  deep  pathos,  or  in  the  absorbing  interest  it  excites  in  the  several 
characters,  it  contains,  nevertheless,  many  passages  of  powerful  and  beautiful 
writing,  and  is  in  advance  of  its  great  prototype  in  the  withering  scorn  and 
indignant  sarcasm  with  which  it  holds  up  before  the  world  that  sham  religion 
that  puts  "  sacrifice"  before  "  mercy" 1  and  substitutes  mere  church-going  and 
outward  observances  for  practical  righteousness. 

In  the  "Atlantic  Monthly"  for  December,  1858,  Mrs.  Stowe  begins  a  new  story, 
entitled  The  Minister's  Wooing,  which  has  been  received  with  universal  favor,  and 
promises  to  be  second  only  to  Uncle  Tom, — and  that  is  praise  enough. 

EVA'S  DEATH. 

Eva,  after  this,  declined  rapidly  :  there  was  no  more  any  doubt 
of  the  event;  the  fondest  hope  could  not  be  blinded.  Her  beau- 
tiful room  was  avowedly  a  sick-room;  and  Miss  Ophelia  day  and 
night  performed  the  duties  of  a  nurse,  and  never  did  her  friends 
appreciate  her  value  more  than  in  that  capacity.  With  so  well- 
trained  a  hand  and  eye,  such  perfect  adroitness  and  practice  in 
every  art  which  could  promote  neatness  and  comfort  and  keep 
out  of  sight  every  disagreeable  incident  of  sickness, — with  such  a 
perfect  sense  of  time,  such  a  clear,  untroubled  head,  such  exact 
accuracy  in  remembering  every  prescription  and  direction  of  the 
doctors, — she  was  every  thing  to  St.  Clare.  They  who  had 
shrugged  their  shoulders  at  the  little  peculiarities  and  setn esses — 
so  unlike  the  careless  freedom  of  Southern  manners — acknow- 
ledged that  now  she  was  the  exact  person  that  was  wanted. 

Uncle  Tom  was  much  in  Eva's  room.  The  child  suffered 
much  from  nervous  restlessness,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  her  to  be 
carried  ;  and  it  was  Tom's  greatest  delight  to  carry  her  little 
frail  form  in  his  arms,  resting  on  a  pillow,  now  up  and  down 
her  room,  now  out  into  the  veranda;  and  when  the  fresh  sea- 
breezes  blew  from  the  lake, — and  the  child  felt  freshest  in  the 
morning, — he  would  sometimes  walk  with  her  under  the  orange- 


1  Matthew  xii.  7. 


HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 


665 


trees  in  the  garden,  or,  sitting  clown  in  some  of  their  old  seats, 
sing  to  her  their  favorite  old  hymns. 

Her  father  often  did  the  same  thing;  but  his  frame  was  slighter, 
and  when  he  was  weary,  Eva  would  say  to  him, — 

"  Oh,  papa,  let  Tom  take  me.  Poor  fellow!  it  pleases  him; 
and  you  know  it's  all  he  can  do  now,  and  he  wants  to  do  some- 
thing I" 

"  So  do  I,  Eva !"  said  her  father. 

"  Well,  papa,  you  can  do  every  thing,  and  are  every  thing  to 
me.  You  read  to  me, — you  sit  up  nights ;  and  Tom  has  only 
this  one  thing,  and  his  singing  y  and  I  know,  too,  he  does  it  easier 
than  you  can.    He  carries  me  so  strong !" 

The  desire  to  do  something  was  not  confined  to  Tom.  Every 
servant  in  the  establishment  showed  the  same  feeling,  and,  in 
their  way,  did  what  they  could.  But  the  friend  who  knew  most 
of  Eva's  own  imaginings  and  foreshadowings  was  her  faithful 
bearer,  Tom.  To  him  she  said  what  she  would  not  disturb  her 
father  by  saying.  To  him  she  imparted  those  mysterious  intima- 
tions which  the  soul  feels  as  the  cords  begin  to  unbind  ere  it 
leaves  its  clay  forever. 

Tom,  at  last,  would  not  sleep  in  his  room,  but  lay  all  night  in 
the  outer  veranda,  ready  to  rouse  at  every  call. 

"  Uncle  Tom,  what  alive  have  you  taken  to  sleeping  anywhere 
and  everywhere,  like  a  dog,  for  ?"  said  Miss  Ophelia.  "  I  thought 
you  was  one  of  the  orderly  sort,  that  liked  to  lie  in  bed  in  a 
Christian  way." 

"  I  do,  Miss  Feely,"  said  Tom,  mysteriously.      "  I  do ;  but 

now  " 

"Well,  what  now?" 

"  We  mustn't  speak  loud ;  Mas'r  St.  Clare  won't  hear  on't ; 
but,  Miss  Feely,  you  know  there  must  be  somebody  watchin'  for 
the  bridegroom." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Tom  ?" 

"  You  know  it  says  in  Scripture,  '  At  midnight  there  was  a 
great  cry  made.  Behold,  the  bridegroom  cometh/  That's  what 
I'm  spectin'  now,  every  night,  Miss  Feely )  and  I  couldn't  sleep 
out  o'  hearin',  no  ways." 

"  Why,  Uncle  Tom,  what  makes  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Miss  Eva  she  talks  to  me.  The  Lord,  He  sends  his  messen- 
ger in  the  soul.  I  must  be  thar,  Miss  Feely  j  for  when  that 
ar  blessed  child  goes  into  the  kingdom,  they'll  open  the  door  so 
wide,  we'll  all  get  a  look  in  at  the  glory,  Miss  Feely." 

"  Uncle  Tom,  did  Miss  Eva  say  she  felt  more  unwell  than 
usual,  to-night  V 

"  No ;  but  she  telled  me  this  morning  she  was  coming  nearer, 
— thar's  them  that  tells  it  to  the  child,  Miss  Feely.    It's  the 


666 


HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 


angels, — '  it's  the  trumpet-sound  afore  the  break  o'  day/  "  said 
Tom,  quoting  from  a  favorite  hymn. 

This  dialogue  passed  between  Miss  Ophelia  and  Tom,  between 
ten  and  eleven,  one  evening,  after  her  arrangements  had  all 
been  made  for  the  night,  when,  on  going  to  bolt  her  outer  door, 
she  found  Tom  stretched  along  by  it,  in  the  outer  veranda. 

She  was  not  nervous  or  impressible  ;  but  the  solemn,  heartfelt 
manner  struck  her.  Eva  had  been  unusually  bright  and  cheerful 
that  afternoon,  and  had  sat  raised  in  her  bed,  and  looked  over  all 
her  little  trinkets  and  precious  things,  and  designated  the  friends 
to  whom  she  would  have  them  given  •  and  her  manner  was  more 
animated,  and  her  voice  more  natural,  than  they  had  known  it  for 
weeks.  Her  father  had  been  in,  in  the  evening,  and  had  said 
that  Eva  appeared  more  like  her  former  self  than  ever  she 
had  done  since  her  sickness ;  and  when  he  kissed  her  for 
the  night,  he  said  to  Miss  Ophelia,  "  Cousin,  we  may  keep 
her  with  us,  after  all :  she  is  certainly  better  and  he  had 
retired  with  a  lighter  heart  in  his  bosom  than  he  had  had  there 
for  weeks. 

But  at  midnight, —  strange,  mystic  hour!  —  when  the  veil 
between  the  frail  present  and  the  eternal  future  grows  thin, — 
then  came  the  messenger  ! 

There  was  a  sound  in  that  chamber,  first  of  one  who  stepped 
quickly.  It  was  3Iiss  Ophelia,  who  had  resolved  to  sit  up  all 
night  with  her  little  charge,  and  who  at  the  turn  of  the  night 
had  discerned  what  experienced  nurses  significantly  call  "a 
change."  The  outer  door  was  quickly  opened,  and  Tom,  who  was 
watching  outside,  was  on  the  alert  in  a  moment. 

"  Go  for  the  doctor,  Tom !  lose  not  a  moment,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia;  and,  stepping  across  the  room,  she  rapped  at  St.  Clare's 
door. 

"  Cousin,"  she  said,  "  I  wish  you  would  come." 

Those  words  fell  on  his  heart  like  clods  upon  a  coffin.  Why  did 
they  ?  He  was  up  and  in  the  room  in  an  instant,  and  bending 
over  Eva,  who  still  slept. 

What  was  it  he  saw  that  made  his  heart  stand  still  ?  Why  was 
no  word  spoken  between  the  two  ?  Thou  canst  say,  who  hast 
seen  that  same  expression  on  the  face  dearest  to  thee, — that  look, 
indescribable,  hopeless,  unmistakable,  that  says  to  thee  that  thy 
beloved  is  no  longer  thine. 

On  the  face  of  the  child,  however,  there  was  no  ghastly  im- 
print,— only  a  high  and  almost  sublime  expression, — the  over- 
shadowing presence  of  spiritual  natures,  the  dawning  of  immortal 
life  in  that  childish  soul. 

They  stood  there  so  still,  gazing  upon  her,  that  even  the  tick- 
ing of  the  watch  seemed  too  loud.    In  a  few  moments  Tom 


HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 


667 


returned,  with  the  doctor.  He  entered,  gave  one  look,  and  stood 
silent  as  the  rest. 

"  When  did  this  change  take  place  V  said  he,  in  a  low  whisper, 
to  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  About  the  turn  of  the  night,"  was  the  reply. 

Marie,  roused  by  the  entrance  of  the  doctor,  appeared,  hur- 
riedly, from  the  next  room. 

"  Augustine  !  Cousin  ! — Oh  ! — what !"  she  hurriedly  began. 

"  Hush  !"  said  St.  Clare,  hoarsely;  "she  is  dying  !" 

Mammy  heard  the  words,  and  flew  to  awaken  the  servants.  The 
house  was  soon  roused, — lights  were  seen,  footsteps  heard,  anxious 
faces  thronged  the  veranda  and  looked  tearfully  through  the  glass 
doors ;  but  St.  Clare  heard  and  said  nothing, — he  saw  only  that 
look  on  the  face  of  the  little  sleeper. 

"  Oh,  if  she  would  only  wake,  and  speak  once  more  I"  he 
said;  and,  stooping  over  her,  he  spoke  in  her  ear, — "Eva, 
darling  !" 

The  large  blue  eyes  unclosed, — a  smile  passed  over  her  face ; 
she  tried  to  raise  her  head,  and  to  speak. 
"  Do  you  know  me,  Eva  V 

"  Dear  papa,"  said  the  child,  with  a  last  effort,  throwing  her 
arms  about  his  neck.  In  a  moment  they  dropped  again  ;  and  as 
St.  Clare  raised  his  head,  he  saw  a  spasm  of  mortal  agony  pass 
over  the  face  :  she  struggled  for  breath,  and  threw  up  her  little 
hands. 

"  0  God,  this  is  dreadful  !"  he  said,  turning  away  in  agony, 
and  wringing  Tom's  hand,  scarce  conscious  what  he  was  doing. 
"  Oh,  Tom,  my  boy,  it  is  killing  me  I" 

Tom  had  his  master's  hands  between  his  own,  and,  with  tears 
streaming  down  his  dark  cheeks,  looked  up  for  help  where  he 
had  always  been  used  to  look. 

"  Pray  that  this  may  be  cut  short !"  said  St.  Clare :  "  this 
wrings  my  heart  I" 

"  Oh,  bless  the  Lord  !  it's  over, — it's  over,  dear  master !"  said 
Tom.    "  Look  at  her." 

The  child  lay  panting  on  her  pillows,  as  one  exhausted, — the 
large  clear  eyes  rolled  up  and  fixed.  Ah,  what  said  those  eyes, 
that  spoke  so  much  of  heaven  ?  Earth  was  past,  and  earthly 
pain ;  but  so  solemn,  so  mysterious,  was  the  triumphant  bright- 
ness of  that  face,  that  it  checked  even  the  sobs  of  sorrow.  They 
pressed  around  her,  in  breathless  stillness. 

"  Eva  !"  said  St.  Clare,  gently. 

She  did  not  hear. 

"  Oh,  Eva,  tell  us  what  you  see  !  What  is  it  ?"  said  her 
father. 

A  bright,  a  glorious  smile  passed  over  her  face,  and  she  said, 


668 


HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 


brokenly,  "  Oh!  love — joy — peace!"  gave  one  sigh,  and  passed 
from  death  unto  life  ! 

"  Farewell,  beloved  child !  the  bright,  eternal  doors  have  closed 
after  thee ;  we  shall  see  thy  sweet  face  no  more.  Oh,  woe  for 
them  who  watched  thy  entrance  into  heaven,  when  they  shall 
wake  and  find  only  the  cold  gray  sky  of  daily  life,  and  thou  gone 
forever  I"1 

HOW  TO  MAKE  FRIENDS  "  OF  THE  MAMMON  OF  UNRIGHT- 
EOUSNESS."2 

"  Papa,"  said  a  little  boy,  "  what  does  this  verse  mean  ?  It's 
in  my  Sunday-school  lesson  : — '  Make  to  yourselves  friends  of  the 
mammon  of  unrighteousness,  that,  when  ye  fail,  they  may  receive 
you  into  everlasting  habitations'  " 

"  You  ought  to  have  asked  your  teacher,  my  son." 

"  But  he  said  he  didn't  know  exactly  what  it  meant.  He 
wanted  me  to  look  this  week  and  see  if  I  could  find  out." 

Mr.  H.'s  standing  resource  in  all  exegetical  difficulties  was  Dr. 
Scott's  Family  Bible.  Therefore  he  now  got  up,  and,  putting  on 
his  spectacles,  walked  to  the  glass  bookcase  and  took  down  a 
volume  of  that  worthy  commentator,  and,  opening  it,  read  aloud 
the  whole  exposition  of  the  passage,  together  with  the  practical 
reflections  upon  it;  and  by  the  time  he  had  done,  he  found  his 
}roung  auditor  fast  asleep  in  his  chair. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  "  this  child  plays  too  hard.  He  can't  keep 
his  eyes  open  evenings.    It's  time  he  was  in  bed." 

"  I  wasn't  asleep,  pa,"  said  Master  Henry,  starting  up  with  that 
air  of  injured  innocence  with  which  gentlemen  of  his  age  gene- 
rally treat  an  imputation  of  this  kind. 


1  The  following  beautiful  and  touchi 
Whittier : — 

Dry  the  tears  for  holy  Eva, 
With  the  blessed  angels  leave  her ; 
Of  the  form  so  soft  and  fair, 
Give  to  earth  the  tender  care. 

For  the  golden  locks  of  Eva 
Let  the  sunny  South-land  give  her 
Flowery  pillow  of  repose — 
Orange-blooin  and  budding  rose. 

In  the  better  home  of  Eva 
Let  the  shining  ones  receive  her, 
With  the  welcome-voiced  psalm, 
Harp  of  gold,  and  waving  palm  ! 

All  is  light  and  perfce  with  Eva; 
There  the  darkness  cometh  never; 

2  This  most  beautiful  and  satisfactory 
mentators  have  written  upon  the  passage 


g  verses  are  from  the  pen  of  our  gifted 


Tears  are  wiped,  and  fetters  fall, 
And  the  Lord  is  all  in  all. 

Weep  no  more  for  happy  Eva, 
Wrong  and  sin  no  more  shall  grieve  her; 
Care  and  pain  and  weariness 
Lost  in  love  so  measureless. 

Gentle  Eva,  loving  Eva, 
Child  confessor,  true  believer, 
Listener  at  the  Master's  knee, 
"  Suffer  such  to  come  to  me." 

Oh  for  faith  like  thiue,  sweet  Eva, 
Lighting  all  the  solemn  river, 
And  the  blessings  of  the  poor 
Wafting  to  the  heavenly  shore  ! 

exposition  is  worth  all  that  the  corn- 
since  the  days  of  Calvin. 


HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 


669 


"  Then  can  you  tell  me  now  what  the  passage  means  that  I  have 
been  reading  to  you  V* 

"  There's  so  much  of  it,"  said  Henry,  hopelessly,  "  I  wish  you'd 
just  tell  me  in  short  order,  father." 

"  Oh,  read  it  for  yourself,"  said  Mr.  H.,  as  he  pushed  the  book 
towards  the  boy ;  for  it  was  to  be  confessed  that  he  perceived  at 
this  moment  that  he  had  not  himself  received  any  particularly 
luminous  impression,  though  of  course  he  thought  it  was  owing  to 
his  own  want  of  comprehension. 

Mr.  H.  leaned  back  in  his  rocking-chair,  and  on  his  own  private 
account  began  to  speculate  a  little  as  to  what  he  really  should 
think  the  verse  might  mean,  supposing  he  were  at  all  competent 
to  decide  upon  it.  "  {  Make  to  yourselves  friends  of  the  mammon 
of  unrighteousness/  "  says  he  :  "  that's  money,  very  clearly.  How 
am  I  to  make  friends  with  it  or  of  it?  Receive  me  into  everlast- 
ing habitations  :  that's  a  singular  kind  of  expression.  I  wonder 
what  it  means.  Dr.  Scott  makes  some  very  good  remarks  about 
it;  but  somehow  I'm  not  exactly  clear."  It  must  be  remarked 
that  this  was  not  an  uncommon  result  of  Mr.  H.'s  critical  investi- 
gations in  this  quarter. 

Well,  thoughts  will  wander;  and  as  he  lay  with  his  head  on 
the  back  of  his  rocking-chair  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  flickering 
blaze  of  the  coal,  visions  of  his  wet  tramp  in  the  city,  and  of  the 
lonely  garret  he  had  been  visiting,  and  of  the  poor  woman  with 
the  pale,  discouraged  face,  to  whom  he  had  carried  warmth  and 
comfort,  all  blended  themselves  together.  He  felt,  too,  a  little 
indefinite  creeping  chill,  and  some  uneasy  sensations  in  his  head 
like  a  commencing  cold  j  for  he  was  not  a  strong  man,  and  it  is 
probable  his  long,  wet  walk  was  likely  to  cause  him  some  incon- 
venience in  this  way.  At  last  he  was  fast  asleep,  nodding  in 
his  chair. 

He  dreamed  that  he  was  very  sick  in  bed,  that  the  doctor  came 
and  went,  and  that  he  grew  sicker  and  sicker.  He  was  going  to 
die.  He  saw  his  wife  sitting  weeping  by  his  pillow, — his  chil- 
dren standing  by  with  pale  and  frightened  faces ;  all  things  in  his 
room  began  to  swim,  and  waver,  and  fade  j  and  voices  that  called 
his  name,  and  sobs  and  lamentations  that  rose  around  him,  seemed 
far  off  and  distant  in  his  ear.  "  0  eternity,  eternity  !  I  am 
going, — I  am  going,"  he  thought;  and  in  that  hour,  strange  to 
tell,  not  one  of  all  his  good  deeds  seemed  good  enough  to  lean 
on, — all  bore  some  taint  or  tinge,  to  his  purified  eye,  of  mortal 
selfishness,  and  seemed  unholy  before  the  All  Pure.  "  I  am 
going,"  he  thought;  "there  is  no  time  to  stay,  no  time  to  alter, 
to  balance  accounts ;  and  I  know  not  what  I  am,  but  I  know,  0 
Jesus,  what  thou  art.    I  have  trusted  in  thee,  and  shall  never 


670 


HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 


be  confounded."  And  with  that  last  breath  of  prayer  earth 
was  past. 

A  soft  and  solemn  breathing,  as  of  music,  awakened  him.  As 
an  infant  child  not  yet  fully  awake  hears  the  holy  warblings  of  his 
mother's  hymn,  and  smiles  half  conscious,  so  the  heaven-born  be- 
came aware  of  sweet  voices  and  loving  faces  around  him  ere  yet 
he  fully  woke  to  the  new  immortal  life. 

"  Ah,  he  has  come  at  last !  How  long  we  have  waited  for 
him  !  Here  he  is  among  us.  Now  forever  welcome  !  welcome  !" 
said  the  voices. 

Who  shall  speak  the  joy  of  that  latest  birth, — the  birth  from 
death  to  life ! — the  sweet,  calm,  inbreathing  consciousness  of 
purity  and  rest, — the  certainty  that  all  sin,  all  weakness  and 
error,  are  at  last  gone  forever, — the  deep,  immortal  rapture  of 
repose, — felt  to  be  but  begun, — never  to  end  ! 

So  the  eyes  of  the  heaven-born  opened  on  the  new  heaven  and 
the  new  earth,  and  wondered  at  the  crowd  of  loving  faces  that 
thronged  about  him.  Fair,  godlike  forms  of  beauty,  such  as 
earth  never  knew,  pressed  round  him  with  blessings,  thanks,  and 
welcome. 

The  man  spoke  not,  but  he  wondered  in  his  heart  who  they 
were,  and  whence  it  came  that  they  knew  him ;  and  as  soon  as 
the  inquiry  formed  itself  in  his  soul,  it  was  read  at  once  by  his 
heavenly  friends.  "  I,"  said  one  bright  spirit,  "  was  a  poor  boy 
whom  you  found  in  the  streets  :  you  sought  me  out,  you  sent  me 
to  school,  you  watched  over  me,  and  led  me  to  the  house  of  God ; 
and  now  here  I  am."  "  And  we,"  said  other  voices,  "  are  other 
neglected  children  whom  you  redeemed :  we  also  thank  you." 
"  And  I,"  said  another,  '-was  a  lost,  helpless  girl :  sold  to  sin  and 
shame,  nobody  thought  I  could  be  saved ;  everybody  passed  me  by 
till  you  came.  You  built  a  home,  a  refuge  for  such  poor  wretches 
as  I,  and  there  I  and  many  like  me  heard  of  Jesus;  and  here  we 
are."  "  And  I,"  said  another,  "  was  once  a  clerk  in  your  store. 
I  came  to  the  city  innocent,  but  I  was  betrayed  by  the  tempter. 
I  forgot  my  mother  and  my  mother's  God.  I  went  to  the  gaming- 
table and  the  theatre,  and  at  last  I  robbed  your  drawer.  You 
might  have  justly  cast  me  off ;  but  you  bore  with  me,  you  watched 
over  me,  you  saved  me.  I  am  here  through  you  this  day." 
"  And  I,"  said  another,  u  was  a  poor  slave-girl, — doomed  to  be 
sold  on  the  auction-block  to  a  life  of  infamy,  and  the  ruin  of  soul 
and  body.  Had  you  not  been  willing  to  give  so  largely  for  my 
ransom,  no  one  had  thought  to  buy  me.  You  stimulated  others 
to  give,  and  I  was  redeemed.  1  lived  a  Christian  mother  to 
bring  my  children  up  for  Christ, — they  are  all  here  with  me  to 
bless  you  this  day,  and  their  children  on  earth,  and  their  chil- 
dren's children,  are  growing  up  to  bless  you."    "  And  I,"  said 


HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 


671 


another,  "  was  an  unbeliever.  In  the  pride  of  my  intellect,  I 
thought  I  could  demonstrate  the  absurdity  of  Christianity.  I 
thought  I  could  answer  the  argument  from  miracles  and  pro- 
phecy; but  your  patient,  self-denying  life  was  an  argument  I 
never  could  answer.  When  I  saw  you  spending  all  your  time  and 
all  your  money  in  efforts  for  your  fellow-men,  undiscouraged  by 
ingratitude  and  careless  of  praise,  then  I  thought,  *  There  is 
something  divine  in  that  man's  life/  and  that  thought  brought 
me  here." 

The  man  looked  around  on  the  gathering  congregation,  and  he 
saw  that  there  was  no  one  whom  he  had  drawn  heavenward  that 
had  not  also  drawn  thither  myriads  of  others.  In  his  lifetime  he 
had  been  scattering  seeds  of  good  around  from  hour  to  hour, 
almost  unconsciously;  and  now  he  saw  every  seed  springing  up 
into  a  widening  forest  of  immortal  beauty  and  glory.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  there  was  to  be  no  end  of  the  numbers  that  nocked  to 
claim  him  as  their  long-expected  soul-friend.  His  heart  was  full, 
and  his  face  became  as  that  of  an  angel  as  he  looked  up  to  One 
who  seemed  nearer  than  all,  and  said,  "  This  is  thy  love  for  me, 
unworthy,  0  Jesus  !  Of  thee,  and  to  thee,  and  through  thee,  are 
all  things.  Amen." 

Amen  !  as  with  chorus  of  many  waters  and  mighty  thunderings 
the  sound  swept  onward,  and  died  far  off  in  chiming  echoes  among 
the  distant  stars ;  and  the  man  awoke. 

"  ONLY  A  YEAR.  '1 

One  year  ago, — a  ringing  voice, 

A  clear  blue  eye, 
And  clustering  curls  of  sunny  hair, 

Too  fair  to  die. 

Only  a  year, — no  voice,  no  smile, 

No  glance  of  eye, 
Xo  clustering  curls  of  golden  hair, 

Fair  but  to  die. 

One  year  ago, — what  loves,  what  schemes 

Far  into  life ! 
What  joyous  hopes,  what  high  resolves, 

What  generous  strife : 

The  silent  picture  on  the  wall, 

The  burial-stone, — ■ 
Of  all  that  beauty,  life,  and  joy, 

Remain  alone ! 


1  These  tender  and  beautiful  lines  refer  to  the  melancholy  death,  July  9,  3S57, 
of  a  son,  a  student  of  Dartmouth  College,  of  fine  character  and  promise,  who  went 
with  some  classmates  to  the  Connecticut  River  to  bathe,  got  beyond  his  depth,  and 
was  drowned. 


672 


THOMAS  MACKELLAR. 


One  year, — one  year, — one  little  year, 

And  so  much  gone  ! 
And  yet  the  even  flow  of  life 

Moves  calmly  on. 

The  grave  grows  green,  the  flowers  bloom  fair, 

Above  that  head ; 
No  soiTowing  tint  of  leaf  or  spray 

Says  he  is  dead. 

No  pause  or  hush  of  merry  birds 

That  sing  above, 
Tells  us  how  coldly  sleeps  below 

The  form  we  love. 

"Where  hast  thou  been  this  year,  beloved  ? 

What  hast  thou  seen  ? 
What  visions  fair,  what  glorious  life, 

Where  thou  hast  been  ? 

The  veil !  the  veil !  so  thin,  so  strong ! 

'Twixt  us  and  thee  ; 
The  mystic  veil !  when  shall  it  fall, 

That  we  may  see  '! 

Not  dead,  not  sleeping,  not  even  gone ; 

But  present  still, 
And  waiting  for  the  coming  hour 

Of  God*s  sweet  will. 

Lord  of  the  living  and  the  dead, 

Our  Saviour  dear ; 
We  lay  in  silence  at  thy  feet 
This  sad,  sad  year ! 
Andover,  July  9,  1858. 


THOMAS  MACKELLAR. 

This  genial  printer-poet  is  of  Scotch  descent,  his  father  having  emigrated  to 
this  country  in  the  latter  part  of  the  last  century.  He  was  born  in  the  city  of 
New  York,  on  the  12th  of  August,  1812,  and  was  early  destined  for  college;  but, 
his  father's  fortunes  failing,  he  entered,  when  fourteen  years  old,  a  newspaper 
printing-office,  where  he  thought  he  would  have  good  opportunities  to  indulge 
his  literary  tastes.  After  two  years,  he  entered  the  estahlishment  of  J.  &  J. 
Harper,  where  he  soon  proved,  by  his  intelligence,  integrity,  and  energy,  to  be  an 
important  member  of  it.  Here  the  passion  for  writing  verse  seized  him,  and  he 
would  often  drop  his  composing-stick,  and  with  a  type  write  his  couplets  on  paper, 
as  they  occurred  to  him;  but  these  early  pieces  have  never  seen  the  light. 

In  1833,  he  removed  to  Philadelphia,  and  entered  the  type-foundry  of  Lawrence 
Johnson.  In  1834,  he  was  married,  and  soon  after  wrote  occasionally  for  the 
"Journal"  of  the  Sunday-School  Union  ;  then  for  the  "United  States  Gazette;" 
and  then  for  Joseph  C.  Neal's  "  Gazette,"  under  the  signature  of  "  Tarn."  During 


THOMAS  MACKELLAR. 


673 


all  this  time  his  post  of  business  was  a  very  arduous  one,  and  most  of  his  pieces 
were  composed  while  he  was  walking  from  his  home  to  the  foundry.  His  first 
volume — Droppings  from  the  Heart — was  published  in  1S4L  and  was  very  favor- 
ably noticed.  His  second  publication  was  Tarn's  Fortnight  Ramble,  issued  in  1S47, 
in  which  year  he  was  admitted  as  a  partner  to  an  interest  in  the  business  of  Mr. 
Johnson.  His  last  hook  is  entitled  Lines  for  the  Gentle  and  Loving, — a  beautifully 
printed  volume,  which  appeared  in  1853.  Mr.  Mackellar's  poetry  is  pure,  simple, 
elevated,  and  goes  directly  to  the  heart,  for  the  best  of  all  reasons :  it  comes  from 
the  heart. 

life's  evening. 

The  world  to  me  is  growing  gray  and  old, 

My  friends  are  dropping  one  by  one  away ; 

Some  live  in  far-off  lands — some  in  the  clay 
Rest  quietly,  their  mortal  moments  told. 

My  sire  departed  ere  his  locks  were  gray ; 

My  mother  wept,  and  soon  beside  him  lay ; 
My  elder  kin  have  long  since  gone — and  I 

Am  left — a  leaf  upon  an  autumn  tree, 

Among  whose  branches  chilling  breezes  steal, 
The  sure  precursors  of  the  winter  nigh  ; 

And  when  my  offspring  at  our  altar  kneel 
To  worship  God,  and  sing  our  morning  psalm, 

Their  rising  stature  whispers  unto  me 
My  life  is  gently  waning  to  its  evening  calm. 


SEPTEMBER  RAIN. 

Patter — patter — 
Listen  how  the  rain-drops  clatter, 
Falling  on  the  shingle  roof; 
How  they  rattle, 
Like  the  rifle's  click  in  battle, 
Or  the  charger's  iron  hoof! 

Cool  and  pleasant 
Is  the  evening  air  at  present, 

Gathering  freshness  from  the  rain; 
Languor  chasing, 
Muscle,  thew,  and  sinew  bracing, 
And  enlivening  the  brain. 

Close  together 
Draw  the  bands  of  love  in  weather 
"When  the  sky  is  overcast; 
Eyeballs  glisten — 
Thankfully  we  sit  and  listen 
To  the  rain  that's  coming  fast. 

Dropping — dropping 
Like  dissolving  diamonds, — popping 
'Gainst  the  crystal  window-pane, 
57 


THOMAS  MACKELLAR. 


As  if  seeking 
Entrance-welcome,  and  bespeaking 
Our  affection  for  the  rain. 

Quick,  and  quicker 
Come  the  droppings, — thick,  and  thicker 
Pour  the  hasty  torrents  down : 
Rushing — rushing — 
From  the  leaden  spouts  a-gushing, 
Cleansing  all  the  streets  in  town. 

Darkness  utter 
Gathers  round  ; — we  close  the  shutter  ; 
Snugly  sheltered  let  us  keep. 
Still  unceasing 
Falls  the  rain  ;  but  oh  !  'tis  pleasing 
'Neath  such  lullaby  to  sleep. 

How  I  love  it ! 
Let  the  miser  money  covet — 
Let  the  soldier  seek  the  fight ; 
Give  me  only, 
"When  I  lie  awake  and  lonely, 
Music  made  by  rain  at  night. 


PATIENT  CONTINUANCE  IN  WELL-DOING. 

Bear  the  burden  of  the  present — 
Let  the  morrow  bear  its  own  : 

If  the  morning  sky  be  pleasant, 
"Why  the  coming  night  bemoan  ? 

If  the  darken'd  heavens  lower, 
"Wrap  thy  cloak  around  thy  form; 

Though  the  tempest  rise  in  power, 
God  is  mightier  than  the  storm. 

Steadfast  faith  and  hope  unshaken 
Animate  the  trusting  breast ; 

Step  by  step  the  journey's  taken 
Nearer  to  the  land  of  rest. 

All  unseen,  the  Master  walketh 
By  the  toiling  servant's  side  ; 

Comfortable  words  he  talketh, 

While  his  hands  uphold  and  guide. 

Grief,  nor  pain,  nor  any  sorrow 
Rends  thy  breast  to  him  unknown  ; 

He  to-day  and  He  to-morrow 
Grace  sufficient  gives  his  own. 

Holy  strivings  nerve  and  strengthen, — 
Long  endurance  wins  the  crown ; 

When  the  evening  shadows  lengthen, 
Thou  shalt  lay  the  burden  down. 


HENRY  T.  TUCKERMAN. 


675 


HENRY  T.  TUCKERMAN. 

Henry  Theodore  Tuckermax,  ''one  of  the  most  genial  and  elegant  essayists, 
and  a  very  graceful  and  pleasing  poet,"  was  born  in  Boston  on  the  20th  of  April, 
1813.  After  preparing  for  college,  it  was  deemed  necessary  for  his  health  that  he 
should  relinquish  his  studies  and  seek  a  milder  climate.  Accordingly,  in  1833, 
he  sailed  from  New  York  for  Havre,  and,  after  a  short  stay  at  Paris,  went  on 
to  Italy,  where  he  remained  till  the  next  summer,  when  he  returned  home,  and 
gave  to  the  public  some  of  the  results  of  his  observations  in  The  Italian  Sketch- 
Book.  Again  he  was  obliged  to  resort  to  travel  for  the  benefit  of  his  health,  and 
sailed  for  Gibraltar  in  the  fall  of  1837,  and  passed  the  winter  chiefly  in  Italy. 
He  returned  home  the  next  summer;  and  in  1845  removed  from  Boston  to  New 
York,  where  he  now  resides,  except  during  the  summer  months,  which  he  passes 
at  Newport,  Rhode  Island.  In  1850,  the  honorary  degree  of  Master  of  Arts  was 
conferred  upon  him  by  Harvard  College. 

Mr.  Tuckerman's  life  is  the  life  of  a  scholar :  literature  is  his  profession,  and 
nobly  has  he  quitted  himself  in  it.  Indeed,  considering  that  his  health  has  never 
been  very  robust,  it  is  astonishing  how  much  he  has  done,  and  how  well  he  has 
done  it.  The  following  are,  we  believe,  his  chief  works: — Artist  Life/  or  Sketches 
of  American  Painters  /'  The  Italian  Sketch- Book  ;  The  Optimist, — a  collection  of 
Essays;  Rambles  and  Reveries;  Sicily,  a  Pilgrimage ;  Thoughts  on  the  Poets; 
Characteristics  of  Literature  ;  Memorial  of  Greenough,  the  Sculptor;  Leaves  from 
the  Diary  of  a  Dreamer,  published  anonymously  by  Pickering,  London;  Biogra- 
phical Essays  ;  and  a  volume  of  Poems.'1  Besides  these  works,  he  has  been  a  con- 
tributor to  the  "  North  American  Review,"  "  American  Quarterly,"  Graham's, 
Sartain's,  Godey's,  and  Putnam's  Magazines;  "Atlantic  Monthly,''  ''Christian 
Examiner,"  "Methodist  Quarterly,"  "  Southern  Literary  Messenger,"  and  "  New 
Englauder."  He  has  also  written  a  very  excellent  Sketch  of  American  Literature, 
as  an  Appendix  to  "  Shaw's  English  Literature." 

LEISURE  TO  BE  PROPERLY  APPRECIATED. 

A  New  England  merchant,  upon  leaving'  a  picture-gallery 
abroad,  was  observed  by  bis  companion  to  be  very  thoughtful. 
Presently  he  exclaimed,  "  I  have  been  thinking  of  nothing  but 
making  money  all  my  life.    How  much  there  is  to  learn  and  to 


1  No  more  interesting  and  instructive  books  can  be  found  in  our  literature  than 
Tuckerman's  Thoughts  on  the  Poets.  The  Optimist.  Characteristics  of  Literature, 
and  Essays  Biographical  and  Critical.  The  two  latter  would  be  excellent  books 
for  the  higher  classes  in  schools;  and  the  four  should  be  in  every  district-school 
library  in  the  land.  An  English  scholar,  who  is  familiar  with  our  literature,  thus 
writes: — ''Henry  T.  Tuckerman  may  be  described  as  one  of  the  most  imaginative 
and  sympathetic  of  American  critics,  and  a  refined  and  elegant  writer.  His 
essays  and  reviews  show  a  liberal  cultivation  of  mind  and  heart." 

2  Of  these  a  beautiful  edition  has  been  published  by  Ticknor  &  Fields. 


676 


HENRY  T.  TUCKERMAN. 


enjoy  in  this  world  !  Henceforth  no  thought  of  business  shall 
enter  my  mind,  until  I  recross  the  Atlantic.  I  will  study  paint- 
ing, and  sculpture,  and  music  :  I  will  commune  with  nature  ;  I 
will  ponder  the  works  of  departed  genius  ;  I  will  cultivate  the 
society  of  the  intellectual  and  the  gifted  j" — at  this  point  of  his 
harangue,  he  suddenly  left  his  friend's  side,  and  darted  into  a 
shop  they  were  passing, — apologizing,  upon  resuming  the  walk, 
by  saying  he  had  merely  stopped  to  inquire  the  price  of  tallow  ! 
Leisure  with  us  is  still  an  anomaly.  Now,  far  be  it  from  us  to 
gainsay  the  advantages  of  industry,  to  deny  that  labor  is  man's 
appropriate  sphere,  or  to  lament,  for  a  moment,  the  spectacle  of 
universal  activity,  and,  consequently,  of  prosperity,  around  us. 
Let  us  only  contend  that  all  labor  is  not  obvious  and  tangible ; 
that  no  man  who  thinks  deserves  to  be  called  an  idler;  that  the 
absence  of  any  obvious  employment  or  specific  profession  does  not 
necessarily  make  any  one  amenable  to  the  charge  of  inactivity. 
How  much  of  our  boasted  industry  is  profitless ;  to  how  many, 
social  ambition  or  extravagant  tastes,  instead  of  necessity,  form 
the  true  motives  of  business ;  how  much  of  the  so-called  occupa- 
tion about  us  is  void  of  any  higher  result  than  that  of  keeping  its 
votaries  out  of  mischief;  how  seldom  do  those  who  have  acquired 
a  competency  retire  upon  it  to  scenes  of  domestic  improvement ; 
and  with  what  reluctance  do  the  fortunate  yield  the  arena 
to  the  young  and  penniless,  even  when  age  and  infirmity  warn 
them  to  retreat  !  It  is  time  we  learned,  not  to  underrate  business, 
but  to  appreciate  leisure. 

ENTHUSIASM  SYMPATHY. 

Let  us  recognise  the  beauty  and  power  of  true  enthusiasm, 
and,  whatever  we  may  do  to  enlighten  ourselves  and  others,  guard 
against  checking  or  chilling  a  single  earnest  sentiment.  For 
what  is  the  human  mind,  however  enriched  with  acquisitions  or 
strengthened  by  exercise,  unaccompanied  by  an  ardent  and  sensi- 
tive heart  ?  Its  light  may  illumine,  but  it  cannot  inspire.  It 
may  shed  a  cold  and  moonlight  radiance  upon  the  path  of  life, 
but  it  warms  no  flower  into  bloom  ;  it  sets  free  no  ice-bound 
fountains.  There  are  influences  which  environ  humanity  too 
subtle  for  the  dissecting-knife  of  reason.  In  our  better  moments 
we  are  clearly  conscious  of  their  presence,  and  if  there  is  any 
barrier  to  their  blessed  agency,  it  is  a  formalized  intellect.  En- 
thusiasm, too,  is  the  very  life  of  gifted  spirits.  Ponder  the  lives 
of  the  glorious  in  art  or  literature  through  all  ages.  What  are 
they  but  records  of  toils  and  sacrifices  supported  by  the  earnest 
hearts  of  their  votaries?  Dante  composed  his  immortal  poem 
amid  exile  and  suffering,  prompted  by  the  noble  ambition  of  vin- 


HENRY  T.  TUCKER  MAN. 


677 


dicating  himself  to  posterity;  and  the  sweetest  angel  of  his  para- 
dise is  the  object  of  his  early  love.  The  best  countenances  the 
old  painters  have  bequeathed  to  us  are  those  of  cherished  objects 
intimately  associated  with  their  fame.  The  face  of  Raphael's 
mother  blends  with  the  angelic  beauty  of  all  his  Madonnas.  Ti- 
tian's daughter  and  the  wife  of  Correggio  again  and  again  meet  in 
their  works.  Well  does  Foscolo  call  the  fine  arts  the  Children 
o  f  Love.  Reason  is  not  the  only  interpreter  of  life.  The  foun- 
tain of  action  is  in  the  feelings.  Religion  itself  is  but  a  state  of 
the  affections.  I  once  met  a  beautiful  peasant-woman  in  the  val- 
ley of  the  Arno,  and  asked  the  number  of  her  children.  "  I  have 
three  here  and  two  in  paradise,"  she  calmly  replied,  with  a  tone 
and  manner  of  touching  and  grave  simplicity.  Her  faith  was  of 
the  heart. 

Constant  supplies  of  knowledge  to  the  intellect  and  the  exclu- 
sive culture  of  reason  may,  indeed,  make  a  pedant  and  logician  ; 
but  the  probability  is  these  benefits,  if  such  they  are,  will  be 
gained  at  the  expense  of  the  soul.  Sentiment,  in  its  broadest 
acceptation,  is  as  essential  to  the  true  enjoyment  and  grace  of  life 
as  mind.  Technical  information,  and  that  quickness  of  apprehen- 
sion which  New  Englanders  call  smartness,  are  not  so  valuable  to 
a  human  being  as  sensibility  to  the  beautiful,  and  a  spontaneous 
appreciation  of  the  divine  influences  which  fill  the  realms  of  vision 
and  of  sound,  and  the  world  of  action  and  feeling.  The  tastes, 
affections,  and  sentiments  are  more  absolutely  the  man  than  his 
talent  or  acquirements.  And  yet  it  is  by  and  through  the  latter 
that  we  are  apt  to  estimate  character,  of  which  they  are  at  best 
but  fragmentary  evidences.  It  is  remarkable  that  in  the  New 
Testament  allusions  to  the  intellect  are  so  rare,  while  the  "  heart" 
and  the  "  spirit  we  are  of"  are  ever  appealed  to.  Sympathy  is 
the  "  golden  key"  which  unlocks  the  treasures  of  wisdom ;  and 
this  depends  upon  vividness  and  warmth  of  feeling. 

THE  POET  CAMPBELL. 

If  we  were  to  adopt  a  vernacular  poet  from  the  brilliant  constel- 
lation of  the  last  and  present  century,  as  representing  legitimately 
natural  and  popular  feeling  with  true  lyric  energy,  such  as  finds 
inevitable  response  and  needs  no  advocacy  or  criticism  to  uphold 
or  elucidate  it,  we  should  name  Campbell.  He  wrote  from  the 
intensity  of  his  own  sympathies  with  freedom,  truth,  and  love : 
his  expression,  therefore,  is  truly  poetic  in  its  spirit;  while  in 
rhetorical  finish  and  aptness  he  had  the  very  best  culture, — that 
of  Greek  literature.  Thus  simply  furnished  with  inspiration  and 
with  a  style  both  derived  from  the  most  genuine  sources, — the 
one  from  nature  and  the  other  from  the  highest  art, — he  gave 


678 


HENRY  T.  TUCKERMAN. 


melodious  and  vigorous  utterance,  not  to  a  peculiar  vein  of  imagina- 
tion, like  Shelley,  nor  a  mystical  attachment  to  nature,  like  Words- 
worth, nor  an  egotistic  personality,  like  Byron ;  but  to  a  love  of 
freedom  and  truth  which  political  events  had  caused  to  glow  with 
unwonted  fervor  in  the  bosoms  of  his  noblest  contemporaries,  and 
to  the  native  sentiment  of  domestic  and  social  life,  rendered  more 
dear  and  sacred  by  their  recent  unhallowed  desecration.  It  was 
not  by  ingenuity,  egotism,  or  artifice  that  he  thus  chanted,  but 
honestly,  earnestly,  from  the  impulse  of  youthful  ardor  and  ten- 
derness moulded  by  scholarship. 

It  is  now  the  fashion  to  relish  verse  more  intricate,  sentiment 
less  defined,  ideas  of  a  metaphysical  cast,  and  a  rhythm  less  modu- 
lated by  simple  and  grand  cadences;  yet  to  a  manly  intellect,  to  a 
heart  yet  alive  with  fresh,  brave,  unperverted  instincts,  the  intel- 
ligible, glowing,  and  noble  tone  of  Campbell's  verse  is  yet  fraught 
with  cheerful  augury.  It  has  outlived,  in  current  literature  and 
in  individual  remembrance,  the  diffuse  metrical  tales  of  Scott  and 
Southey ;  finds  a  more  prolonged  response,  from  its  general 
adaptation,  than  the  ever-recurring  key-note  of  Byron;  and 
lingers  on  the  lips  and  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  only  muse  over 
the  elaborate  pages  of  those  minstrels  whose  golden  ore  is  either 
beaten  out  to  intangible  thinness,  or  largely  mixed  with  the  alloy 
of  less  precious  metal.  Indeed,  nothing  evinces  a  greater  want  of 
just  appreciation  in  regard  to  the  art  or  gift  of  poetry,  than  the 
frequent  complaints  of  such  a  poet  as  Campbell  because  of  the 
limited  quantity  of  his  verse.  It  would  be  as  rational  to  expect 
the  height  of  animal  spirits,  the  exquisite  sensation  of  conva- 
lescence, the  rapture  of  an  exalted  mood,  the  perfect  content  of 
gratified  love,  the  tension  of  profound  thought,  or  any  other  state 
the  very  law  of  which  is  rarity,  to  become  permanent.  Camp- 
bell's best  verse  was  born  of  emotion,  not  from  idle  reverie  or 
verbal  experiment;  that  emotion  was  heroic  or  tender,  sympa- 
thetic or  devotional, — the  exception  to  the  everyday,  the  common- 
place, and  the  mechanical ;  accordingly,  in  its  very  nature,  it  was 
"  like  angels'  visits,"  and  no  more  to  be  summoned  at  will  than 
the  glow  of  affection  or  the  spirit  of  prayer. 


MARY. 

What  though  the  name  is  old  and  oft  repeated, 

What  though  a  thousand  beings  bear  it  now ; 
And  true  hearts  oft  the  gentle  word  have  greeted, — 

What  though  'tis  hallow'd  by  a  poet's  vow  ? 
We  ever  love  the  rose,  and  yet  its  blooming 

Is  a  familiar  rapture  to  the  eye  ; 
And  yon  bright  star  we  hail,  although  its  looming 

Age  after  age  has  lit  the  northern  sky. 


HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 


679 


As  starry  beams  o'er  troubled  billows  stealing, 

As  garden  odors  to  the  desert  blown, 
In  bosoms  faint  a  gladsome  hope  revealing, 

Like  patriot  music  or  affection's  tone, — 
Thus,  thus,  for  aye,  the  name  of  Mary  spoken 

By  lips  or  text,  with  magic-like  control, 
The  course  of  present  thought  has  quickly  broken, 

And  stirr'd  the  fountains  of  my  inmost  soul. 

The  sweetest  tales  of  human  weal  and  sorrow, 

The  fairest  trophies  of  the  limner's  fame, 
To  my  fond  fancy,  Mary,  seem  to  borrow 

Celestial  halos  from  thy  gentle  name : 
The  Grecian  artist  glean'd  from  many  faces, 

And  in  a  perfect  whole  the  parts  combined : 
So  have  I  counted  o'er  dear  woman's  graces 

To  form  the  Mary  of  my  ardent  mind. 

And  marvel  not  I  thus  call  my  ideal, — 

We  inly  paint  as  we  would  have  things  be, — 
The  fanciful  springs  ever  from  the  real, 

As  Aphrodite  rose  from  out  the  sea. 
Who  smiled  upon  me  kindly  day  by  day, 

In  a  far  land  where  I  was  sad  and  lone  ? 
Whose  presence  now  is  my  delight  away  ? 

Both  angels  must  the  same  blest  title  own. 

What  spirits  round  my  weary  way  are  flying, 

What  fortunes  on  my  future  life  await, 
Like  the  mysterious  hymns  the  winds  are  sighing, 

Are  all  unknown, — in  trust  I  bide  my  fate; 
But  if  one  blessing  I  might  crave  from  Heaven, 

'T would  be  that  Mary  should  my  being  cheer, 
Hang  o'er  me  when  the  chord  of  life  is  riven, 

Be  my  dear  household  word,  and  my 'last  accent  here. 


HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 

This  very  eminent  preacher  and  eloquent  lecturer  was  born  in  Litchfield, 
Connecticut,  on  the  24th  of  June,  1813.  He  was  graduated  at  Amherst  College  in 
1831,  and  studied  theology  at  Lane  Seminary,  Cincinnati,  when  it  was  under  the 
direction  of  his  father.  He  was  first  settled  in  the  Presbyterian  Church  at  Law- 
renceburg,  Dearborn  County,  Indiana,  in  1837,  where  he  remained  two  years. 
Thence  he  removed  to  Indianapolis,  where  he  continued  till  he  was  called  to  the 
new  congregation — the  Plymouth  Church — at  Brooklyn,  New  York,  in  1817, 
where  he  has  since  remained,  acquiring  for  himself  and  giving  to  his  church  a 
position  and  a  fame  known  throughout  the  land.  It  may  be  safely  said,  indeed, 
that  as  a  pulpit  and  a  platform  orator  he  has  no  superior.  Nothing  is  studied, 
nothing  artificial,  about  his  oratory :  all  is  natural,  frank,  cordial,  hearty,  fear- 


680 


HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 


less.  One  great  secret  of  his  power  is,  that  he  feels  deeply  himself  the  great 
truths  that  he  utters,  and  therefore  makes  his  audience  feel  them  too.1 

Mr.  Beecher  was  married  in  1837  to  Miss  Bullard,  sister  of  the  late  Rev.  Dr. 
Bullard,  of  St.  Louis,  and  of  Rev.  Asa  Bullard,  Boston. 

Mr.  Beecher's  only  publications  are  Letters  to  Young  Men,  and  Star  Papers,  or 
Experiences  of  Art  and  Nature.2  But  there  have  been  published  for  him  two  very 
remarkable  books,  Life  Thoughts  gathered  from  the  Extemporaneous  Discourses  of 
Henry  Ward  Beecher,  by  Edna  Dean  Proctor ;  and  Notes  from  Plymouth  Pulpit: 
a  Collection  of  Memorable  Passages  from  the  Discourses  of  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  by 
Augusta  Moore.  Few  books  can  be  found  containing  such  rich  gems  of  deep 
thought,  brilliant  fancy,  and  devotional  feeling. 

It  is  impossible  to  do  Mr.  Beecher  justice  by  any  extracts  from  his  sermons  or 
essays.  One  must  hear  him  preach  or  lecture  to  feel  his  power,  or  to  understand 
it.  The  following  selections,  however,  will  give  some  idea  of  his  style,  senti- 
ments, and  inexhaustible  wealth  of  thought  and  illustration. 

THE  TRUE  OBJECT  OF  PREACHING. 

A  sermon  that  is  dry,  cold,  dull,  soporific,  is  a  pulpit  monster, 
and  is  just  as  great  a  violation  of  the  sanctity  of  the  pulpit,  as  the 
other  absurd  extreme  of  profane  levity.  Men  may  hide  or  forsake 
God's  living  truth  by  the  way  of  stupid  dulness,  just  as  much  as 
by  pert  imagination.  A  solemn  nothing  is  just  as  wicked  as  a 
witty  nothing.  Men  confound  earnestness  with  solemnity.  A  man 
may  be  eagerly  earnest,  and  not  be  very  solemn.  They  may  also 
be  awfully  solemn,  without  a  particle  of  earnestness.  But  solemn- 
ity has  a  reputation.  A  man  may  be  a  repeater  of  endless  dis- 
tinctions, a  lecturer  in  the  pulpit  of  mere  philosophical  niceties, 
or  he  may  be  a  repeater  of  stale  truisms  \  he  may  smother  living- 
truths  by  conventional  forms  and  phrases,  and  if  he  put  on  a  very 
solemn  face,  use  a  very  solemn  tone,  employ  very  solemn  gestures, 
and  roll  along  his  vamped-up  sermon  with  professional  solemnity 
above  an  audience  of  sound  men  j  men,  at  least,  soundly  asleep, — 
that  will  pass  for  decorous  handling  of  God's  truth.  The  old 
pharisaism  is  not  dead  yet.    The  difference  between  Christ  and 


1  In  1850,  Mr.  Beecher  made  a  brief  trip  to  Europe  :  and  the  impression  he  pro- 
duced is  described  in  the  following  spirited  paragraph  in  the  "British  Banner," 
written  by  Dr.  Campbell: — "Mr.  Henry  Ward  Beecher  is  by  far  the  most  amu- 
sing and  fascinating  American  it  has  ever  been  our  lot  to  meet.  He  is  a  mass 
of  naming  fire, — restless,  fearless,  brilliant, — a  mixture  of  the  poet,  the  orator, 
and  the  philosopher,  such  as  we  have  seldom,  if  ever,  found  in  any  other  man 
to  the  same  extent."  For  a  good  notice  of  Mr.  Beecher,  see  "  Fowler's  American 
Pulpit." 

2  This  is  composed  of  the  communications  he  has  given  to  the  "  Independent," 
his  signature  in  that  paper  being  a  star(*).  He  continues  to  write  for  it;  and  his 
contributions  are  one  of  the  many  attractions  of  that  admirable  journal. 


HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 


G81 


His  contemporary  teachers  was,  that  He  spake  life-truth  in  life- 
forms,  with  the  power  of  His  own  life  in  their  utterance.  The 
rabbis  spake  old  orthodoxy,  dead  as  a  mummy; — but  they  spake  it 
very  reverendly.  They  might  not  do  any  good,  but  they  never 
violated  professional  propriety.  Nobody  lived,  everybody  died 
about  them.  But,  then,  their  faces  were  sober,  their  robes  exact, 
their  manner  mostly  of  the  Temple  and  the  Altar.  They  never 
forgot  how  to  look,  nor  how  to  speak  guttural  solemnities,  nor  how 
to  maintain  professional  dignity.  They  forgot  nothing  except 
living  truths  and  living  souls.  And  fifty  years  of  ministration 
without  any  fruit  in  true  godliness  gave  them  no  pain.  It  was 
charged  to  the  account  of  Divine  Sovereignty. 

Nothing  can  more  sharply  exhibit  the  miserable  imbecility 
which  has  come  upon  us,  than  the  inability  of  men  to  perceive 
the  difference  between  preaching  "  politics,"  ''social  reform,"  &c., 
and  preaching  God's  truth  in  such  a  way  that  it  shall  sit  in  judg- 
ment upon  these  things,  and  every  other  deed  of  men,  to  try 
them,  to  explore  and  analyze  them,  and  to  set  them  forth,  as  upon 
the  background  of  eternity,  in  their  moral  character,  and  in  their 
relation  to  man's  duty  and  God's  requirements. 

Shall  the  whole  army  of  human  deeds  go  roaring  along  the 
public  thoroughfares,  and  Christian  men  be  whelmed  in  the 
general  rush,  and  no  man  be  found  to  speak  the  real  moral  nature 
of  human  conduct  ?  Is  the  pulpit  too  holy,  and  the  Sabbath  too 
sacred,  to  bring  individual  courses  and  'developments  of  society  to 
the  bar  of  God's  Word  for  trial  ?  Those  who  think  so,  and  are 
crying  out  about  the  desecration  of  the  pulpit  with  secular  themes, 
are  the  lineal  descendants  of  those  Jews  who  thought  the  Sabbath 
so  sacred  that  our  Saviour  desecrated  it  by  healing  the  withered 
hand.  Would  to  God  that  the  Saviour  would  visit  His  Church 
and  heal  withered  hearts ! 

RELIGION. 

Religion — it  is  the  bread  of  life.  I  wish  that  we  appreciated 
more  livingly  the  force  of  such  expressions.  Why  !  I  remember 
when  I  was  a  boy,  I  could  not  wait  till  I  was  dressed  in  the 
morning,  but  ran  and  cut  a  slice  from  the  loaf,  and  all  round  the 
loaf,  too,  in  order  to  keep  me  till  breakfast ;  and  at  breakfast — if 
diligence  earned  wages,  I  should  have  been  well  paid  ;  and  then 
I  could  not  wait  till  dinner,  but  had  to  eat  again,  and  again  before 
tea,  and  then  at  tea,  and  lucky  if  I  did  not  eat  again  after  that. 
It  was  bread,  bread,  all  the  time,  which  I  ate,  and  lived  on,  and 
got  strength  from.  And  so  religion  is  the  bread  of  life.  You 
make  it  the  cake.  You  put  it  away  in  your  cupboards,  and  you 
never  have  it  but  when  you  have  company,  and  then  you  cut  it  up 


682 


HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 


into  little  pieces  and  pass  it  round  on  your  best  plates,  instead  of 
treating  it  as  bread,  to  be  used  every  day  and  every  hour. 

god's  forgiveness. 

Every  one  must  come  to' Christ  and  say,  "If  you  will  not 
take  me  with  all  my  failings,  I  cannot  be  saved  !"  And  why 
does  Grod  forgive  us  ?  For  the  same  reason  that  the  mother 
forgives  her  child, — because  she  loves  it.  Just  as  the  sun  shines 
on  decaying  flowers  and  shrivelled  fruit,  because  it  is  his  nature 
— the  sun,  which  never  asks  a  question,  but  says,  "  If  any  thing 
wants  to  be  shined  on,  let  it  hold  itself  up."  And  so  God  says, 
"  I  will  forgive  you,  for  your  repeated  transgressions."  Do  you 
ask  what  becomes  of  them  ?  What  becomes  of  the  hasty  words 
you  spoke  yesterday  to  her  you  love  ?  "I  don't  know  where 
they  are,"  says  the  wife.  "  I  am  sure  I  do  not,"  says  the 
husband.  They  are  gone.  They  are  sunk  to  the  bottom  of  her 
heart.  No!  not  to  the  bottom,  for  there  she  keeps  her  love. 
There  is  only  one  thing  that  can  be  annihilated,  and  that  is 
wrong-doing  to  one  who  loves  you. 

The  following  selections  are  from  that  remarkable  book — Life  Thoughts — so 
full  of  the  richest  gems  that  one  hardly  knows  which  to  take. 

Parental  Indulgence. — I  heard  a  man  who  had  failed  in 
business,  and  whose  furniture  was  sold  at  auction,  say  that  when 
the  cradle  and  the  crib  and  the  piano  went,  tears  would  come,  and 
he  had  to  leave  the  house  to  be  a  man.  Now,  there  are  thousands 
of  men  who  have  lost  their  pianos,  but  who  have  found  better 
music  in  the  sound  of  their  children's  voices  and  footsteps  going 
cheerfully  down  with  them  to  poverty,  than  any  harmony  of 
chorded  instruments.  Oh,  how  blessed  is  bankruptcy  when  it 
saves  a  man's  children  !  I  see  many  men  who  are  bringing  up  their 
children  as  I  should  bring  up  mine,  if,  when  they  were  ten  years 
old,  I  should  lay  them  on  a  dissecting-table,  and  cut  the  sinews 
of  their  arms  and  legs,  so  that  they  could  neither  walk  nor  use 
their  hands,  but  only  sit  still  and  be  fed.  Thus  rich  men  put  the 
knife  of  indolence  and  luxury  to  their  children's  energies,  and 
they  grow  up  fatted,  lazy  calves,  fitted  for  nothing,  at  twenty-five, 
but  to  drink  deep  and  squander  wide ;  and  the  father  must  be  a 
slave  all  his  life,  in  order  to  make  beasts  of  his  children.  How 
blessed,  then,  is  the  stroke  of  disaster  which  sets  the  children 
free,  and  gives  them  over  to  the  hard  but  kind  bosom  of  Poverty, 
who  says  to  them,  "  Work !"  and,  working,  makes  them  men  ! 


HENRY  WARD  BEECIIER. 


683 


Children. — Every  child  walks  into  existence  through  the 
golden  gate  of  love ;  else  it  would  seem  wonderful  that  the  help- 
less thing  should  be  born.  Yet  children  are  not  playthings,  as 
we  too  often  seem  to  think  they  are, — mere  gifts  of  God  to  fill  up 
the  hours  with  cheer.  They  were  surely  meant  to  be  a  pleasure 
to  us,  but  that  is  not  the  final  end.  Nor  were  they  meant  to  be 
cares  and  burdens  alone.  To  speak  of  them  as  if  they  were 
shackles  and  fetters  upon  our  freedom  ;  always  in  the  way ; 
"children,  children,  everywhere,"  is  a  shame  and  a  sin.  They 
are  to  be  regarded  as  a  part  of  our  education.  Men  cannot  be 
developed  perfectly  who  have  not  been  compelled  to  bring  chil- 
dren up  to  manhood.  You  might  as  well  say  that  a  tree  is  a 
perfect  tree  without  leaf  or  blossom,  as  to  say  that  a  man  is  a 
man  who  has  gone  through  life  without  experiencing  the  influences 
that  come  from  bending  down  and  giving  one's  self  up  to  those 
who  are  helpless  and  little. 

Children  make  men  better  citizens.  When  your  own  child 
comes  in  from  the  street,  and  has  learned  to  swear  from  the 
boys  congregated  there,  it  is  a  very  different  thing  to  you  from 
what  it  was  when  you  heard  the  profanity  of  those  boys  as  you 
passed  them.  Now  it  makes  you  feel  that  you  are  a  stockholder 
in  the  public  morality.  Of  what  use  would  an  engine  be  to  a 
ship,  if  it  were  lying  loose  in  the  hull  ?  It  must  be  fastened 
to  it  with  bolts  and  screws,  before  it  can  propel  the  vessel. 
Now,  a  childless  man  is  like  a  loose  engine.  A  man  must  be 
bolted  and  screwed  to  the  community  before  he  can  work  well 
for  its  advancement;  and  there  are  no  such  screws  and  bolts  as 
children. 

The  Twenty-Third  Psalm  is  the  nightingale  of  the  psalms. 
It  is  small,  of  a  homely  feather,  singing  shyly  out  of  obscurity ; 
but,  oh,  it  has  filled  the  air  of  the  whole  world  with  melodious 
joy,  greater  than  the  heart  can  conceive.  Blessed  be  the  day  on 
which  that  psalm  was  born  ! 

What  would  you  say  of  a  pilgrim  commissioned  of  God  to  travel 
up  and  down  the  earth,  singing  a  strange  melody,  which,  when  one 
heard,  caused  him  to  forget  whatever  sorrow  he  had  ?  And  so 
the  singing  angel  goes  on  his  way  through  all  lands,  singing  in 
the  language  of  every  nation,  driving  away  trouble  by  the  pulses 
of  the  air  which  his  tongue  moves  with  divine  power.  Behold 
just  such  an  one  !  This  pilgrim  God  has  sent  to  speak  in  every 
language  on  the  globe.  It  has  charmed  more  griefs  to  rest  than 
all  the  philosophy  of  the  world.  It  has  remanded  to  their  dun- 
geon more  felon  thoughts,  more  black  doubts,  more  thieving  sor- 
rows, than  there  are  sands  on  the  sea-shore.  It  has  comforted  the 
noble  host  of  the  poor.    It  has  sung  courage  to  the  army  of  the 


684 


HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 


disappointed.  It  has  poured  balm  and  consolation  into  the  heart 
of  the  sick,  of  captives  in  dungeons,  of  widows  in  their  pinching 
griefs,  of  orphans  in  their  loneliness.  Dying  soldiers  have  died 
easier  as  it  was  read  to  them  ;  ghastly  hospitals  have  been 
illumined  ;  it  has  visited  the  prisoner  and  broken  his  chains,  and, 
like  Peter's  angel,  led  him  forth  in  imagination,  and  sung  him 
back  to  his  home  again.  It  has  made  the  dying  Christian  slave 
freer  than  his  master;  and  consoled  those  whom,  dying,  he  left 
behind  mourning,  not  so  much  that  he  was  gone  as  because  they 
were  left  behind,  and  could  not  go  too.  Nor  is  its  work  done. 
It  will  go  singing  to  your  children  and  my  children,  and  to  their 
children,  through  all  the  generations  of  time ;  nor  will  it  fold  its 
wings  till  the  last  pilgrim  is  safe,  and  time  ended ;  and  then  it 
shall  fly  back  to  the  bosom  of  God,  whence  it  issued,  and  sound 
on,  mingled  with  all  those  sounds  of  celestial  joy  which  make 
heaven  musical  forever. 

A  Christian  Man's  Life  is  laid  in  the  loom  of  time  to  a 
pattern  which  he  does  not  see,  but  God  does ;  and  his  heart  is  a 
shuttle.  On  one  side  of  the  loom  is  sorrow,  and  on  the  other  is 
joy;  and  the  shuttle,  struck  alternately  by  each,  flies  back  and 
forth,  carrying  the  thread,  which  is  white  or  black,  as  the  pattern 
needs;  and  in  the  end,  when  God  shall  lift  up  the  finished  gar- 
ment, and  all  its  changing  hues  shall  glance  out,  it  will  then  ap- 
pear that  the  deep  and  dark  colors  were  as  needful  to  beauty  as 
the  bright  and  high  colors. 

Help  the  Slave.— Do  you  ask  me  whether  I  would  help  a 
slave  to  gain  his  freedom?  I  answer,  I  would  help  him  with  heart, 
and  hand,  and  voice.  I  would  do  for  him  what  I  shall  wish  I  had 
done  when,  having  lost  his  dusky  skin  and  blossomed  into  the  light 
of  eternity,  he  and  I  shall  stand  before  our  Master,  who  will  say, 
"  Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  unto  him,  slave  as  he  was,  ye  did  it 
unto  me." 

Everyday  Christianity. — As  flowers  never  put  on  their  best 
clothes  for  Sunday,  but  wear  their  spotless  raiment  and  exhale 
their  odor  every  day,  so  let  your  Christian  life,  free  from  stain, 
ever  give  forth  the  fragrance  of  the  love  of  God. 

The  Holy  Catholic  Church. — Christian  brethren,  in  heaven 
you  are  known  by  the  name  of  Christ.  On  earth,  for  convenience' 
sake,  you  are  known  by  the  name  of  Presbyterians,  Episcopalians, 
Methodists,  Congregationalists,  and  the  like.  Let  me  speak  the 
language  of  heaven,  and  call  you,  simply,  Christians.  Whoever 
of  you  has  known  the  name  of  Christ,  and  feels  Christ's  life  beat- 


HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 


G85 


ing  within  him,  is  invited  to  remain,  and  sit  with  us  at  the  table 
of  the  Lord.1 

A  Man's  a  Man. — It  makes  no  difference  what  you  call  men, 
— prince,  peer,  or  slave.  Man  is  that  name  of  power  which  rises 
above  them  all,  and  gives  to  every  one  the  right  to  be  that  which 
God  meant  he  should  be.  No  law,  nor  custom,  nor  opinion,  nor 
prejudice,  has  the  right  to  say  to  one  man,  "  You  may  grow,"  and 
to  another,  "  You  may  not  grow,"  or,  "  You  may  grow  in  ten 
directions,  and  not  in  twenty or  to  the  strong,  "  You  may  grow 
stronger,"  or  to  the  weak,  "  You  may  never  become  strong." 
Launched  upon  the  ocean  of  life,  like  an  innumerable  fleet,  each 
man  may  spread  what  sails  God  has  given  him,  whether  he  be 
pinnace,  sloop,  brig,  bark,  ship,  or  man-of-war  •  and  no  commo- 
dore or  admiral  may  signal  what  voyage  he  shall  make  or  what 
canvas  he  shall  carry. 

God  has  given  to  men  the  great  truths  of  liberty  and  equality, 
which  are  like  mothers'  breasts,  carrying  food  for  ages.  Let  us 
not  fear  that  in  our  land  they  shall  be  overthrown  or  destroyed. 
Though  we  may  go  through  dark  times, — rocking  times,  when  we 
are  sea-sick, — yet  the  day  shall  come  when  there  shall  be  no  more 
oppression,  but  when,  all  over  the  world,  there  shall  be  a  common 
people,  sitting  in  a  commonwealth,  having  a  common  Bible,  a  com- 
mon God,  and  common  peace  and  joy  in  a  common  brotherhood  ! 

Cerberus  in  America. — The  Bible  Society  is  sending  its 
shiploads  of  Bibles  all  over  the  world, — to  Greenland  and  the 
Morea,  to  Arabia  and  Egypt;  but  it  dares  not  send  them  to  our 
own  people.  The  colporteur  who  should  leave  a  Bible  in  a  slave's 
cabin  would  go  to  heaven  from  the  lowest  limb  of  the  first  tree. 
It  was  hell,  among  the  ancients,  that  was  guarded  by  a  hundred- 
headed  dog ;  in  this  country,  it  is  heaven  that  has  the  Cerberus. 

Religion  and  Business. — How  hateful  is  that  religion  which 
says,  "  Business  is  business,  and  politics  are  politics,  and  religion 
is  religiou"  !  Religion  is  using  every  thing  for  God ;  but  many 
men  dedicate  business  to  the  devil,  and  politics  to  the  devil,  and 
shove  religion  into  the  cracks  and  crevices  of  time,  and  make  it 
the  hypocritical  outcrawling  of  their  leisure  and  laziness. 

A  Christian  Life. — A  Christian  merchant  should  so  act  that 
his  customers  shall  see  and  know  that  he  is  a  Christian ;  not 
merely  that  he  conducts  his  business  on  great  maxims  of  honesty, 
but  that  business  itself  is  subordinate,  and  instrumental  to  the 


Invitation  to  the  communion  service. 
58 


686 


HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 


great  purposes  of  life.  Is  it  so  with  you  ?  How  far  does  the 
difference  between  you  and  the  worldly  man  lie  in  the  fact  that, 
on  the  seventh  day,  you  have  a  little  tabernacle  of  religious  expe- 
rience into  which  you  run  ?  Go  through  the  streets  and  stores 
of  New  York  :  you  can  pick  out  the  men  that  are  wealthy  ;  can 
you  pick  out  the  men  that  are  Christians  ?  What  wonder  that 
truth  makes  such  slow  advances  in  the  world,  with  one  Christian 
to  tell  what  is  true  for  two  hours  on  Sunday,  and  hundreds  to 
deny  it  all  the  week  by  their  lives  ! 

Hypocrites. — There  are  many  professing  Christians  who  are 
secretly  vexed  on  account  of  the  charity  they  have  to  bestow,  and 
the  self-denial  they  have  to  use.  If,  instead  of  the  smooth  prayers 
which  they  do  pray,  they  should  speak  out  the  things  which  they 
really  feel,  they  would  say,  when  they  go  home  at  night,  "  0  Lord, 
I  met  a  poor  wretch  of  yours  to-day,  a  miserable,  unwashed  brat, 
and  I  gave  him  sixpence,  and  I  have  been  sorry  for  it  ever  since;" 
or,  "  0  Lord,  if  I  had  not  signed  those  articles  of  faith,  I  might 
have  gone  to  the  theatre  this  evening.  Your  religion  deprives 
me  of  a  great  deal  of  enjoyment;  but  I  mean  to  stick  to  it. 
There's  no  other  way  of  getting  into  heaven,  I  suppose." 

The  sooner  such  men  are  out  of  the  church  the  better. 

Giving  versus  Keeping. — The  great  ocean  is  in  a  constant 
state  of  evaporation.  It  gives  back  what  it  receives,  and  sends  up 
its  waters  in  mists  to  gather  into  clouds ;  and  so  there  is  rain  on 
the  fields,  and  storm  on  the  mountains,  and  greenness  and  beauty 
everywhere.  But  there  are  many  men  who  do  not  believe  in 
evaporation.  They  get  all  they  can  and  keep  all  they  get,  and  so 
are  not  fertilizers,  but  only  stagnant,  miasmatic  pools. 

The  elect  are  whosoever  will,  and  the  non-elect  whosoever 
won't. 

Blindness. — It  would  be  a  dreadful  thing  to  me  to  lose  my 
sight ;  to  see  no  more  the  faces  of  those  I  love,  nor  the  sweet  blue 
of  heaven,  nor  the  myriad  stars  that  gem  the  sky,  nor  the  dis- 
solving clouds  that  pass  over  it,  -nor  the  battling  ships  upon  the 
sea,  nor  the  mountains  with  their  changing  lines  of  light  and 
shade,  nor  the  loveliness  of  flowers,  nor  the  burnished  mail  of 
insects.  But  I  should  do  as  other  blind  men  have  done  before 
me  :  I  should  take  God's  rod  and  staff  for  my  guide  and  comfort, 
and  wait  patiently  for  death  to  bring  better  light  to  nobler  eyes. 
0  ye  who  are  living  in  the  darkness  of  sin  !  turn  before  it  is  too 
late  to  the  light  of  holiness,  else  death  will  bring  to  you,  not  re- 
creation, but  retribution.  Earthly  blindness  can  be  borne,  for  it  is 
but  for  a  day;  but  who  could  bear  to  be  blind  through  eternity  ? 


JOHN  LOTIIROP  MOTLEY. 


687 


JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY. 

Scarcely  any  author  ever  became  more  suddenly  distinguished  than  John 
Lothrop  Motley.  Before  the  appearance  of  his  great  historical  work,  The  Rise 
of  the  Dutch  Republic,  he  was,  though  favorably  known,  comparatively  unknown. 
That  work,  from  its  research,  its  style,  its  power,  its  earnest  spirit,  its  breadth  of 
design  and  successful  execution,  placed  its  author  at  once  in  the  rank  of  eminent 
historians.  Published  simultaneously  in  England  and  America,  it  was  commended 
with  equal  warmth  in  the  leading  critical  journals  of  both  countries ;  and,  though 
but  three  years  issued,  it  has  passed  through  five  editions,  and  amply  vindicated 
the  laudations  of  the  critics. 

Mr.  Motley  was  born  in  Dorchester,  Massachusetts,  in  1814,  and  was  graduated 
at  Harvard  College  in  1831.  Soon  afterwards  he  went  to  Europe,  and  spent  seve- 
ral years  in  Germany,  studying  its  literature  and  acquiring  the  large  learning  of 
its  universities.  On  his  return  to  the  United  States  in  1835,  he  applied  himself 
to  the  study  of  the  law,  and  was  admitted  to  the  Boston  bar.  In  1836,  he  was 
married  to  Miss  Benjamin,  a  sister  of  the  well-known  author,  Park  Benjamin,  and 
for  several  years  resided  in  Boston  and  its  vicinity.  Having  ample  means,  he  did 
not  practise  his  uncongenial  profession,  but  gave  his  time  and  talents  to  the  pur- 
suits of  letters.  At  this  time  he  wrote  several  papers  for  the  leading  periodicals, 
and  published  anonymously  two  novels, — Morton's  Hope,  and  Merrymount.  Early 
in  1841,  during  the  brief  administration  of  General  Harrison,  Mr.  Webster,  who 
had  been  long  an  intimate  friend  of  the  father,  gave  the  son,  for  whom  he  also 
cherished  a  cordial  regard,  the  post  of  Secretary  of  Legation  to  Russia,  Colonel 
Todd  being  the  minister.  Here  he  interested  himself  in  the  history  of  Russia, 
and  wrote  for  the  "  North  American  Review"  a  leading  article  on  "  Peter  the 
Great,"  which  was  much  admired.  But  in  less  than  two  years  he  resigned  his 
place  and  came  home. 

In  1851,  he  again  visited  Europe,  and  there  resided  in  various  cities, — chiefly 
Paris  and  Dresden, — engaged  in  the  accomplishment  of  his  noble  historical  work, 
which  was  published  in  1856.  He  had  not  been  home  a  year  after  it  was  pub- 
lished, when  he  resolved  to  write  a  second  similar  work,  commencing  where  the 
first  leaves  off;  and,  not  able  to  obtain  the  necessary  documents  in  our  libraries, 
he  went  again  to  Europe,  where  he  is  now  (1859)  residing  with  his  family  in  its 
affluent  capitals, — affluent  in  books  and  manuscripts, — engaged  in  writing  the 
new  history,  which  we  doubt  not  will  fully  sustain  his  present  reputation.1 


1  Of  Motley's  History,  the  "  North  American  Review,"  July,  1856,  thus  speaks  : 
— "  This  is  one  of  the  most  important  contributions  to  historical  literature  that 
have  been  made  in  this  country.  It  is  characterized  throughout  by  a  spirit  of 
great  fairness  and  moderation,  indulging  in  no  violent  invective  or  extravagant 
praise,  even  where  the  narrative  might  furnish  a  fair  excuse  for  the  one  or  the 
other ;  while  at  the  same  time  it  is  neither  cold  nor  heartless.  .  .  .  On  the  con- 
trary, a  genuine  sympathy  with  liberty  and  a  spirit  of  humanity  pervade  it,  and 
it  is  evident  that  the  author  rejoices  heartily  in  the  successes  of  the  patriots.  .  .  . 
In  short,  it  is  a  work  that  every  American  may  be  proud  to  own  as  written  by  his 
countryman." 


688 


JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  LEYDEN. 

Meantime,  the  besieged  city  was  at  its  last  gasp.  The  burghers 
had  been  in  a  state  of  uncertainty  for  many  days ;  being  aware 
that  the  fleet  had  set  forth  for  their  relief,  but  knowing  full  well 
the  thousand  obstacles  which  it  had  to  surmount.  They  had 
guessed  its  progress  by  the  illumination  from  the  blazing  villages; 
they  had  heard  its  salvos  of  artillery  on  its  arrival  at  North  Aa; 
but  since  then,  all  had  been  dark  and  mournful  again,  hope  and 
fear,  in  sickening  alternation,  distracting  every  breast.  They 
knew  that  the  wind  was  unfavorable,  and  at  the  dawn  of  each  day 
every  eye  was  turned  wistfully  to  the  vanes  of  the  steeples.  So 
long  as  the  easterly  breeze  prevailed,  they  felt,  as  they  anxiously 
stood  on  towers  and  housetops,  that  they  must  look  in  vain  for  the 
welcome  ocean.  Yet,  while  thus  patiently  waiting,  they  were 
literally  starving ;  for  even  the  misery  endured  at  Harlem  had  not 
reached  that  depth  and  intensity  of  agony  to  which  Leyden  was 
now  reduced.  Bread,  malt-cake,  horse-flesh,  had  entirely  disap- 
peared ;  dogs,  cats,  rats,  and  other  vermin,  were  esteemed  luxuries. 
A  small  number  of  cows,  kept  as  long  as  possible,  for  their  milk, 
still  remained;  but  a  few  were  killed  from  day  to  day,  and  distri- 
buted in  minute  proportions,  hardly  sufficient  to  support  life 
among  the  famishing  population.  Starving  wretches  swarmed 
daily  around  the  shambles  where  these  cattle  were  slaughtered, 
contending  for  any  morsel  which  might  fall,  and  lapping  eagerly 
the  blood  as  it  ran  along  the  pavement;  while  the  hides,  chopped 
and  boiled,  were  greedily  devoured.  Women  and  children,  all 
day  long,  were  seen  searching  gutters  and  dunghills  for  morsels 
of  food,  which  they  disputed  fiercely  with  the  famishing  dogs. 
The  green  leaves  were  stripped  from  the  trees,  every  living  herb 
was  converted  into  human  food ;  but  these  expedients  could  not 
avert  starvation.  The  daily  mortality  was  frightful :  infants 
starved  to  death  on  the  maternal  breasts  which  famine  had 
parched  and  withered ;  mothers  dropped  dead  in  the  streets,  with 
their  dead  children  in  their  arms.  In  many  a  house  the  watch- 
men, in  their  rounds,  found  a  whole  family  of  corpses, — father, 
mother,  children,  side  by  side ;  for  a  disorder  called  the  plague, 
naturally  engendered  of  hardship  and  famine,  now  came,  as  if  in 
kindness,  to  abridge  the  agony  of  the  people.  The  pestilence 
stalked  at  noonday  through  the  city,  and  the  doomed  inhabitants 
fell  like  grass  beneath  its  scythe.  From  six  thousand  to  eight 
thousand  human  beings  sank  before  this  scourge  alone ;  yet  the 
people  resolutely  held  out, — women  and  men  mutually  encou- 
raging each  other  to  resist  the  entrance  of  their  foreign  foe, — an 
evil  more  horrible  than  pest  or  famine. 

Leyden  was  sublime  in  its  despair.    A  few  murmurs  were,  « 


JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY. 


689 


however,  occasionally  heard  at  the  steadfastness  of  the  magistrates, 
and  a  dead  body  was  placed  at  the  door  of  the  burgomaster,  as  a 
silent  witness  against  his  inflexibility.  A  party  of  the  more  faint- 
hearted even  assailed  the  heroic  Adrian  Van  der  Werf  with 
threats  and  reproaches  as  he  passed  through  the  streets.  A 
crowd  had  gathered  around  him  as  he  reached  a  triangular  place 
in  the  centre  of  the  town,  into  which  many  of  the  principal  streets 
emptied  themselves,  and  upon  one  side  of  which  stood  the  church 
of  Saint  Pancras.  There  stood  the  burgomaster,  a  tall,  haggard, 
imposing  figure,  with  dark  visage  and  a  tranquil  but  commanding 
eye.  He  waved  his  broad-leaved  felt  hat  for  silence,  and  then 
exclaimed,  in  language  which  has  been  almost  literally  preserved, 
"  What  would  ye,  my  friends  ?  Why  do  ye  murmur  that  we  do 
not  break  our  vows  and  surrender  the  city  to  the  Spaniards  ? — a 
fate  more  horrible  than  the  agony  which  she  now  endures.  I  tell 
you  I  have  made  an  oath  to  hold  the  city;  and  may  God  give  me 
strength  to  keep  my  oath  !  I  can  die  but  once,  whether  by  your 
hands,  the  enemy's,  or  by  the  hand  of  God.  My  own  fate  is  in- 
different to  me ;  not  so  that  of  the  city  intrusted  to  my  care.  I 
know  that  we  shall  starve  if  not  soon  relieved ;  but  starvation  is 
preferable  to  the  dishonored  death  which  is  the  only  alternative. 
Your  menaces  move  me  not  j  my  life  is  at  your  disposal ;  here  is 
my  sword,  plunge  it  into  my  breast,  and  divide  my  flesh  among 
you.  Take  my  body  to  appease  your  hunger,  but  expect  no  sur- 
render so  long  as  I  remain  alive."  *  *  * 

On  the  28th  of  September,  a  dove  flew  into  the  city,  bringing  a 
letter  from  Admiral  Boisot.  In  this  despatch,  the  position  of  the 
fleet  at  North  Aa  was  described  in  encouraging  terms,  and  the  in- 
habitants were  assured  that,  in  a  very  few  days  at  furthest,  the 
long-expected  relief  would  enter  their  gates.  The  tempest  came 
to  their  relief.  A  violent  equinoctial  gale,  on  the  night  of  the 
1st  and  2d  of  October,  came  storming  from  the  northwest,  shift- 
ing after  a  few  hours  full  eight  points,  and  then  blowing  still 
more  violently  from  the  southwest.  The  waters  of  the  North  Sea 
were  piled  in  vast  masses  upon  the  southern  coast  of  Holland,  and 
then  dashed  furiously  landward,  the  ocean  rising  over  the  earth 
and  sweeping  with  unrestrained  power  across  the  ruined  dykes. 
In  the  course  of  twenty-four  hours,  the  fleet  at  North  Aa,  instead 
of  nine  inches,  had  more  than  two  feet  of  water.  *  *  *  On  it 
went,  sweeping  over  the  broad  waters  which  lay  between  Zoeter- 
woude  and  Zwieten  ;  as  they  approached  some  shallows  which  led 
into  the  great  mere,  the  Zealanders  dashed  into  the  sea,  and  with 
sheer  strength  shouldered  every  vessel  through.  *  *  *  On  again 
the  fleet  of  Boisot  still  went,  and,  overcoming  every  obstacle, 
entered  the  city  on  the  morning  of  the  3d  of  October.  Leyden 
was  relieved. 

58* 


690 


RUFUS  WILMOT  GRISWOLD. 


RUFUS  WILMOT  GRISWOLD,  1815—1857. 

If  any  one  deserves  a  place  and  an  honorable  mention  in  these  pages,  it  is 
Rufus  Wilniot  Griswold,  not  only  for  his  learning  and  literary  achievements, 
which  will  place  him  on  the  level  of  many  of  onr  best  authors,  but  because  he 
has  done  more  than  any  other  man  to  make  American  writers  known  and 
honored  both  at  home  and  abroad.  He  was  born  in  Benson,  Rutland  County, 
Vermont,  on  the  15th  of  February,  1815.  Much  of  his  early  life  was  spent  in 
voyaging  about  the  world ;  and  before  he  was  twenty  years  of  age  he  had  seen 
the  most  interesting  portions  of  his  own  country  and  of  Southern  and  Central 
Europe.  Relinquishing  travel,  he  studied  divinity,  and  was  married  shortly  after 
he  was  licensed  to  preach.  But  literature  had  more  powerful  attractions  for  him 
than  theology,  and  he  entered  the  career  of  a  man  of  letters  by  profession.  He 
was  associated  with  Horace  Greeley  in  editing  "  The  New-Yorker,"  and  with 
Park  Benjamin  and  Epes  Sargent  in  '•  The  Brother  Jonathan,"  and  "The  New 
World,"  enterprises  which  were  eminently  successful.  In  1842-43  he  was  editor 
of  "  Graham's  Magazine,"  and  by  the  attraction  of  his  name  and  of  the  corps 
of  eminent  writers'  whom  he  induced  to  aid  him,  he  gave  to  the  Magazine  a 
richly-deserved  popularity,  and  increased  the  list  of  subscribers  from  seventeen 
thousand  to  twenty-nine  thousand. 

Besides  a  number  of  volumes  published  anonymously,  Dr.  Griswold  has  given 
us,  under  his  name,  a  volume  of  Poems ;  another  of  Sermons ;  The  Biographical 
Annual  for  1842  ;  The  Curiosities  of  American  Literature ;  A  Life  of  Milton, 
prefixed  to  an  edition  of  his  prose  works  published  by  Rev.  Herman  Hooker, 
D.D.,2  Philadelphia,  and  The  Poets  and  Poetry  of  England  in  the  Nineteenth 
Century.  But  what  have  given  to  Rev.  Dr.  Griswold  his  richly-merited  fame  are 
his  works  on  American  Literature, —  The  Poets  and  Poetry  of  America,  1842;  The 
Prose  Writers  of  America,  1846  ;  and  The  Female  Poets  of  America,  1848.  These 
works  are  of  a  very  high  order  of  merit.  The  selections  show  a  fine  taste  and 
sound  judgment,  while  his  criticisms  are  discriminating  and  just. 

Dr.  Griswold's  other  works  are,  A  Memoir  of  Edgar  A.  Poe,  prefixed  to  his 
works,  1850;  Scenes  in  the  Life  of  the  Saviour  by  the  Poets  and  Painters;  The 
Sacred  Poets  of  England  and  America,  1849 ;  and  The  Republican  Court,  or  Ame- 
rican Society  in  the  Days  of  Washington.  This  is  a  sumptuously-printed  and 
richly-illustrated  work,  and  contains  a  mass  of  curious  information  relative  to 
the  early  days  of  the  Republic,  not  to  be  found  elsewhere. 

But  his  incessant  literary  labors  proved  too  much  for  a  constitution  naturally 
feeble,  and  he  died  in  New  York,  on  the  27th  of  August,  1857,  at  the  early  age  of 
forty-two. 

1  Among  them  were  Dana,  Allston,  Cooper,  Bryant,  Longfellow,  Hoffman,  and 
Willis. 

2  Dr.  Hooker  is  one  of  our  best  thinkers  and  writers,  and,  besides  contributing 
to  many  reviews  and  religious  magazines,  has  written  The  Portion  of  the  Soitl, 
published  in  1835 ;  Popular  Infidelity,  1835 ;  and  The  Uses  of  Adversity,  and  the 
Provisions  of  Consolation,  1846,— all  works  of  great  value. 


RUFUS  WILMOT  GRISWOLD. 


691 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

I  need  not  dwell  upon  the  necessity  of  Literature  and  Art  to  a 
people's  glory  and  happiness.  History  with  all  her  voices  joins 
in  one  judgment  upon  this  subject.  Our  legislators,  indeed, 
choose  to  consider  them  of  no  consequence,  and  while  the  States 
are  convulsed  by  claims  from  the  loom  and  the  furnace  for  pro- 
tection, the  demands  of  the  parents  of  freedom,  the  preservers  of 
arts,  the  dispensers  of  civility,  are  treated  with  silence.  But 
authors  and  artists  have  existed  and  do  exist  here  in  spite  of  such 
outlawry;  and,  notwithstanding  the  obstacles  in  our  condition, 
and  the  discouragements  of  neglect,  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  in  the 
United  States  have  done  as  much  in  the  fields  of  Investigation, 
Reflection,  Imagination,  and  Taste,  in  the  present  century,  as  any 
other  twelve  millions  of  people — 'about  our  average  number  for 
this  period — in  the  world. 

Doubtless  there  are  obstacles,  great  obstacles,  to  the  successful 
cultivation  of  letters  here  ;  but  they  are  not  so  many  nor  so  im- 
portant as  is  generally  supposed.  The  chief  difficulty  is  a  want 
of  patriotism,  mainly  proceeding  from  and  perpetuated  by  the 
absence  of  a  just  law  of  copyright.  There  is  indeed  no  lack  of 
that  spurious  love  of  country  which  is  ever  ready  to  involve  us  in 
aimless  and  disgraceful  war  •  but  there  is  little  genuine  and  lofty 
national  feeling ;  little  clear  perception  of  that  which  really  de- 
serves affection  and  applause ;  little  intelligent  and  earnest  effort 
to  foster  the  good  we  possess  or  acquire  the  good  we  need. 

It  has  been  the  fate  of  colonists  in  all  ages  to  consider  the 
people  from  among  whom  they  made  their  exodus  both  morally 
and  intellectually  superior  to  themselves,  and  the  parent  state  has 
had  thus  a  kind  of  spiritual,  added  to  her  political  sovereignty. 
The  American  provinces  quarrelled  with  England,  conquered,  and 
became  a  separate  nation ;  and  we  have  since  had  our  own  Presi- 
dents and  Congresses;  but  England  has  continued  to  do  the 
thinking  of  a  large  class  here, — of  men  who  have  arrogated  to 
themselves  the  title  of  critics, — of  our  sham  sort  of  men,  in  all 
departments.  We  have  had  no  confidence  in  ourselves ;  and  men 
who  lack  self-reliance  are  rarely  successful.  We  have  not  looked 
into  our  own  hearts.  We  have  not  inquired  of  our  own  necessi- 
ties. When  we  have  written,  instead  of  giving  a  free  voice  to 
the  spirit  within  us,  we  have  endeavored  to  write  after  some 
foreign  model.  We  have  been  so  fearful  of  nothing  else  as  of  an 
Americanism  in  thought  or  expression.  He  has  been  deemed 
greatest  who  has  copied  some  transatlantic  author  with  most  suc- 
cessful servility.  The  noisiest  demagogue  who  affects  to  despise 
England  will  scarcely  open  a  book  which  was  not  written  there. 
And  if  one  of  our   countrymen  wins  some  reputation  among 


C92 


RUFUS  WILMOT  GRISWOLD. 


his  fellows,  it  is  generally  because  he  has  been  first  praised 
abroad. 

The  commonly  urged  barriers  to  literary  advancement  supposed 
to  exist  in  our  form  of  government,  the  nature  of  our  institutions, 
the  restless  and  turbulent  movements  of  our  democracy,  and  the 
want  of  a  wealthy  and  privileged  class  among  us,  deserve  little 
consideration.  Tumult  and  strife,  the  clashing  of  great  interests 
and  high  excitements,  are  to  be  regarded  rather  as  aids  than  as 
obstacles  to  intellectual  progress.  From  Athens  came  the  choicest 
literature  and  the  finest  art.  Her  philosophers,  so  calm  and  pro- 
found, her  poets,  the  dulcet  sounds  of  whose  lyres  still  charm  the 
ears  of  succeeding  ages,  wrote  amid  continual  upturnings  and 
overthrows.  The  best  authors  of  Rome  also  were  senators  and 
soldiers.  Milton,  the  greatest  of  the  prose  writers  as  well  as  the 
greatest  of  the  poets  of  England,  lived  in  the  Commonwealth,  and 
participated  in  all  its  political  and  religious  controversies.  And 
what  repose  had  blind  Maeonides,  or  Camoens,  or  Dante,  or 
Tasso?  In  the  literature  of  Germany  and  France,  too,  the 
noblest  works  have  been  produced  amid  the  shocks  of  contending 
elements. 

Nor  is  the  absence  of  a  wealthy  class,  with  leisure  for  such 
tranquil  pursuits,  to  be  much  lamented.  The  privileged  classes 
of  all  nations  have  been  drones.  We  have,  in  the  Southern  States 
of  this  Republic,  a  large  class,  with  ample  fortunes,  leisure,  and 
quiet  •  but  they  have  done  comparatively  nothing  in  the  fields  of 
intellectual  exertion,  except  when  startled  into  spasmodic  activity 
by  conflicts  of  interest  with  the  North. 

To  say  truth,  most  of  the  circumstances  usually  set  down  as 
barriers  to  acsthetical  cultivation  here,  are  directly  or  indirectly 
advantageous.  The  real  obstacles  are  generally  of  a  transient 
kind.  Many  of  them  are  silently  disappearing;  and  the  rest 
would  be  soon  unknown  if  we  had  a  more  enlightened  love  of 
country,  and  the  making  of  our  laws  were  not  so  commonly  con- 
fided to  a  sort  of  men  whose  intellects  are  too  mean  or  whose 
principles  are  too  wicked  to  admit  of  their  seeing  or  doing  what  is 
just  and  needful  in  the  premises.  That  property  which  is  most 
actual,  the  only  property  to  which  a  man's  right  is  positive,  un- 
questionable, indefeasible,  exclusive, — his  genius,  conferred  as  by 
letters-patent  from  the  Almighty, — is  held  to  be  not  his,  but  the 
public's,  and  therefore  is  not  brought  into  use.1  Nevertheless, 


1  "All  'arguments'  against  copyright,  as  universal  and  perpetual  as  the  life  of 
a  book,  are  but  insults  to  the  common  sense.  Some  of  them  are  ingeniuiis,  and 
may  be  admired  on  the  same  principle  that  the  ingenuity  of  a  picklock  is  ad- 
mired. The  possession  of  lands  is,  by  privilege,  conceded  to  the  individual  for 
the  common  benefit.  The  right  of  an  author  rests  on  altogether  different  grounds. 
The  intangible  and  inalienable  power  by  which  he  works  is  a  direct  and  special 


I 

PHILIP  P.  COOKE.  693 

much  has  been  accomplished  j  great  advancement  has  been  made 
against  the  wind  and  tide )  and  at  this  time  the  aspects  and  pros- 
pects of  our  affairs  are  auspicious  of  scarcely  any  thing  more 
than  of  the  successful  cultivation  of  National  Literature  and 
National  Art. 

ELOQUENCE  OF  JONATHAN  EDWARDS. 

No  assertion  in  regard  to  Edwards  has  been  more  common  than 
the  one  that  he  was  not  eloquent.  The  mountebank  declamation 
of  these  latter  days  has  so  perverted  men's  judgments  that  they 
cannot  understand  how  a  preacher  who  rested  one  arm  upon  a 
high  pulpit,  with  its  diminutive  and  delicately-moulded  hand 
holding  a  small  manuscript  volume  all  the  while  close  to  his  eyes, 
and  with  the  other  made  slowly  his  few  and  only  gestures,  could 
be  an  orator.  But  he  could  keep  a  congregation  that  had  assem- 
bled to  hear  a  morning  sermon  ignorant  of  the  approach  of  noon 
until  through  the  uncurtained  windows  of  the  church  the  setting- 
sun's  red  rays  were  shining  upon  its  ceiling.  One  time,  when  he 
was  discoursing  of  death  and  the  Judgment,  people  rose  up  from 
their  seats,  with  pallor  on  their  faces,  to  see  Christ  descend 
through  the  parting  heavens.  Being  requested  to  preach  at  En- 
field, where  he  was  a  stranger,  and  the  assembly  were  so  indiffe- 
rent to  religion  as  to  be  neglectful  of  the  decency  of  silence  while 
he  prayed,  he  had  not  half  finished  his  sermon  before  the  startled 
sinners,  having  "  already  passed  through  the  valley  of  silence," 
began  to  wail  and  weep  so  bitterly  that  he  could  not  go  on  for 
their  distress.  These  are  triumphs  of  eloquence  not  dreamed  of 
by  such  as  deem  themselves  masters  of  the  art  from  reading  the 
foolish  recipe  ascribed  to  Demosthenes. 


PHILIP  PENDLETON  COOKE,  1816—1850. 

Philip  Pendleton  Cooke  was  born  in  Martinsburg,  Virginia,  on  the  26th 
of  October,  1816.  At  the  age  of  fifteen  he  entered  Princeton  College,  and  on 
graduating  pursued  the  study  of  law  at  Winchester,  where  his  father  was  then 
residing.  Before  he  was  twenty-one  he  was  married,  admitted  to  the  bar,  and 
had  very  fair  prospects  in  his  profession.  But  he  did  not  allow  the  law  to 
engross  all  his  time,  a  portion  of  which  he  devoted  to  writing  various  pieces, 
both.of  criticism  and  poetry,  for  the  "  Southern  Literary  Messenger"  and  other 


gift  to  him,  to  be  used  in  subjection  only  to  the  law  of  God,  who  mocks  at  the 
petty  ranks  which  men  establish,  by  setting  the  seal  of  His  nobility  and  conferring 
His  riches  upon  whom  He  will." 


694 


PHILIP  P.  COOKE. 


magazines.  In  1847,  be  published  Froissart  Ballardsx  and  other  Poems,  and  was 
engaged  in  projecting  other  literary  works,  when  he  was  suddenly  arrested  by 
death  on  the  20th  of  January,  1850,  at  the  age  of  thirty-three. 

Most  of  what  Mr.  Cooke  wrote  and  published  is  beautiful  in  itself,  but  is 
more  interesting  from  the  promise  it  gave  of  greater  achievement;  for  had  he 
lived  he  would  doubtless  have  risen  to  much  higher  literary  distinction.  One 
of  his  pieces,  however,  must  bo  rescued  and  preserved, — the  delicate  and  beau- 
tiful love-song  of 

FLORENCE  VANE.2 

I  loved  thee  long  and  dearly, 

Florence  Vane  ; 
My  life's  bright  dream,  and  early, 

Hath  come  again ; 
I  renew  in  my  fond  vision 

My  heart's  dear  pain, 
My  hopes,  and  thy  derision, 

Florence  Vane. 

The  ruin  lone  and  hoary, 

The  ruin  old,- 
Where  thou  didst  hark  my  story, 

At  even  told, — 
That  spot — the  hues  Elysian 

Of  sky  and  plain — 
I  treasure  in  my  vision, 

Florence  Vane. 

Thou  wast  lovelier  than  the  roses 

In  their  prime  ; 
Thy  voice  excell'd  the  closes 

Of  sweetest  rhyme ; 
Thy  heart  was  as  a  river 

Without  a  main ; 
Would  I  had  loved  thee  never, 

Florence  Vane  ! 

But,  fairest,  coldest  wonder  ! 

Thy  glorious  clay 
Lieth  the  green  sod  under, — 

Alas  the  day ! 
And  it  boots  not  to  remember 

Thy  disdain — 
To  quicken  love's  pale  ember, 

Florence  Vane. 


1  These  are  versified  transcripts  of  old  Sir  John  Froissart's  Chronicles,  and 
are  admirably  done.  He  says  in  his  preface,  "  The  reader  may  be  disposed  to 
undervalue  poems  professing  to  be  versifications  of  old  stories,  on  the  ground  of 
a  want  of  originality.  I  ask  only,  in  anticipation  of  this,  that  he  will  recollect 
the  fact  that,  from  Chaucer  to  Dryden,  such  appropriations  of  old  story  were  cus- 
tomary with  the  noblest  poets  of  our  language." 

2  "  One  of  the  daintiest  lyrics  in  the  language." — Willis.  In  the  "  Southern 
Literary  Messenger"  for  June,  1858,  is  an  excellent  article  on  Mr.  Cooke. 


LUCY  HOOPER. 


695 


The  lilies  of  the  valley 

By  young  graves  weep, 
The  pansies  love  to  dally 

Where  maidens  sleep ; 
May  their  bloom,  in  beauty  vying, 

Never  wane 
Where  thine  earthly  part  is  lying, 

Florence  Vane ! 


LUCY  HOOPER,  1816—1841. 

u  And  thou  art  gone !  sweet  daughter  of  the  lyre, 

Whose  strains  we  hoped  to  hear  thee  waken  long ; 
Gone — as  thp  stars  in  morning's  light  expire, 

Gone  like  the  rapture  of  a  passing  song; 
Gone  from  a  circle  who  thy  gifts  have  cherish'd 

With  genial  fondness  and  devoted  care, 
Whose  dearest  hopes,  with  thee,  have  sadly  perish'd, 

And  now  can  find  no  solace  but  in  prayer; 
Prayer  to  he  like  thee,  in  so  meekly  bearing 

Both  joy  and  sorrow  from  thy  Maker's  hand ; 
Prayer  to  put  on  the  white  robes  thou  art  wearing, 

And  join  thy  anthem  in  the  better  land."— II.  T.  Tcckekmax. 

Lucy  Hooper,  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Joseph  Hooper,  a  highly  respectable  mer- 
chant of  Newburyport,  Massachusetts,  was  born  in  that  city  on  the  4th  of  Febru- 
ary, 1816.  She  very  early  gave  indications  of  that  sweetness  of  character,  that 
purity  of  taste,  and  that  brightness  of  intellect,  which  were  afterwards  so  beauti- 
fully developed  and  harmoniously  blended ;  and  her  father  took  every  pains  that 
her  native  powers  should  have  the  benefit  of  the  best  training,  and  her  progress 
in  her  studies  was  astonishing.  At  the  age  of  fourteen,  the  family  removed  to 
Brooklyn,  New  Y"ork;  and  here,  very  soon  after,  she  became  an  occasional  contri- 
butor to  the  "  Long  Island  Star."  Though  anonymous,  her  pieces  were  greatly 
admired  and  widely  copied ;  and  if  they  had  not  the  merit  of  her  later  produc- 
tions, every  one  must  be  struck  with  the  melody  of  her  versification,  as  well  as  the 
precocious  strength  and  nervousness  of  her  expression. 

Besides  her  compositions  in  verse,  upon  which  Miss  Hooper's  fame  chiefly  rests, 
she  was  the  author  of  many  prose  articles  of  a  high  order  of  merit.  These  were 
collected  in  a  volume,  and  published  in  1840,  under  the  title  of  Scenes  from  Heal 
Life:  among  them  was  the  prize  essay  on  "Domestic  Happiness." 

But,  like  the  Davidsons,  Henry  Kirke  White,  and  others,  her  early  brilliant 
career  of  usefulness  was  soon  to  close.  Her  health  from  her  childhood  had  been 
delicate ;  but  the  loss  of  her  devoted  father,  and  other  domestic  afflictions,  affected 
her  very  deeply,  and  accelerated  the  progress  of  her  fatal  malady, — consumption  ; 
and  on  the  morning  of  the  1st  of  August,  1841,  she  gently  fell  asleep  in  Jesus. 
Seldom  has  the  death  of  any  one  so  young  called  forth  so  many  testimonies  of 
admiration.1  What  she  was,  all  can  read  and  see;  what  she  would  probably  have 


1  One  of  these  was  a  touching  piece  by  J.  G.  Whittier,  and  another  ^he  few  sweet 
lines,  by  H.  T.  Tuckerman,  placed  at  the  head  of  this  article. 


696 


LUCY  HOOPER. 


become  had  she  lived  to  a  greater  maturity  of  life  and  thought,  we  can  imagine 
from  the  high  promise  of  her  early  performance.1 

OSCEOLA.2 

[Written  upon  seeing  a  picture  of  the  Indian  chief  Osceola,  drawn  by  Captain  Yinton,  of 
the  United  States  Army,  representing  him  as  he  appeared  in  the  American  camp.] 

Not  on  the  battle-field, 
As  when  thy  thousand  warriors  joy'd  to  meet  thee, 

Sounding  the  fierce  war-cry, 

Leading  them  forth  to  die, — 
Not  thus,  not  thus  we  greet  thee. 

But  in  a  hostile  camp, 
Lonely  amidst  thy  foes, 

Thine  arrows  spent, 

Thy  brow  unbent, — 
Yet  wearing  record  of  thy  people's  woes. 

Chief!  for  thy  memories  now, 
While  the  tall  palm  against  this  quiet  sky 

Her  branches  waves, 

And  the  soft  river  laves 
The  green  and  flower-crown'd  banks  it  wanders  by, 

While  in  this  golden  sun 
The  burnish'd  rifle  gleameth  with  strange  light, 

And  sword  and  spear 

Rest  harmless  here, 
Yet  flash  with  startling  radiance  on  the  sight ; 

Wake  they  thy  glance  of  scorn, 
Thou  of  the  folded  arms  and  aspect  stern, — 


1  In  1S42  appeared  her  Poetical  Remains,  12mo,  with  a  beautifully-written  me- 
moir by  John  Keese;  and,  in  1848,  her  Complete  Poetical  Works,  in  8vo. 

2  This  was  the  noble  Seminole  chief  who,  in  the  "  Second  Seminole  War,"  in 
1837,  being  found  invincible  in  open  battle,  was  decoyed,  by  orders  of  General 
Jessup,  into  a  conference,  under  the  white  flag  of  truce  held  sacred  by  all  nations, 
and  then  surrounded  by  our  troops,  disarmed,  and  made  a  captive, — a  transaction 
which  should  cover  that  officer's  name  with  lasting  infamy.  To  this,  the  follow- 
ing verse  from  Pierpont's  bold,  nervous,  and  truthful  poem,  "  The  Tocsin," 
alludes-: — 

"At  Slavery's  beck,  the  very  hands 

Ye  lift  to  Heaven,  to  swear  ye're  free, 
Will  break  a  truce,  to  seize  the  lands 

Of  Seminole  or  Cherokee ! 
Yes, — tear  a  flag  that  Tartar  hordes 
Respect,  and  shield  it  with  their  swords."* 

For  a  true  account  of  the  Florida  War,  read  "  The  Exiles  of  Florida,  or  the 
Crimes  committed  by  our  Government  against  the  Maroons,  who  fled  from  South 
Carolina  and  other  Slave  States,  seeking  Protection  under  Spanish  Law,"  by 
Joshua  R.  Giddings, — a  painfully-interesting  narrative.  Too  many  histories  of 
the  United  States  seem  to  have  been  written  rather  to  conceal,  than  to  tell  the 
truth  relative  to  certain  transactions  and  subjects. 


*  <;Bear  witness,  ghost  of  the  great-hearted,  broken-hearted  Osceola:" 


LUCY  HOOPER.  697 

Thou  of  the  deep  low  tone,1 
For  whose  rich  music  gone, 
Kindred  and  friends  alike  may  vainly  yearn  ? 

Woe  for  the  trusting  hour ! 
Oh,  kingly  stag !  no  hand  hath  brought  thee  down ; 

'Twas  with  a  patriot's  heart, 

Where  fear  usurp'd  no  part, 
Thou  earnest,  a  noble  offering,  and  alone ! 

For  vain  yon  army'3  might, 
While  for  thy  band  the  wide  plain  own'd  a  tree, 

Or  the  wild  vine's  tangled  shoots 

On  the  gnaiTcl  oak's  mossy  roots 
Their  trysting-place  might  be  ! 

Woe  for  thy  hapless  fate  ! 
Woe  for  thine  evil  times  and  lot,  brave  chief ! 

Thy  sadly  closing  story, 

Thy  short  and  mournful  glory, 
Thy  high  but  hopeless  struggle,  brave  and  brief ! 

Woe  for  the  bitter  stain 
That  from  our  country's  banner  may  not  part ! 

Woe  for  the  captive,  woe  ! 

For  burning  pains,  and  slow, 
Are  his  who  dieth  of  the  fever'd  heart. 

Oh  !  in  that  spirit-land, 
Where  never  yet  the  oppressor's  foot  hath  past, 

Chief,  by  those  sparkling  streams, 

Whose  beauty  mocks  our  dreams, 
May  that  high  heart  have  won  its  rest  at  last. 


EVENING  THOUGHTS. 

Thou  quiet  moon,  above  the  hill-tops  shining, 

How  do  I  revel  in  thy  glances  bright, 
How  does  my  heart,  cured  of  its  vain  repining, 

Take  note  of  those  who  wait  and  watch  thy  light, — 
The  student  o'er  his  lonely  volume  bending, 

The  pale  enthusiast,  joying  in  thy  ray, 
And  ever  and  anon  his  dim  thoughts  sending 

Up  to  the  regions  of  eternal  day ! 

Nor  these  alone, — the  pure  and  radiant  eyes 

Of  Youth  and  Hope  look  up  to  thee  with  love ; 
Would  it  were  thine, — meek  dweller  of  the  skies, — 

To  save  from  tears !  but  no  !  too  far  above 
This  dim,  cold  earth  thou  shinest,  richly  flinging 

Thy  soft  light  down  on  all  who  watch  thy  beam, 
And  to  the  heart  of  Sorrow  gently  bringing 

The  glories  pictured  in  Life's  morning  stream, 


1  Osceola  was  remarkable  for  a  soft  and  flute-like  voice. 
59 


698  JOHN  G.  SAXE. 

As  a  loved  presence  back  ;  oh  !  shine  to  me 
As  to  the  voyagers  on  the  faithless  sea ! 

Joy's  beacon-light!  I  know  that  trembling  Care, 

Warn'd  by  thy  coming,  hies  him  to  repose, 
And  on  his  pillow  laid,  serenely  there 

Forgets  his  calling,  that  at  day's  dull  close 
Meek  Age  and  rosy  Childhood  sink  to  rest, 

And  Passion  lays  her  fever-dreams  aside, 
And  the  unquiet  thought  in  every  breast 

Loses  its  selfish  fervor  and  its  pride 
With  thoughts  of  thee, — the  while  their  vigil  keeping, 
The  quiet  stars  hold  watch  o'er  beauty  sleeping ! 

But  unto  me,  thou  still  and  solemn  light, 

What  may'st  thou  bring?  high  hope,  unwavering  trust 
In  Him,  who  for  the  watches  of  the  night 

Ordain'd  thy  coming,  and  on  things  of  dust 
Hath  pour'd  a  gift  of  power, — on  wings  to  rise 

From  the  low  earth  and  its  surrounding  gloom 
To  higher  spheres,  till  as  the  shaded  skies 

Are  lighted  by  thy  glories,  gentle  Moon, 
So  are  Life's  lonely  hours  and  dark  despair 
Cheer'd  by  the  star  of  faith,  the  torch  of  prayer. 


JOHN  GODFREY  SAXE. 

Joh.v  Godfrey  Saxe,  so  widely  known  as  "  the  witty  poet,"  is  the  son  of  Hon. 
Peter  Saxe,  and  was  born  in  Highgate,  Franklin  County,  Vermont,  June  2,  1816. 
He  was  graduated  at  Middleburg  College  in  1839,  studied  law,  was  admitted  to 
the  bar  in  September,  1843,  and  entered  upon  the  practice  of  his  profession  at 
St.  Alban's,  having  in  the  mean  time  entered  into  "  the  holy  bonds  of  matrimony" 
with  one  of  the  fair  daughters  of  the  Mountain  State.  All  his  leisure  time  he 
devoted  to  belles-lettres,  which  finally  fairly  won  him  from  the  law.  In  1846,  he 
delivered  a  poem  before  the  Alumni  of  Middleburg  College,  called  Progress, 
a  Satire,  which  was  a  most  successful  performance  and  won  for  him  a  high  repu- 
tation. In  1847  appeared  his  Rape  of  the  Lock,  and  in  1848  his  Proud  Hiss 
McBride,  both  of  which  excited  great  laughter  for  their  rollicking  humor,  happy 
puns,  and  pungent  philosophy  combined. 

In  1850,  Ticknor  &  Fields,  of  Boston,  published  his  first  volume  of  Poems, 
which  soon  ran  through  twelve  editions.  The  same  year  he  removed  to  Bur- 
lington, Vermont,  and  purchased  the  Sentinel,  which  he  conducted  for  five  years 
with  marked  success.  Soon  after  he  was  elected  State's  Attorney,  and,  upon  re- 
tiring from  that  office,  was  appointed  Deputy-Collector  of  Customs.  Of  late  years 
he  has  devoted  his  attention  almost  exclusively  to  literature,  and  now  makes 
"lecturing"  his  sole  vocation.  So  greatly  does  he  excel  in  humorous  and 
satirical  poetry  that  he  is  constantly  invited  to  address  literary  societies  and 
"  Institutes,"   and  his  readings   and  recitations   are  always  enthusiastically 


JOHN  G.  SAXE. 


699 


received.  The  poems  New  England,  The  Press,  and  The  Money  King  have  been 
delivered  on  such  occasions,  and  are,  of  course,  not  in  print.  He  is  now  pre- 
paring another  volume  of  poems,  which  will  include  all  his  productions  not 
embraced  in  the  first.    We  hope  it  may  be  as  successful. 


11HYME  OF  THE  RAIL. 


Singing  through  the  forests, 

Rattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Rumbling  over  bridges, 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains, 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale, — 
Bless  me  !  this  is  pleasant. 

Riding  on  the  rail ! 

Men  of  different  "  stations" 

In  the  eye  of  Fame 
Here  are  very  quickly 

Coming  to  the  same. 
High  and  lowly  people, 

Birds  of  every  feather, 
On  a  common  level 

Travelling  together ! 

Gentleman  in  shorts, 

Looming  very  tall ; 
Gentleman  at  large, 

Talking  very  small ; 
Gentleman  in  tights, 

With  a  loose-ish  mien  ; 
Gentleman  in  gray, 

Looking  rather  green. 

Gentleman  quite  old, 

Asking  for  the  news  ; 
Gentleman  in  black, 

In  a  fit  of  blues  ; 
Gentleman  in  claret, 

Sober  as  a  vicar ; 
Gentleman  in  Tweed, 

Dreadfully  in  liquor ! 

Stranger  on  the  right, 
Looking  very  sunny, 

Obviously  reading 

Something  rather  funny. 

Now  the  smiles  are  thicker  : — 
Wonder  what  they  mean  ? 

Faith,  he's  got  the  Knicker- 
bocker Magazine  ! 


Stranger  on  the  left, 

Closing  up  his  peepers, 
Now  he  snores  amain, 

Like  the  Seven  Sleepers  ; 
At  his  feet  a  volume 

Gives  the  explanation, 
How  the  man  grew  stupid 

From  "  Association  !" 

Ancient  maiden  lady 

Anxiously  remarks 
That  there  must  be  peril 

'Mong  so  many  sparks  ; 
Roguish-looking  fellow, 

Turning  to  the  stranger, 
Says  it's  his  opinion 

She  is  out  of  danger. 

Woman  with  her  baby 

Sitting  vis-a-vis ; 
Baby  keeps  a-squalling, 

Woman  looks  at  me, 
Asks  about  the  distance, 

Says  it's  tiresome  talking, 
Noises  of  the  cars 

Are  so  very  shocking  ! 

Market-woman  careful 

Of  the  precious  casket, 
Knowing  eggs  are  eggs, 

Tightly  holds  her  basket, 
Feeling  that  a  smash, 

If  it  came,  would  surely 
Send  her  eggs  to  pot 

Rather  prematurely ! 

Singing  through  the  forests, 

Rattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Rumbling  over  bridges, 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains, 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale, — 
Bless  me  !  this  is  pleasant, 

Riding  on  the  rail  I 


JOHN  G.  SAXE. 


i'm  growing  old. 

My  days  pass  pleasantly  away, 

My  nights  are  bless'd  with  sweetest  sleep ; 
I  feel  no  symptoms  of  decay, 

I  have  no  cause  to  moan  and  weep; 
My  foes  are  impotent  and  shy, 

My  friends  are  neither  false  nor  cold, 
And  yet,  of  late,  I  often  sigh, — 
I'm  growing  old ! 

My  growing  talk  of  olden  times, 
My  growing  thirst  for  early  news, 

My  growing  apathy  for  rhymes, 
My  growing  love  for  easy  shoes, 

My  growing  hate  of  crowds  and  noise, 
My  growing  fear  of  taking  cold, 

All  tell  me,  in  the  plainest  voice, 
I'm  growing  old ! 

I'm  growing  fonder  of  my  staff, 
I'm  growing  dimmer  in  the  eyes, 

I'm  growing  fainter  in  my  laugh, 
I'm  growing  deeper  in  my  sighs, 

I'm  growing  careless  of  my  dress, 
I'm  growing  frugal  of  my  gold, 

I'm  growing  wise,  I'm  growing — yes — 
I'm  growing  old  ! 

I  see  it  in  my  changing  taste, 

I  see  it  in  my  changing  hair, 
I  see  it  in  my  growing  waist, 

I  see  it  in  my  growing  heir; 
A  thousand  hints  proclaim  the  truth, 

As  plain  as  truth  was  ever  told, 
That  even  in  my  vaunted  youth 
I'm  growing  old ! 

Ah  me  !  my  very  laurels  breathe 

The  tale  in  my  reluctant  ears ; 
And  every  boon  the  hours  bequeath 

But  makes  me  debtor  to  the  years ; 
E'en  flattery's  honey'd  words  declare 

The  secret  she  would  fain  withhold, 
And  tells  me,  in  "  How  young  you  are !" 
I'm  growing  old ! 

Thanks  for  the  years  whose  rapid  flight 
My  sombre  muse  too  sadly  sings  ; 

Thanks  for  the  gleams  of  golden  light 
That  tint  the  darkness  of  her  wings, — 

The  light  that  beams  from  out  the  sky, 
Those  heavenly  mansions  to  unfold, 

Where  all  are  blest,  and  none  may  sigh, 
"  I'm  growing  old  !" 


ELIZABETH  HOWELL. 


701 


ELIZABETH  HOWELL. 

The  following  poem,  together  with  several  others  of  great  beauty  of  sentiment 
and  parity  of  feeling,  was  written  by  a  young  lady  of  Philadelphia,  a  member 
of  the  "  Society  of  Friends," — Elizabeth  Lloyd,  Jr., — the  daughter  of  Isaac 
Lloyd.  She  afterwards  was  married  to  our  late  lamented  fellow-townsman, 
Robert  Howell,  Esq.  It  is  sufficient,  in  commendation  of  these  lines,  to  say  that 
they  were  at  first  attributed  by  many  journals  to  Milton  himself. 


milton's  prayer  of  patience. 

I  am  old  and  blind  ! 
Men  point  at  me  as  smitten  by  God's  frown; 
Afflicted  and  deserted  of  my  kind, 

Yet  am  I  not  cast  down. 

I  am  weak,  yet  strong: 
I  murmur  not  that  I  no  longer  see  ; — 
Poor,  old,  and  helpless,  I  the  more  belong, 

Father  Supreme  !  to  Thee. 

All-merciful  One  ! 
When  men  are  farthest,  then  art  thou  most  near  ; 
When  friends  pass  by,  my  weaknesses  to  shun, 

Thy  chariot  I  hear. 

Thy  glorious  face 
Is  leaning  towards  me,  and  its  holy  light 
Shines  in  upon  my  lonely  dwelling-place, — 

And  there  is  no  more  night. 

On  my  bended  knee, 
I  recognise  Thy  purpose,  clearly  shown  ; 
My  vision  Thou  hast  dimm'd,  that  I  may  see 

Thyself— Thyself  alone. 

I  have  naught  to  fear  ; 
This  darkness  is  the  shadow  of  thy  wing  ; 
Beneath  it  I  am  almost  sacred, — here 

Can  come  no  evil  thing. 

Oh  !  I  seem  to  stand 
Trembling,  where  foot  of  mortal  ne'er  hath  been, 
Wrapp'd  in  that  radiance  from  the  sinless  land 

Which  eye  hath  never  seen. 

Yisions  come  and  go, 
Shapes  of  resplendent  beauty  round  me  throng  ; 
From  angel-lips  I  seem  to  hear  the  flow 

Of  soft  and  holy  song. 

In  a  purer  clime, 
M}r  being  fills  with  rapture, — waves  of  thought 
Roll  in  upon  my  spirit, — strains  sublime 

Break  over  me  unsought. 

59* 


702 


HORACE  B.  WALLACE. 


Give  me  now  my  lyre  ! 
I  feel  the  stirrings  of  a  gift  divine ; 
Within  my  bosom  glows  unearthly  lire, 

Lit  by  no  skill  of  mine. 


HORACE  BINNEY  WALLACE,  1817— 1S52. 

Horace  Binxey  Wallace,  the  youngest  son  of  John  Bradford  and  Susan 
Wallace,  was  born  in  Philadelphia,  on  the  26th  of  February,  1817.  Parents 
more  competent  to  develop  and  discipline  the  mind  no  child  could  have.  He 
appears  early  to  have  evinced  a  love  of  study  and  traits  of  strongly-marked  indi- 
viduality. His  preparation  for  college  was  chiefly  under  the  teachings  of  his 
father,  and  in  his  fifteenth  year  he  entered  the  University  of  Pennsylvania,  where 
he  became  at  once  distinguished  in  every  branch  of  study,  and  particularly  in  the 
higher  mathematics.  After  passing  two  years  here,  he  was  transferred  to  Prince- 
ton College,  and  had  not  been  there  a  year  before  one  of  its  most  eminent  profes- 
sors declared  that  "he  was  the  most  extraordinary  young  man  he  had  ever  seen ; 
excelled  in  all  branches  of  study, — seemed  to  know  every  thing,  to  read  every 
thing,  and  to  find  and  measure  the  wisdom  of  all  he  read." 

After  graduating  in  1S35,  he  devoted  some  years  to  the  study  of  medicine,  then 
to  chemistry,  and  then  to  law.  Of  the  latter  he  was  master.  Having  no  neces- 
sity, he  had  no  taste,  for  the  "practice"  of  the  profession,  and  declined  it  ;  but  he 
ever  continued  to  read,  to  think,  and  to  write  upon  it  on  a  large  scale.  His  con- 
tributions to  his  profession  are,  Comments  vpon  Smith's  Selection  of  Leading  Cases 
in  Various  Branches  of Law  ;  vpon  White  and  I'udor's  Selection  of  Cases  in  Equity, 
and  other  similar  works,  which  are  spoken  of  by  one  to  whom  all  may  justly 
defer,  as  "  the  fruits  of  as  accomplished  a  legal  mind  as  any  man  in  any  country 
at  his  early  age  has  shown.  It  is  almost  marvellous  that  a  man  of  thirty,  who 
had  no  time  or  chance  to  file  his  opinions  and  thoughts  by  the  thoughts  of  other 
men  in  bar-discussions,  should  have  attained  to  so  true  and  uniform  and  firm  an 
edge,  and  to  so  sharp  and  penetrating  a  point,  in  all  of  them.  There  is  not  a  note 
or  remark  in  the  whole  body  that  does  not  show  the  mind  of  a  lawyer,  imbued  with 
the  spirit  of  the  science,  instinctively  perceiving  and  observing  all  its  limitations, 
its  harmonies,  its  modulations,  its  discords,  as  a  cultivated  ear  perceives,  without 
an  effort,  what  is  congruous  or  incongruous  with  the  harmonies  of  sound."1 

Mr.  Wallace  died  at  Paris  on  the  16th  of  December,  1852.  Since  then,  two 
volumes  have  been  collected  and  arranged  from  his  writings,  by  his  surviving 
brother,  John  William  Wallace,  Esq.  The  duty  was  done  with  great  care  and 
faithfulness  that  the  author  should  speak  in  his  own  exact  words,  though  all  was 
left  by  him  in  an  unprepared  state  and  without  any  thought  of  publication. 
They  will  remain  a  lasting  monument  of  the  author's  genius,  leaving  the  world 
to  mourn  his  early  loss,  and,  in  that,  the  loss  of  what  he  might  have  done. 
These  works  are  entitled  Art  and  Scenery  in  Europe,  and  Literary  Criticisms  and 
other  Papers.12 

1  Horace  Binney,  Esq.,  of  Philadelphia. 

2  Good  editions  of  these  have  been  published  by  Parry  &  McMillan,  Phila. 


HORACE  B.  WALLACE. 


703 


What  we  can  quote  is  only  a  taste  of  these  volumes,  filled  with  the  rarest  beau- 
ties of  thought  and  expression.  They  are  hut  broken  fragments,  and  indeed 
such  is  all  he  has  left;  hut,  "luminous  with  beauty,  they  show  how  admirable  was 
bis  style  of  man, — all  the  powers  of  his  mind  adjusted,  not  one  unused  in  its 
office,  but  as  lights,  each  reflecting  on  the  other,  and  making  the  soul  the  place 
of  clear  vision,  radiant  with  the  first  elements  that  enter  into  the  best  creations." 

THE  ALPS. 

Perhaps  no  intellectual  emotion  of  our  maturer  life  comes  upon 
us  with  so  much  novelty,  and  strength,  and  delight,  as  that  shock 
of  surprise  and  pleasure  which  we  receive  from  the  sight  of  the 
snowy  pinnacles  of  the  Alps,  shooting  up  into  the  blue  heaven, 
and  standing  together  in  silent  mysterious  vastness.  It  provokes 
not  to  expression,  but  sinks  upon  the  stilled  heart,  with  a  strange, 
exquisite  feeling,  essentially  spiritual  in  its  solemnity  and  depth. 
Our  native  and  familiar  earth  is  seen  expanding  into  the  sublimity 
of  the  heavens,  and  we  feel  as  if  our  destiny  were  exalted  along 
with  it.  The  wonder  and  sensibility  of  childhood  return  upon  us. 
Niagara, — the  ocean, — cathedrals, — all  these,  when  seen  for  the 
first  time,  touch  chords  of  immortality  within  our  being.  But 
none  of  them  in  quickness  and  fineness  and  depth  of  force  can  be 
equalled  to  the  aspect  of  the  Alps.  Material  and  moral  qualities 
combine  to  render  it  the  most  awing  and  ennobling  that  can  pass 
before  living  eyes.  There  is  a  calming,  elevating,  consoling  influ- 
ence in  the  quietness  of  power,  the  repose  of  surpassing  magni- 
ficence, in  which  these  mighty  eminences  rest,  living  out  their 
great  lives  in  silent  and  motionless  serenity  j  and  our  turbulent 
and  troubled  souls  are  reproved  and  chastened  by  the  spectacle. 

THE  INTERIOR  OF  ST.  PETER'S. 

What  a  world  within  Life's  open  world  is  the  interior  of  St. 
Peter's  ! — a  world  of  softness,  brightness,  and  richness  ! — fusing 
the  sentiments  in  a  refined  rapture  of  tranquillity, — gratifying  the 
imagination  with  splendors  more  various,  expansive,  and  exhaust- 
less  than  the  natural  universe  from  which  we  pass, — typical  of 
that  sphere  of  spiritual  consciousness,  which,  before  the  inward- 
working  energies  of  Faith,  arches  itself  out  within  man's  mortal 
being.  When  you  push  aside  the  heavy  curtain  that  veils  the 
sanctuary  from  the  [MS.  wanting]  without,  what  a  shower  of  high 
and  solemn  pleasure  is  thrown  upon  your  spirit !  A  glory  of 
beauty  fills  all  the  Tabernacle.  The  majesty  of  a  Perfection,  that 
seems  fragrant  of  delightfulness,  fills  it  like  a  Presence.  Gran- 
deur, strength,  solidity, — suggestive  of  the  fixed  Infinite, — float 
unsphered  within  those  vaulted  spaces,  like  clouds  of  lustre.  The 


704 


HORACE  B.  WALLACE. 


immensity  of  the  size, — the  unlimitable  richness  of  the  treasure 
that  has  been  lavished  upon  its  decoration  by  the  enthusiastic 
prodigality  of  the  Catholic  world  through  successive  centuries, 
— dwarf  Man  and  the  Present,  and  leave  the  soul  open  to  senti- 
ments of  God  and  Eternity.  The  eye,  as  it  glances  along  column 
and  archway,  meets  nothing  but  variegated  marbles  and  gold. 
Among  the  ornaments  of  the  obscure  parts  of  the  walls  and  piers 
are  a  multitude  of  pictures,  vast  in  magnitude,  transcendent  in 
merit, — the  master-pieces  of  the  world, — the  Communion  of  St. 
Jerome, — the  Burial  of  St.  Petronilla, — the  Transfiguration  of 
the  Saviour, — not  of  perishable  canvass  and  oils,  but  wrought  in 
mosaic,  and  fit  to  endure  till  Time  itself  shall  perish. 

It  is  the  sanctuary  of  Space  and  Silence.  No  throng  can  crowd 
these  aisles ;  no  sound  of  voices  or  of  organs  can  displace  the 
venerable  quiet  that  broods  here.  The  Pope,  who  fills  the  world 
with  all  his  pompous  retinue,  fills  not  St.  Peter's )  and  the  roar 
of  his  quired  singers,  mingling  with  the  sonorous  chant  of  a  host 
of  priests  and  bishops,  struggles  for  an  instant  against  this  ocean 
of  stillness,  and  then  is  absorbed  into  it  like  a  faint  echo.  The 
mightiest  ceremonies  of  human  worship  —  celebrated  by  the 
earth's  chief  Pontiff,  sweeping  along  in  the  magnificence  of  the 
most  imposing  array  that  the  existing  world  can  exhibit  —  seem 
dwindled  into  insignificance  within  this  structure.  They  do  not 
explain  to  our  feelings  the  uses  of  the  building.  As  you  stand 
within  the  gorgeous,  celestial  dwelling — framed  not  for  man's 
abode — the  holy  silence,  the  mysterious  fragrance,  the  light  of 
ever-burning  lamps,  suggest  to  you  that  it  is  the  home  of  in- 
visible spirits, — an  outer  court  of  Heaven, — visited,  perchance,  in 
the  deeper  hours  of  a  night  that  is  never  dark  within  its  walls,  by 
the  all-sacred  Awe  itself. 

THE  CRATER  OF  VESUVIUS. 

The  first  thing  that  I  came  upon  here  was  the  great  crater  of 
the  eruption  of  1794, — now  dry  and  scorious,  and  black  as  a 
bosom  in  which  sensual  passion  has  burnt  itself  to  exhaustion. 
Though  crusted  over  and  closed,  it  was  steaming  and  smoking 
through  sundry  apertures.  Traversing  it,  I  arrived  at  the  large 
crater  of  1850, — a  still  raw  and  open  ulcer  of  earth.  The  wind 
was  blowing  from  us,  and  the  circumstances  were  favorable  for 
viewing  the  cavity.  It  was  filled  with  a  dense  volume  of  white 
gas,  which  was  whirling  and  rapidly  ascending;  but  the  breeze 
occasionally  drove  it  to  the  opposite  side  and  disclosed  the  depths 
of  the  frightful  chasm.  It  descended  a  prodigious  distance,  in 
the  shape  of  an  inverted,  truncated  cone,  and  then  terminated  in  a 
circular  opening.  The  mysteries  of  the  profound  immensity  beyond, 


HORACE  B.  WALLACE. 


705 


no  human  eye  might  see,  no  human  heart  conceive.  We  hurled 
some  stones  into  the  gulf  and  listened  till  they  struck  below.  The 
guide  gravely  assured  me  that  ten  minutes  elapsed  before  the 
sound  was  heard ;  I  found,  by  the  watch,  that  the  interval  was,  in 
reality,  something  over  three  quarters  of  a  minute  \ — and  that 
seems  almost  incredibly  long.  When  the  vapor,  at  intervals,  so 
far  thinned  away  that  one  could  see  across,  as  through  a  vista,  the 
opposite  side  of  the  crater,  viewed  athwart  the  mist,  seemed 
several  miles  distant,  though  in  fact  but  a  few  hundred  feet.  The 
interior  of  the  shelving  crater  was  entirely  covered  over  with  a 
bed  of  knob-like  blossoms  of  brilliant  white,  yellow,  green,  red, 
brown, — the  sulphurous  flowers  of  Hell.  I  cannot  describe  this 
spectacle,  for,  in  impression  and  appearance,  alike,  it  resembles 
nothing  else  that  I  have  seen  before  or  since.  It  was  like  Death, 
— which  has  no  similitudes  in  life.  It  was  like  a  vision  of  the 
Second  Death.  As  the  sun  gleamed  at  times  through  the 
white  breath  that  swayed  and  twisted  about  the  maw  of  the 
accursed  monstrosity,  there  seemed  to  be  an  activity  in  the 
vaulted  depth  •  but  it  was  the  activity  of  shadows  in  the  concave 
of  nothingness.  It  seemed  the  emblem  of  destruction,  itself, 
extinct.  There  was  something  about  it  revoltingly  beautiful,  dis- 
gustingly splendid.  One  while,  its  circling  rim  looked  like  the 
parched  shore  of  the  ever-absorbing  and  ever-empty  sea  of  anni- 
hilation. Another  while,  it  seemed  like  a  fetid  cancer  on  the 
breast  of  earth,  destined  one  day  to  consume  it.  To  me  it  was 
purely  uncomfortable  and  wholly  uninspiring.  It  seemed  to  freeze 
back  fancy  and  sentiment  to  their  sources.  It  was  not  terrible, 
it  was  merely  horrible.  It  is  a  thing  to  see  once,  but  I  care  not 
to  see  such  a  thing  again  in  this  world ;  and  Jesus  grant  that  I 
may  see  nothing  like  it  in  the  next ! 


WASHINGTON.  HAMILTON.1 

If  we  compare  him  with  the  great  men  who  were  his  contem- 
poraries throughout  the  nation,  in  an  age  of  extraordinary  per- 
sonages, Washington  was  unquestionably  the  first  man  of  the 
time  in  ability.  Review  the  correspondence  of  General  Wash- 
ington,— that  sublime  monument  of  intelligence  and  integrity, — 
scrutinize  the  public  history  and  the  public  men  of  that  era,  and 
you  will  find  that  in  all  the  wisdom  that  was  accomplished  or 
was  attempted,  Washington  was  before  every  man  in  his  sug- 
gestions of  the  plan,  and  beyond  every  one  in  the  extent  to  which 
he  contributed  to  its  adoption.    In  the  field,  all  the  able  generals 


1  These  remarks  on  Washington  and  Hamilton  are  wonderfully  beautiful,  dis- 
criminating, and  just. 


706 


HORACE  B.  WALLACE. 


acknowledged  his  superiority,  and  looked  up  to  him  with  loyalty, 
reliance,  and  reverence ;  the  others,  who  doubted  his  ability,  or 
conspired  against  his  sovereignty,  illustrated  in  their  own  conduct 
their  incapacity  to  be  either  his  judges  or  his  rivals.  In  the  state, 
Adams,  Jay,  Rutledge,  Pinckney,  Morris,  —  these  are  great 
names ;  but  there  is  not  one  whose  wisdom  does  not  veil  to  his. 
His  superiority  was  felt  by  all  these  persons,  and  was  felt  by 
Washington  himself,  as  a  simple  matter  of  fact,  as  little  a  subject 
of  question  or  a  cause  of  vanity  as  the  eminence  of  his  personal 
stature.  His  appointment  as  commander-in-chief  was  the  result 
of  no  design  on  his  part,  and  of  no  efforts  on  the  part  of  his 
friends  :  it  seemed  to  take  place  spontaneously.  He  moved  into 
the  position,  because  there  was  a  vacuum  which  no  other  could 
supply ;  in  it,  he  was  not  sustained  by  government,  by  a  party,  or 
by  connections;  he  sustained  himself;  and  then  he  sustained 
every  thing  else.  He  sustained  Congress  against  the  army,  and 
the  army  against  the  injustice  of  Congress.  The  brightest  mind 
among  his  contemporaries  was  Hamilton's, — a  character  which 
cannot  be  contemplated  without  frequent  admiration,  and  constant 
affection.  His  talents  took  the  form  of  genius,  which  Wash- 
ington's did  not.  But  active,  various,  and  brilliant  as  the  facul- 
ties of  Hamilton  were,  whether  viewed  in  the  precocity  of  youth 
or  in  the  all-accomplished  elegance  of  maturer  life, — lightning- 
quick  as  his  intelligence  was  to  see  through  every  subject  that 
came  before  it,  and  vigorous  as  it  was  in  constructing  the  argu- 
mentation by  which  other  minds  were  to  be  led,  as  upon  a  shapely 
bridge,  over  the  obscure  depths  across  which  his  had  flashed  in  a 
moment, — fertile  and  sound  in  schemes,'  ready  in  action,  splendid 
in  display,  as  he  was, — nothing  is  more  obvious  and  certain  than 
that  when  Mr.  JIamilton  approached  Washington,  he  came  into 
the  presence  of  one  who  surpassed  him  in  the  extent,  in  the 
comprehension,  the  elevation,  the  sagacity,  the  force,  and  the 
ponderousness  of  his  mind,  as  much  as  he  did  in  the  majesty  of 
his  aspect  and  the  grandeur  of  his  step.  The  genius  of  Hamilton 
was  a  flower,  which  gratifies,  surprises,  and  enchants ;  the  intelli- 
gence of  Washington  was  a  stately  tree,  which  in  the  rarity  and 

true  dignity  of  its  beauty  is  as  superior  as  it  is  in  its  dimensions. 

*  #  *  *  *  *  * 

In  moral  qualities,  the  character  of  Washington  is  the  most 
truly  dignified  that  was  ever  presented  to  the  respect  and  admi- 
ration of  mankind.  He  was  one  of  the  few  entirely  good  men  in 
whom  goodness  had  no  touch  of  weakness.  He  was  one  of  the 
few  rigorously  just  men  whose  justice  was  not  commingled  with 
any  of  the  severity  of  personal  temper.  The  elevation,  and 
strength,  and  greatness  of  his  feelings  were  derived  from  Nature ; 
their  moderation  was  the  effect  of  reflection  and  discipline.  His 


A.  CLEVELAND  COXE. 


707 


temper,  by  nature,  was  ardent,  and  inclined  to  action.  His  pas- 
sions were  quick,  and  capable  of  an  intensity  of  motion  which, 
when  it  was  kindled  by  either  intellectual  or  moral  indignation, 
amounted  almost  to  fury.  But  how  rarely — how  less  than  rarely 
— was  any  thing  of  this  kind  exhibited  in  his  public  career  ! 
How  restrained  from  all  excess  which  reason  could  reprove,  or 
virtue  condemn,  or  good  taste  reject,  were  these  earnest  impulses, 
in  the  accommodation  of  his  nature  to  "  that  great  line  of  duty" 
which  he  had  set  up  as  the  course  of  his  life  !  Seen  in  his  public 
duties,  his  attitude  and  character — the  one  elevated  above  fami- 
liarity, the  other  purged  of  all  littlenesses — present  a  position  and 
an  image  almost  purely  sublime. 

But  when  viewed  in  the  gentler  scenes  of  domestic  and  friendly 
relation,  there  are  traits  which  give  loveliness  to  dignity,  and  add 
grace  to  veneration  j  like  the  leaves  and  twigs  which  cluster 
around  the  trunk  and  huge  branches  of  the  colossal  elm,  making 
that  beautiful  which  else  were  only  grand.  His  sentiments  were 
quick  and  delicate;  his  refinement  exquisite.  His  temper  was  as 
remote  from  plebeian  as  his  principles  were  opposite  to  democratic. 
If  his  public  bearing  had  something  of  the  solemnity  of  Puritanism, 
the  sources  of  his  social  nature  were  the  spirit  and  maxims  of  a 
cavalier.  His  demeanor  towards  all  men  illustrated,  in  every  con- 
dition, that  "  finest  sense  of  justice  which  the  mind  can  form/'  In 

ALL  THINGS  ADMIRABLE,  IN  ALL  THINGS  TO  BE  IMITATED;  IN 
SOME  THINGS  SCARCE  IMITABLE  AND  ONLY  TO  BE  ADMIRED. 


A.  CLEVELAND  COXE. 

A.  Cleveland  Coxe  (who  has  adopted  an  older  spelling  of  the  family  name) 
is  the  son  of  Rev.  Samuel  H.  Cox,  D.D.,  and  Abiah  Hyde  Cleveland,1  and  was 


1  He  gets  his  middle  name  from  his  mother,  the  daughter  of  Rev.  Aaron  Cleve- 
land, (1744-1815,)  of  Norwich  and  Hartfoird,  Connecticut.  He  was  the  son  of  Rev. 
Aaron  Cleveland,  (1719-1757,  a  graduate  at  Harvard  College  in  1735,)  and,  from 
his  promising  talents,  was  early  destined  for  college.  But,  his  father  (rector  of  the 
Episcopal  Church  at  Newcastle,  Delaware)  dying  when  he  was  but  twelve  years  old, 
and  leaving  nine  other  children  unprovided  for,  he  was  apprenticed  to  a  hatter,  and, 
when  of  age,  established  himself  in  business  at  Norwich.  Subsequently  (in  1775) 
he  was  chosen  a  representative  to  the  State  Legislature,  and  served  in  that  capa- 
city for  two  years.  When  he  was  over  forty  years  of  age,  he  experienced  a  great 
change  in  his  religious  views,  and  immediately  entered  upon  the  study  of  theo- 
logy. He  was  ordained  two  years  afterwards,  and  preached  with  great  acceptance 
in  various  places  (part  of  the  time  as  a  missionary  in  the  early  settlements  of 
Vermont)  until  the  day  of  his  death,  which  took  place  in  New  Haven  in  1S15. 
He  was  a  man  of  strong  native  powers  of  mind,  of  a  most  benevolent  temper,  and 
of  quick  and  genial  wit  and  humor,  which  made  him  a  delightful  companion. 
He  wrote  a  great  deal,  but  was  so  careless  of  his  productions  that  but  few  have 


708 


A.  CLEVELAND  COXE. 


born  in  Mendham,  New  Jersey,  (where  his  father  was  first  settled,)  May  10,  1818, 
and  graduated  at  the  New  York  City  University,  with  honorable  distinction,  in 
1838.  While  a  student,  in  1837,  he  published  Advent,  a  Mystery;  and  other  Poems. 
After  leaving  the  University,  he  entered  upon  the  study  of  theology,  and  in  1841 
was  ordained  deacon,  settled  in  "Westchester,  New  York,  and  was  married  to 
Catharine  Hyde,  of  Brooklyn.  In  18-12,  he  accepted  the  rectorship  of  St.  John's 
Church,  Hartford.  In  1851,  he  went  to  England,  where  he  received  great  atten- 
tions from  many  eminent  scholars  and  the  highest  dignitaries  of  the  English 
Church,  the  fame  of  his  Christian  Ballads  having  preceded  him.  On  his  return 
home,  he  remained  at  Hartford  till  1854,  when  he  was  elected  rector  of  Grace 
Church,  Baltimore,  where  he  now  is. 

Mr.  Coxe's  principal  publications  are  as  follows : — In  1840,  Athanasion,1  and 
Miscellaneous  Poems,  and  Christian  Ballads,  the  latter  of  which  passed  through 
many  editions  in  England  as  well  as  in  this  country,  and,  next  to  Keble's  u  Chris- 
tian Year,"  have  probably  enjoyed  the  greatest  popularity  ever  accorded  to  such 
a  work.  In  1844,  he  published  Halloween,  and  other  Poems;  and  in  1845,  Saul, 
a  Mystery.  In  1855,  he  collected  and  published  his  Impressions  of  England, 
originally  contributed  for  the  "  New  York  Church  Journal."  The  book  has  gone 
through  several  editions,  and  has  been  very  highly  and  deservedly  commended. 
Besides  these  larger  works,  Mr.  Coxe  has  written  many  valuable  articles  for  the 
religious  periodicals  in  England  and  America;  such  as  "Modern  English 
Poetry,"  and  "  The  Poetry  of  Cowper,"  for  the  "  Biblical  Repository  f*  "  Devo- 
tional Poetry,"  for  the  "New  York  Review  ;"  "Schools  in  American  Literature," 
and  "Writings  of  Hawthorne,"  for  the  "Church  Review;"  and  several  articles 
for  "Blackwood's  Magazine."  He  has  lately  written  but  little  for  the  press,  as 
he  devotes  himself  most  laboriously  to  his  parochial  duties. 

THE  HEART'S  SONG. 

In  the  silent  midnight  watches, 

List — thy  bosom-door ! 
How  it  knocketh,  knocketh,  knocketh, 

Knocketh  evermore ! 
Say  not  'tis  thy  pulse's  beating  ; 

'Tis  thy  heart  of  sin  : 
'Tis  thy  Saviour  knocks,  and  crieth, 

Rise,  and  let  me  in ! 


been  preserved.  Before  he  was  twenty  years  old,  he  wrote  The  Philosopher  and 
Boy,  which  may  be  found  in  "  The  Poets  of  Connecticut,"  and  which  is  superior 
to  any  American  poetry  prior  to  1780.  In  1775,  he  published  a  poem  against 
Slavery :  it  is  in  blank  verse,  and  consists  of  about  nine  hundred  lines.  He  pub- 
lished also  a  poem  entitled  Family  Blood,  a  Burlesque ;  and  two  peace  sermons,  in 
1815,. entitled  The  Life  of  Man  Inviolable,  which  were  reprinted  in  England.  I 
have  felt  thus  much,  at  least,  to  be  due  to  my  pious  and  gifted  ancestor,  not 
having  given  him  a  regular  place  in  my  book,  with  selections  from  his  poetry. 

1  Of  the  Athanasion,  the  late  Professor  Henry  Reed  thus  wrote: — "  There  is  no 
word  I  am  in  the  habit  of  using  more  cautiously  than  the  word  poetry,  no  title  I 
apply  with  more  reserve  than  that  of  poet;  but  there  cannot  be  here  a  moment's 
hesitation  in  pronouncing  this  to  be  a  genuine  burst  of  poetry.  I  did  not  think 
there  was  among  us  the  power  to  produce  any  thing  equal  to  it." 


A.  CLEVELAND  COXE. 


Death  comes  down  with  reckless  footstep 

To  the  hall  and  hut : 
Think  you  Death  will  stand  a-knocking 

Where  the  door  is  shut  ? 
Jesus  waiteth — waiteth — waiteth  ; 

But  thy  door  is  fast ! 
Grieved,  away  thy  Saviour  goeth : 

Death  breaks  in  at  last. 

Then  'tis  thine  to  stand — entreating 

Christ  to  let  thee  in : 
At  the  gate  of  heaven  beating, 

Wailing  for  thy  sin. 
Nay,  alas  !  thou  foolish  virgin, 

Hast  thou  then  forgot, 
Jesus  waited  long  to  know  thee, 

But  he  knows  thee  not ! 


THE  CHIMES  OF  ENGLAND. 

The  chimes,  the  chimes  of  Motherland, 

Of  England  green  and  old, 
That  out  from  fane  and  ivied  tower 

A  thousand  years  have  toll'd ; 
How  glorious  must  their  music  be 

As  breaks  the  hallow'd  day, 
And  calleth  with  a  seraph's  voice 

A  nation  up  to  pray  ! 

Those  chimes  that  tell  a  thousand  tales, 

Sweet  tales  of  olden  time ! 
And  ring  a  thousand  memories 

At  vesper,  and  at  prime  ; 
At  bridal  and  at  burial, 

For  cottager  and  king — 
Those  chimes — those  glorious  Christian  chimes, 

How  blessedly  they  ring ! 

Those  chimes,  those  chimes  of  Motherland, 

Upon  a  Christmas  morn, 
Outbreaking,  as  the  angels  did, 

For  a  Redeemer  born ; 
How  merrily  they  call  afar, 

To  cot  and  baron's  hall, 
With  holly  deck'd  and  mistletoe, 

To  keep  the  festival ! 

The  chimes  of  England,  how  they  peal 

From  tower  and  Gothic  pile, 
Where  hymn  and  swelling  anthem  fill 

The  dim  cathedral  aisle ; 
Where  windows  bathe  the  holy  light 

On  priestly  heads  that  falls, 
And  stain  the  florid  tracery 

And  banner-dighted  walls ! 


A.  CLEVELAND  COXE. 


And  then,  those  East  er  bells,  in  Spring  I 

Those  glorious  Easter  chimes  ; 
How  loyally  they  hail  thee  round, 

Old  queen  of  holy  times ! 
From  hill  to  hill,  like  sentinels, 

Responsively  they  cry, 
And  sing  the  rising  of  the  Lord, 

From  vale  to  mountain  high. 

I  love  ye — chimes  of  Motherland, 

"With  all  this  soul  of  mine, 
And  bless  the  Lord  that  I  am  sprung 

Of  good  old  English  line  ! 
And,  like  a  son,  I  sing  the  lay 

That  England's  gloi-y  tells  ; 
For  she  is  lovely  to  the  Lord, 

For  you,  ye  Christian  bells! 

And  heir  of  her  ancestral  fame, 

And  happy  in  my  birth, 
Thee,  too,  I  love,  my  forest-land, 

The  joy  of  all  the  earth  ; 
For  thine  thy  mother's  voice  shall  be, 

And  here — where  God  is  King, 
With  English  chimes,  from  Christian  spires, 

The  wilderness  shall  ring. 


OH,  WALK   WITH  GOD. 

"  And  Enoch  walked  with  God." 

Oh,  walk  with  God,  and  thou  shalt  find 

How  he  can  charm  thy  way, 
And  lead  thee  with  a  quiet  mind 

Into  his  perfect  day. 
His  love  shall  cheer  thee,  like  the  dew 

That  bathes  the  drooping  flower, 
That  love  is  every  morning  new, 

Nor  fails  at  evening's  hour. 

Oh,  walk  with  God,  and  thou  with  smiles 

Shalt  tread  the  way  of  tears, 
His  mercy  every  ill  beguiles, 

And  softens  all  our  fears. 
No  fire  shall  harm  thee,  if,  alas ! 

Through  fires  He  bid  thee  go  ; 
Through  waters  when  thy  footsteps  pass, 

They  shall  not  overflow. 

Oh,  walk  with  God,  while  thou  on  earth 

With  pilgrim  steps  must  fare, 
Content  to  leave  the  world  its  mirth, 

And  claim  no  dwelling  there. 
A  stranger,  thou  must  seek  a  home 

Beyond  the  fearful  tide, 
And  if  to  Canaan  thou  wouldst  come, 

Oh,  who  but  God  can  guide ! 


A.  CLEVELAND  COXE. 


711 


Oh,  walk  with  God,  and  thou  shalt  go 

Down  death's  dark  vale  in  light, 
And  find  thy  faithful  walk  below 

Hath  reach'd  to  Zion's  height ! 
Oh,  walk  with  God,  if  thou  wouldst  see 

Thy  pathway  thither  tend  : 
And,  lingering  though  thy  journey  be, 

'Tis  heaven  and  home  at  end ! 

OXFORD  BOAT-RACE. 

Going  into  Christ  Church  Meadows,  in  company  with  several 
gownsmen,  we  soon  joined  a  crowd  of  under-graduates,  and  others 
who  were  seeking  the  banks  of  the  Isis.  The  rival  boats  were 
still  far  up  the  stream ;  but  here  we  found  their  flags  displayed 
upon  a  staff,  one  above  the  other,  in  the  order  of  their  respective 
merit  at  the  last  rowing-match.  The  flag  of  Wadham  waved 
triumphant,  and  the  brilliant  colors  of  Balliol,  Christ  Church, 
Exeter,  &c.  fluttered  scarce  less  proudly  underneath.  What  an 
animated  scene  those  walks  and  banks  exhibited,  as  the  numbers 
thickened,  and  the  flaunting  robes  of  the  young  academics  began 
to  be  seen  in  dingy  contrast  with  the  gayer  silks  and  streamers  of 
the  fair !  Even  town,  as  well  as  gown,  had  sent  forth  its  repre- 
sentatives, and  you  would  have  said  some  mighty  issue  was  about 
to  be  decided,  had  you  heard  their  interchange  of  breathless  query 
and  reply.  A  distant  gun  announced  that  the  boats  had  started, 
and  crowds  began  to  gather  about  a  bridge  in  the  neighboring 
fields,  where  it  was  certain  they  would  soon  be  seen,  in  all  the 
speed  and  spirit  of  the  contest.  Crossing  the  little  river  in  a 
punt,  and  yielding  to  the  enthusiasm  which  now  filled  the  hearts 
and  faces  of  all  spectators,  away  I  flew  towards  the  bridge,  and 
had  scarcely  gained  it  when  the  boats  appeared, — Wadham  still 
ahead,  but  hotly  pressed  by  Balliol,  which  in  turn  was  closely  fol- 
lowed by  the  crews  of  divers  other  colleges,  all  pulling  for  dear 
life,  while  their  friends,  on  either  bank,  ran  at  their  side,  shout- 
ing the  most  inspiriting  outcries  !  The  boats  were  of  the  sharpest 
and  narrowest  possible  build,  with  out-rigged  thole-pins  for  the 
oars.  The  rowers,  in  proper  boat-dress,  or  rather  undress,  (close- 
fitting  flannel  shirt  and  drawers,)  were  lashing  the  water  with 
inimitable  strokes,  and  "  putting  their  back"  into  their  sport,  as 
if  every  man  was  indeed  determined  to  do  his  duty.  "Now, 
Wadham  !"  "  Now,  Balliol !"  "  Well  pulled,  Christ  Church  !" 
with  deafening  hurrahs  and  occasional  peals  of  laughter,  made  the 
welkin  ring  again.  I  found  myself  running  and  shouting  with 
the  merriest  of  them.  Several  boats  were  but  a  few  feet  apart, 
and,  stroke  after  stroke,  not  one  gained  upon  another  perceptibly. 
Where  there  was  the  least  gain,  it  was  astonishing  to  see  the 


712 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


pluck  "with  which  both  winner  and  loser  seemed  to  start  afresh; 
while  redoubled  cries  of  "  Now  for  it,  Merton  !"  "  Well  done, 
Corpus  !"  and  even  "  G-o  it,  again  !" — which  I  had  supposed  an 
Americanism, — were  vociferated  from  the  banks.  All  at  once — ■ 
"  a  bump !"  and  the  defeated  boat  fell  aside,  while  the  victors 
pressed  on  amid  roars  of  applause.  The  chief  interest,  however, 
was,  of  course,  concentrated  about  "  Wadham,"  the  leader,  now 
evidently  gained  upon  by  "  Balliol."  It  was  indeed  most  exciting 
to  watch  the  half-inch  losses  which  the  former  was  experiencing 
at  every  stroke.  The  goal  was  near ;  but  the  plucky  Balliol  crew 
was  hot  to  be  distanced.  A  stroke  or  two  of  fresh  animation  and 
energy  sends  their  bow  an  arm's-length  forward.  "  Hurrah,  Bal- 
liol I" — "  Once  more  !" — "  A  bump  I" — "  Hurrah-ah-ah  I" — and  a 
general  cheer  from  all  lungs,  with  hands  waving  and  caps  tossing, 
and  every  thing  betokening  the  wildest  excitement  of  spirits, 
closed  the  contest;  while  amid  the  uproar  the  string  of  flags  came 
down  from  the  tall  staff,  and  soon  went  up  again,  with  several 
transpositions  of  the  showy  colors, — Wadham's  little  streamer 
now  fluttering  paulo-post,  but  victorious  Balliol  flaunting  proudly 
over  all.  It  was  growing  dark;  and  it  was  surprising  how 
speedily  the  crowd  dispersed,  and  how  soon  all  that  frenzy  of  ex- 
citement had  vanished  like  the  bubbles  on  the  river. 

Impressions  of  England. 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

This  distinguished  poet  and  essayist,  the  son  of  Rev.  Charles  Lowell,  D.D.,  for 
nearly  fifty  years  pastor  of  the  West  Church,  Boston,  was  born  at  Cambridge,  Mas- 
sachusetts, on  the  22d  of  February,  1819.  He  was  graduated  at  Harvard  College 
in  1838,  and,  after  studying  law,  opened  an  office  in  Boston.  But  he  soon  found 
the  profession  not  congenial  to  his  tastes;  and,  as  he  was  not  compelled  by  neces- 
sity to  pursue  it  as  a  means  of  living,  he  returned  to  his  books  and  trees  at  his 
father's  residence,  Elmwood,  near  Mount  Auburn,  determined  on  making  litera- 
ture his  reliance  for  fame  and  fortune. 

In  1841  appeared  a  collection  of  his  poems,  entitled  A  Year's  Life,  which  gave 
great  promise  of  future  excellence.  In  1843,  in  conjunction  with  his  friend  Robert 
Carter,  he  commenced  the  publication  of  a  monthly  magazine,  called  "The 
Pioneer;"  but  only  three  numbers  were  published.  Soon  after  this,  he  was  mar- 
ried to  Miss  Maria  White,  of  Watertown, — a  lady  of  a  highly-cultivated  mind,  of 
congenial  literary  tastes,  and  adorned  with  every  womanly  grace  and  accomplish- 
ment. In  1841  appeared  the  Legend  of  Brittany,  Prometheus,  and  Miscellaneous 
Poems  and  Sonnets,  which  secured  the  general  consent  to  his  admission  into  the 
company  of  men  of  genius.  In  1845,  he  published  his  Conversations  on  some  of 
the  Old  Poets;  and  in  1848,  another  volume  of  Poems;  'The  Vision  of  Sir  Laun- 
fal;  and  that  unique  and  remarkable  book,  A  Fable  for  Critics,  containing  por- 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


713 


traits  of  eminent  contemporaries,  most  faithfully  and  exquisitely  drawn.-  The 
same  year,  he  gave  to  the  world,  from  his  prolific  and  caustic  pen,  The  Bigelow 
Papers,2  written  in  the  broad  Yankee  dialect,  no  little  characterized.  It  is  a  keen 
and  well-merited  political  satire  against  our  Mexican  war,  and  the  ascendency  so 
long  maintained  in  our  Government  by  the  slave-power.3 

Since  1848,  Mr.  Lowell  has  published  no  volume,4  but  has  written  for  many  re- 
views and  magazines  ;5  and — whatever  the  publishers  may  say — common  fame 
will  make  him  the  editor  of  the  ablest  magazine  ever  published  on  this  side  the 
water, — "  The  Atlantic  Monthly." 


THE  HERITAGE. 


The  rich  man's  son  inherits  lands, 

And  piles  of  brick,  and  stone,  and  gold, 

And  he  inherits  soft,  white  hands, 
And  tender  flesh  that  fears  the  cold, 
Nor  dares  to  wear  a  garment  old ; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

One  scarce  would  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 


1  The  fine  lines  under  Washington  Irving,  page  274,  will  show  what  the  book 
is,  more  elfectually  than  any  criticism. 

2  "  The  rhymes  are  as  startling  and  felicitous  as  any  in  Hudibras,  and  the  quaint 
drollery  of  the  illustrations  is  in  admirable  keeping  with  the  whole  character  of 
the  forlorn  recruit  from  Massachusetts." — North  American  Review,  lxviii.  187. 

3  "All  at  once  we  have  a  batch  of  small  satirists — Mr.  Bailey  at  their  head — in 
England,  and  one  really  powerful  satirist  in  America, — namely,  Mr.  J.  R.  Lowell, 
— whose  Bigelow  Papers  we  most  gladly  welcome  as  being  not  only  the  best  volume 
of  satires  since  the  Anti- Jacobin,  but  also  the  first  work  of  real  and  efficient 
poetical  genius  which  has  reached  us  from  the  United  States.  We  have  been 
under  the  necessity  of  telling  some  unpleasant  truths  about  American  literature 
from  time  to  time;  and  it  is  with  hearty  pleasure  that  we  are  now  able  to  own 
that  the  Britishers  have  been,  for  the  present,  utterly  and  apparently  hopelessly 
beaten  by  a  Yankee  in  one  important  department  of  poetry.  In  the  United 
States,  social  and  political  evils  have  a  breadth  and  tangibility  which  are  not  at 
present  to  be  found  in  the  condition  of  any  other  civilized  country.  The  'pecu- 
liar domestic  institution/  the  filibustering  tendencies  of  the  nation,  the  tyranny 
of  a  vulgar  '  public  opinion,'  and  the  charlatanism  which  is  the  price  of  political 
power,  are  butts  for  the  shafts  of  the  satirist  which  European  poets  may  well  envy 
Mr.  Lowell.  We  do  not  pretend  to  affirm  that  the  evils  of  European  society  may 
not  be  as  great,  in  their  own  way,  as  those  which  afflict  the  credit  of  the  United 
States, — with  the  exception,  of  course,  of  slavery,  which  makes  'American  free- 
dom' deservedly  the  laughing-stock  of  the  world ;  but  what  we  do  say  is,  that  the 
evils  in  point  have  a  boldness  and  simplicity  about  them  which  our  more  sophis- 
ticated follies  have  not,  and  that,  a  hundred  years  hence,  Mr.  Lowell's  Yankee 
satires  will  be  perfectly  intelligible  to  every  one." — North  British  Review. 

4  In  1857,  Tieknor  &  Fields  issued  a  beautiful  edition  of  all  his  poems,  in  two 
volumes. 

5  His  reviews  and  essays  have  appeared  in  the  "North  American  Review," 
"  Southern  Literary  Messenger,"  "  Knickerbocker,"  "  Democratic  Review," 
"Graham's  Magazine,"  "Putnam's  Magazine,"  "Boston  Miscellany,"  and  "Na- 
tional Anti-Slavery  Standard." 

60* 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


The  rich  man's  son  inherits  cares  ; 

The  bank  may  break,  the  factory  burn, 

A  breath  may  burst  his  bubble  shares, 
And  soft,  white  hands  could  hardly  earn 
A  living  that  would  serve  his  turn ; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

One  scarce  would  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

The  rich  man's  son  inherits  wants, 
His  stomach  craves  for  dainty  fare  ; 

With  sated  heart  he  hears  the  pants 
Of  toiling  hinds  with  brown  arms  bare, 
And  wearies  in  his  easy  chair ; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

One  scarce  would  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

What  doth  the  poor  man's  son  inherit  ? 

Stout  muscles  and  a  sinewy  heart, 
A  hardy  frame,  a  hardier  spirit ; 

King  of  two  hands,  he  does  his  part 

In  every  useful  toil  and  art ; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 
A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

What  doth  the  poor  man's  son  inherit  ? 
Wishes  o'erjoy'd  with  humble  things, 

A  rank  adjudged  by  toil- won  merit, 
Content  that  from  employment  springs, 
A  heart  that  in  his  labor  sings ; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

What  doth  the  poor  man's  son  inherit? 
A  patience  learn'd  of  being  poor, 

Courage,  if  sorrow  come,  to  bear  it, 
A  fellow-feeling  that  is  sure 
To  make  the  outcast  bless  his  door ; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

0  rich  man's  son !  there  is  a  toil, 
That  with  all  others  level  stands ; 

Large  charity  doth  never  soil, 

But  only  whiten,  soft,  white  hands, — 
This  is  the  best  crop  from  thy  lands ; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

Worth  being  rich  to  hold  in  fee. 

0  poor  man's  son  !  scorn  not  thy  state ; 
There  is  worse  weariness  than  thine, 

In  merely  being  rich  and  great ; 
Toil  only  gives  the  soul  to  shine, 
And  makes  rest  fragrant  and  benign  ; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

Worth  being  poor  to  hold  in  fee. 

Both,  heirs  to  some  six  feet  of  sod, 
Are  equal  in  the  earth  at  last ; 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


Both,  children  of  the  same  dear  God, 
Prore  title  to  your  heirship  vast 
By  record  of  a  well-fill'd  past ; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 
"Well  worth  a  life  to  hold  in  fee. 


ABOVE  AND  BELOW. 
I. 

0  dwellers  in  the  valley-land, 

Who  in  deep  twilight  grope  and  cower, 
Till  the  slow  mountain^  dial-hand 

Shortens  to  noon's  triumphal  hour, — ■ 
While  ye  sit  idle,  do  ye  think 

The  Lord's  great  work  sits  idle  too  ? 
That  light  dare  not  o'erleap  the  brink 

Of  morn,  because  'tis  dark  with  you  ? 

Though  yet  your  valleys  skulk  in  night, 

In  God's  ripe  fields  the  day  is  cried, 
And  reapers,  with  their  sickles  bright, 

Troop,  singing,  down  the  mountain-side : 
Come  up,  and  feel  what  health  there  is 

In  the  frank  Dawn's  delighted  eyes, 
As,  bending  with  a  pitying  kiss, 

The  night-shed  tears  of  Earth  she  dries  ! 

The  Lord  wants  reapers  :  Oh,  mount  up 

Before  night  comes,  and  says,  "  Too  late 
Stay  not  for  taking  scrip  or  cup, 

The  Master  hungers  while  ye  wait : 
'Tis  from  these  heights  alone  your  eyes 

The  advancing  spears  of  day  can  see, 
Which  o'er  the  eastern  hill-tops  rise, 

To  break  your  long  captivity. 

ii. 

Lone  watcher  on  the  mountain-height ! 

It  is  right  precious  to  behold 
The  first  long  surf  of  climbing  light 

Flood  all  the  thirsty  east  with  gold ; 
But  we,  who  in  the  shadow  sit, 

Know  also  when  the  day  is  nigh, 
Seeing  thy  shining  forehead  lit 

With  his  inspiring  prophecy. 

Thou  hast  thine  office  ;  we  have  ours  ; 

God  lacks  not  early  service  here, 
But  what  are  thine  eleventh  hours 

He  counts  with  us  for  morning  cheer ; 
Our  day,  for  Him,  is  long  enough, 

And  when  He  giveth  work  to  do, 
The  bruised  reed  is  amply  tough 

To  pierce  the  shield  of  error  through. 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


But  not  the  less  do  thou  aspire 

Light's  earlier  messages  to  preach ; 
Keep  back  no  syllable  of  fire, — 

Plunge  deep  the  rowels  of  thy  speech ; 
Yet  God  deems  not  thine  aeried  sight 

More  worthy  than  our  twilight  dim, — 
For  meek  Obedience,  too,  is  Light, 

And  following  that  is  finding  Him. 


ACT  FOR  TRUTH. 

The  busy  world  shoves  angrily  aside 

The  man  who  stands  with  arms  akimbo  set, 

Until  occasion  tells  him  what  to  do  ; 

And  he  who  waits  to  have  his  task  mark'd  out 

Shall  die  and  leave  his  errand  unfulfill'd. 

Our  time  is  one  that  calls  for  earnest  deeds  : 

Reason  and  Government,  like  two  broad  seas, 

Yearn  for  each  other  with  outstretched  arms 

Across  this  narrow  isthmus  of  the  throne, 

And  roll  their  white  surf  higher  every  day. 

One  age  moves  onward,  and  the  next  builds  up 

Cities  and  gorgeous  palaces,  where  stood 

The  rude  log  huts  of  those  who  tamed  the  wild, 

Rearing  from  out  the  forests  they  had  fell'd 

The  goodly  framework  of  a  fairer  state; 

The  builder's  trowel  and  the  settler's  axe 

Are  seldom  wielded  by  the  selfsame  hand ; 

Ours  is  the  harder  task,  yet  not  the  less 

Shall  we  receive  the  blessing  for  our  toil 

From  the  choice  spirits  of  the  after-time. 

The  field  lies  wide  before  us,  where  to  reap 

The  easy  harvest  of  a  deathless  name, 

Though  with  no  better  sickles  than  our  swords. 

My  soul  is  not  a  palace  of  the  past, 

"Where  outworn  creeds,  like  Rome's  gray  senate,  quake, 

Hearing  afar  the  Vandal's  trumpet  hoarse, 

That  shakes  old  systems  with  a  thunder-fit. 

The  time  is  ripe,  and  rotten-ripe,  for  change ; 

Then  let  it  come  :  I  have  no  dread  of  what 

Is  call'd  for  by  the  instinct  of  mankind  ; 

Nor  think  I  that  God's  world  will  fall  apart 

Because  we  tear  a  parchment  more  or  less. 

Truth  is  eternal,  but  her  effluence, 

With  endless  change,  is  fitted  to  the  hour ; 

Her  mirror  is  turn'd  forward,  to  reflect 

The  promise  of  the  future,  not  the  past. 

He  who  would  win  the  name  of  truly  great 

Must  understand  his  own  age  and  the  next, 

And  make  the  present  ready  to  fulfil 

Its  prophecy,  and  with  the  future  merge 

Gently  and  peacefully,  as  wave  with  wave. 

The  future  works  out  great  men's  destinies; 

The  present  is  enough  for  common  souls, 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


717 


Who,  never  looking  forward,  are  indeed 

Mere  clay  wherein  the  footprints  of  their  age 

Are  petrified  forever  :  better  those 

Who  lead  the  blind  old  giant  by  the  hand 

From  out  the  pathless  desert  where  he  gropes, 

And  set  him  onward  in  his  darksome  way. 

I  do  not  fear  to  follow  out  the  truth, 

Albeit  along  the  precipice's  edge. 

Let  us  speak  plain :  there  is  more  force  in  names 

Than  most  men  dream  of ;  and  a  lie  may  keep 

Its  throne  a  whole  age  longer  if  it  skulk 

Behind  the  shield  of  some  fair-seeming  name. 

Let  us  call  tyrants  tyrants,  and  maintain 

That  only  freedom  comes  by  grace  of  God, 

And  all  that  comes  not  by  his  grace  must  fall ; 

For  men  in  earnest  have  no  time  to  waste 

In  patching  fig-leaves  for  the  naked  truth. 


ON  THE  CAPTURE  OF  CERTAIN  FUGITIVE  SLAVES  NEAR 
WASHINGTON. 

Look  on  who  will  in  apathy,  and  stifle  they  who  can, 
The  sympathies,  the  hopes,  the  words,  that  make  man  truly  man ; 
Let  those  whose  hearts  are  dungeon'd  up  with  interest  or  with  ease 
Consent  to  hear  with  quiet  pulse  of  loathsome  deeds  like  these  ! 

I  first  drew  in  New  England's  air,  and  from  her  hardy  breast 
Suck'd  in  the  tyrant-hating  milk  that  will  not  let  me  rest ; 
And  if  my  words  seem  treason  to  the  dullard  and  the  tame, 
'Tis  but  my  Bay-State  dialect, — our  fathers  spake  the  same  ! 

Shame  on  the  costly  mockery  of  piling  stone  on  stone 
To  those  who  won  our  liberty,  the  heroes  dead  and  gone, 
While  we  look  coldly  on,  and  see  law-shielded  ruffians  slay 
The  men  who  fain  would  win  their  own,  the  heroes  of  to-day  ! 

Are  we  pledged  to  craven  silence  ?    Oh,  fling  it  to  the  wind, 
The  parchment  wall  that  bars  us  from  the  least  of  human  kind, — 
That  makes  us  cringe  and  temporize,  and  dumbly  stand  at  rest, 
While  Pity's  burning  flood  of  words  is  red-hot  in  the  breast ! 

Though  we  break  our  fathers'  promise,  we  have  nobler  duties  first ; 

The  traitor  to  Humanity  is  the  traitor  most  accursed ; 

Man  is  more  than  Constitutions  ;  better  rot  beneath  the  sod 

Than  be  true  to  Church  and  State  while  we  are  doubly  false  to  God ! 

We  owe  allegiance  to  the  State;  but  deeper,  truer,  more, 
To  the  sympathies  that  God  hath  set  within  our  spirits'  core ; 
Our  country  claims  our  fealty:  we  grant  it  so  ;  but  then 
Before  Man  made  us  citizens,  great  Nature  made  us  men. 

He's  true  to  God  who's  true  to  man  ;  wherever  wrong  is  done, 
To  the  humblest  and  the  weakest,  'neath  the  all-beholding  sun, 
That  wrong  is  also  done  to  us  ;  and  they  are  slaves  most  base, 
Whose  love  of  right  is  for  themselves,  and  not  for  all  their  race. 


718 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


God  works  for  all.    Ye  cannot  hem  the  hope  of  being  free 
With  parallels  of  latitude,  with  mountain-range  or  sea. 
Put  golden  padlocks  on  Truth's  lips,  be  callous  as  ye  will, 
From  soul  to  soul,  o'er  all  the  world,  leaps  one  electric  thrill. 

Chain  down  your  slaves  with  ignorance,  ye  cannot  keep  apart, 
"With  all  your  craft  of  tyranny,  the  human  heart  from  heart : 
When  first  the  Pilgrims  landed  on  the  Bay-State's  iron  shore, 
The  word  went  forth  that  slavery  should  one  day  be  no  more. 

Out  from  the  land  of  bondage  'tis  decreed  our  slaves  shall  go, 
And  signs  to  us  are  offer d,  as  erst  to  Pharaoh  ; 
If  we  are  blind,  their  exodus,  like  Israel's  of  yore, 
Through  a  Red  Sea  is  doom'd  to  be,  whose  surges  are  of  gore. 

'Tis  ours  to  save  our  brethren,  with  peace  and  love  to  win 
Their  darken'd  hearts  from  error,  ere  they  harden  it  to  sin ; 
But  if  man  before  his  duty  with  a  listless  spirit  stands, 
Ere  long  the  Great  Avenger  takes  the  work  from  out  his  hands. 

TO  J.  R.  GIDDINGS.1 

Giddings,  far  rougher  names  than  thine  have  grown 

Smoother  than  honey  on  the  lips  of  men; 
And  thou  shalt  aye  be  honorably  known 

As  one  who  bravely  used  his  tongue  and  pen 
As  best  befits  a  freeman, — even  for  those 

To  whom  our  Law's  unblushing  front  denies 
A  right  to  plead  against  the  life-long  woes 

Which  are  the  Negro's  glimpse  of  Freedom's  skies : 
Fear  nothing  and  hope  all  things,  as  the  Right 

Alone  may  do  securely  ;  every  hour 
The  thrones  of  Ignorance  and  ancient  Night 

Lose  somewhat  of  their  long-usurped  power, 
And  Freedom's  lightest  word  can  make  them  shiver 
With  a  base  dread  that  clings  to  them  forever. 


1  Joshua  R.  Giddings,  now  (1858)  the  oldest  member  of  the  United  States 
House  of  Representatives,  was  born  in  Athens,  Bradford  County,  Pennsylvania, 
on  the  6th  of  October,  1795.  While  in  his  infancy,  his  father  removed  to  Canan- 
daigua,  New  York,  and  remained  there  till  1806,  when  he-removed  to  Ashtabula 
County,  Ohio.  Having  a  strong  taste  for  literature,  he  determined  to  enter 
professional  life;  and  by  constant  labor  and  self-denying  efforts  he  was  enabled 
to  present  himself  for  admission  to  the  bar  in  1820.  His  practice  soon  became 
extensive.  In  a  few  years,  he  was  elected  to  the  Legislature  of  his  own  State,  and 
in  1838  to  a  seat  in  the  United  States  House  of  Representatives.  In  Februaiy, 
1838,  he  made  his  first  anti-slavery  speech  in  Congress.  In  1842,  he  was  cen- 
sured by  the  House  of  Representatives  for  introducing  anti-slavery  resolutions. 
He  at  once  resigned,  returned  home,  appealed  to  his  constituents,  and  in  five 
weeks  was  returned  by  an  overwhelming  majority.  There  he  has  remained  ever 
since, — a  most  vigilant  and  faithful  watchman  on  the  watch-tower  of  liberty. 
His  Congressional  speeches  have  been  published  in  a  handsome  volume  of  511 
pages, — a  monument  to  his  courage  and  faithfulness  to  truth  more  enduring  than 
granite  or  marble.  In  1S58,  he  published  an  historical  work  of  deep  interest,  and 
designed  to  tell,  not  conceal,  the  truth,  entitled,  The  Exile*  of  Florida  :  or  the 
Crimes  committed  by  our  Government  against  the  Maroons,  who  fled  from  South 
Carolina  and  other  Slave  States,  seeking  Protection  under  Sjjanish  Laics. 


MARIA  LOWELL. 


719 


FREEDOM.1 

Men  !  whose  boast  it  is  that  ye 
Come  of  fathers  brave  and  free, 
If  there  breathe  on  earth  a  slave, 
Are  ye  truly  free  and  brave  ? 
If  ye  do  not  feel  the  chain, 
When  it  works  a  brother's  pain, 
Are  ye  not  base  slaves  indeed, — 
Slaves  unworthy  to  be  freed  ? 

Women  !  who  shall  one  day  bear 
Sons  to  breathe  New  England  air, 
If  ye  hear,  without  a  blush, 
Deeds  to  make  the  roused  blood  rush 
Like  red  lava  through  your  veins, 
For  your  sisters  now  in  chains, — 
Answer !  are  ye  fit  to  be 
Mothers  of  the  brave  and  free  ? 

Is  true  Freedom  but  to  break 
Fetters  for  our  own  dear  sake, 
And,  with  leathern  hearts,  forget 
That  we  owe  mankind  a  debt  ? 
No  !  true  freedom  is  to  share 
All  the  chains  our  brothers  wear, 
And,  with  heart  and  hand,  to  be 
Earnest  to  make  others  free ! 

They  are  slaves  who  fear  to  speak 

For  the  fallen  and  the  weak ; 

They  are  slaves  who  will  not  choose 

Hatred,  scoffing,  and  abuse, 

Rather  than  in  silence  shrink 

From  the  truth  they  needs  must  think  ; 

They  are  slaves  who  dare  not  be 

In  the  right  with  two  or  three. 


MARIA  LOWELL,  1821—1853. 

Maria  White,  the  (laughter  of  an  opulent  citizen  of  Watertown,  Massa- 
chusetts, was  born  July  8,  1821.  In  December,  1844,  she  was  married  to  James 
Russell  Lowell,  and  died  on  the  22d  of  October,  1853.  In  1855,  her  husband 
had  a  volume  of  her  poetry  privately  printed,  of  the  character  of  which  some 
judgment  may  be  formed  from  the  following  beautiful  and  touching  lines 
addressed  to  a  friend  after  the  loss  of  a  child. 


1  Sung  at  the  Anti-Slavery  Picnic  in  Dedham,  on  the  anniversary  of  West 
India  Emancipation,  August  1,  1843. 


MARIA  LOWELL. 


THE  ALPINE  SHEEP. 

When  on  my  ear  your  loss  was  knell' d; 

And  tender  sympathy  upburst, 
A  little  spring  from  memory  well'd, 

Which  once  had  quench'd  my  bitter  thirst, 

And  I  was  fain  to  bear  to  you 

A  portion  of  its  mild  relief, 
That  it  might  be  a  healing  dew, 

To  steal  some  fever  from  your  grief. 

After  our  child's  untroubled  breath 

Up  to  the  Father  took  its  way, 
And  on  our  home  the  shade  of  Death 

Like  a  long  twilight  haunting  lay, 

And  friends  came  round,  with  us  to  weep 

Her  little  spirit's  swift  remove, 
The  story  of  the  Alpine  sheep 

Was  told  to  us  by  one  we  love. 

They,  in  the  valley's  sheltering  care. 

Soon  crop  the  meadow's  tender  prime, 
And  when  the  sod  grows  brown  and  bare, 

The  shepherd  strives  to  make  them  climb 

To  airy  shelves  of  pasture  green, 

That  hang  along  the  mountain's  side, 

Where  grass  and  flowers  together  lean, 

And  down  through  mists  the  sunbeams  slide. 

But  naught  can  tempt  the  timid  things 
The  steep  and  rugged  path  to  try, 

Though  sweet  the  shepherd  calls  and  sings, 
And  sear'd  below  the  pastures  lie, 

Till  in  his  arms  his  lambs  he  takes, 

Along  the  dizzy  verge  to  go: 
Then,  heedless  of  the  rifts  and  breaks, 

They  follow  on  o'er  rock  and  snow. 

And  in  these  pastures,  lifted  fair, 
More  dewy-soft  than  lowland  mead, 

The  shepherd  drops  his  tender  care, 
And  sheep  and  lambs  together  feed. 

This  parable,  by  Nature  breathed, 
Blew  on  me  as  the  south  wind  free 

O'er  frozen  brooks  that  flow  unsheathed 
From  icy  thraldom  to  the  sea. 

A  blissful  vision  through  the  night 
Would  all  my  happy  senses  sway 

Of  the  Good  Shepherd  on  the  height, 
Or  climbing  up  the  starry  way, 


EDWIN  P.  WHIPPLE. 


721 


Holding  our  little  lamb  asleep, 

While,  like  the  murmur  of  the  sea, 

Sounded  that  voice  along  the  deep, 
Saying,  "  Arise  and  follow  me." 


EDWIN  P.  WHIPPLE. 

This  instructive  and  admired  essayist  was  born  in  Gloucester,  Massachusetts, 
on  the  8th  of  March,  1819.  His  father,  Matthew  Whipple,  dying  while  the  son 
was  in  his  infancy,  his  widow  removed  to  Salem  ;  and  there  young  Edwin  was 
educated  at  the  English  High  School.  When  he  was  but  fourteen  years  of  age, 
he  published  articles  in  the  newspaper-press  at  Salem,  and  at  fifteen  became 
clerk  of  the  Bank  of  General  Interest  in  that  city.  When  he  was  eighteen 
years  of  age,  he  went  to  Boston,  where  he  entered  a  large  banking-house,  as 
clerk,  but  was  soon  after  appointed  Superintendent  of  the  Merchants'  Exchange 
News-Roorn.  Such  a  position  would  hardly  seem  compatible  with  literary 
pursuits ;  and  yet  but  few  college-graduates  have  been  as  distinguished  for 
articles  of  beautiful,  just,  and  vigorous  criticism,  in  our  best  reviews,  as  Mr. 
Whipple.  But,  besides  his  influence  as  a  writer,  he  has  appeared  before  the 
public,  in  most  of  our  Northern  States,  as  a  lecturer  of  uncommon  power  and 
attractiveness,  and  has  often  been  invited  to  address  the  literary  societies  of 
various  colleges, — Brown,  Dartmouth,  Amherst,  and  the  New  York  University. 
In  1850,  the  city  authorities  of  Boston  elected  him  to  deliver  before  them  the 
Fourth  of  July  oration.  Two  collections  of  his  writings  have  been  published  by 
Ticknor  &  Fields,  namely,  Essays  and  Reviews,  in  two  volumes;  and  Lectures 
on  Subjects  connected  with  Literature  and  Life  ;  and  it  would  be  hard  to  find 
in  English  or  American  literature  three  other  volumes  more  instructive  for 
their  matter,  or  more  captivating  for  their  style. 

THE  POWER  OF  WORDS. 

Words  are  most  effective  when  arranged  in  that  order  which  is 
called  style.  The  great  secret  of  a  good  style,  we  are  told,  is  to 
have  proper  words  in  proper  places.  To  marshal  one's  verbal 
battalions  in  such  order  that  they  may  bear  at  once  upon  all  quar- 
ters of  a  subject,  is  certainly  a  great  art.  This  is  done  in  different 
ways.  Swift,  Temple,  Addison,  Hume,  Gribbon,  Johnson,  Burke, 
are  all  great  generals  in  the  discipline  of  their  verbal  armies  and 
the  conduct  of  their  paper  wars.  Each  has  a  system  of  tactics 
of  his  own,  and  excels  in  the  use  of  some  particular  weapon.  The 
tread  of  Johnson's  style  is  heavy  and  sonorous,  resembling  that 
of  an  elephant  or  a  mail-clad  warrior.  He  is  fond  of  levelling  an 
obstacle  by  a  polysyllabic  battering-ram.  Burke's  words  are  con- 
tinually practising  the  broadsword  exercise,  and  sweeping  down 

61 


722 


EDWIN  P.  WHIPPLE. 


adversaries  with  every  stroke.  Arbuthnot  "  plays  his  weapon 
like  a  tongue  of  flame."  Addison  draws  up  his  light  infantry 
in  orderly  array,  and  marches  through  sentence  after  sentence 
without  having  his  ranks  disordered  or  his  line  broken.  Luther 
is  different.  His  words  are  "half  battles;"  "his  smiting  idiom- 
atic phrases  seem  to  cleave  into  the  very  heart  of  the  matter." 
Gibbon's  legions  are  heavily  armed,  and  march  with  precision  and 
dignity  to  the  music  of  their  own  tramp.  They  are  splendidly 
equipped,  but  a  nice  eye  can  discern  a  little  rust  beneath  their 
fine  apparel,  and  there  are  sutlers  in  his  camp  who  lie,  cog,  and 
talk  gross  obscenity.  Macaulay,  brisk,  lively,  keen,  and  energetic, 
runs  his  thought  rapidly  through  his  sentence,  and  kicks  out  of 
the  way  every  word  which  obstructs  his  passage.  He  reins  in  his 
steed  only  when  he  has  reached  his  goal,  and  then  does  it  with 
such  celerity  that  he  is  nearly  thrown  backwards  by  the  sudden- 
ness of  his  stoppage.  Gifford's  words  are  moss-troopers,  that  way- 
lay innocent  travellers  and  murder  them  for  hire.  Jeffrey  is  a 
fine  "  lance,"  with  a  sort  of  Arab  swiftness  in  his  movement,  and 
runs  an  iron-clad  horseman  through  the  eye  before  he  has  had 
time  to  close  his  helmet.  John  Wilson's  camp  is  a  disorganized 
mass,  who  might  do  effectual  service  under  better  discipline,  but 
who,  under  his  lead,  are  suffered  to  carry  on  a  rambling  and  pre- 
datory warfare,  and  disgrace  their  general  by  flagitious  excesses. 
Sometimes  they  steal,  sometimes  swear,  sometimes  drink,  and 
sometimes  pray.  Swift's  words  are  porcupines'  quills,  which  he 
throws  with  unerring  aim  at  whoever  approaches  his  lair.  All 
of  Ebenezer  Elliot's  words  are  gifted  with  huge  fists,  to  pommel 
and  bruise.  Chatham  and  Mirabeau  throw  hot  shot  into  their 
opponents'  magazines.  Talfourd's  forces  are  orderly  and  disci- 
plined, and  march  to  the  music  of  the  Dorian  flute  j  those  of 
Keats  keep  time  to  the  tones  of  the  pipe  of  Phoebus ;  and  the 
hard,  harsh-featured  battalions  of  Maginn  are  always  preceded  by 
a  brass  band.  Hallam's  word  infantry  can  do  much  execution 
when  they  are  not  in  each  others'  way.  Pope's  phrases  are  either 
daggers  or  rapiers.  Willis's  words  are  often  tipsy  with  the  cham- 
pagne of  the  fancy,  but  even  when  they  reel  and  stagger  they 
keep  the  line  of  grace  and  beauty,  and,  though  scattered  at  first 
by  a  fierce  onset  from  graver  cohorts,  soon  reunite  without  wound 
or  loss.  John  Neal's  forces  are  multitudinous,  and  fire  briskly  at 
every  thing.  They  occupy  all  the  provinces  of  letters,  and  are 
nearly  useless  from  being  spread  over  too  much  ground.  Everett's 
weapons  are  ever  kept  in  good  order,  and  shine  well  in  the  sun  j 
but  they  are  little  calculated  for  warfare,  and  rarely  kill  when 
they  strike.  Webster's  words  are  thunderbolts,  which  sometimes 
miss  the  Titans  at  whom  they  are  hurled,  but  always  leave  en- 
during marks  when  they  strike.    Hazlitt's  verbal  army  is  some- 


EDWIN  P.  WHIPPLE. 


723 


times  drunk  and  surly,  sometimes  foaming  with  passion,  some- 
times cool  and  malignant,  but,  drunk  or  sober,  arc  ever  dangerous 
to  cope  with.  Some  of  Tom  Moore's  words  are  shining  dirt, 
which  he  flings  with  excellent  aim.  This  list  might  be  inde- 
finitely extended,  and  arranged  with  more  regard  to  merit  and 
chronology.  My  own  words,  in  this  connection,  might  be  com- 
pared to  ragged,  undisciplined  militia,  which  could  be  easily 
routed  by  a  charge  of  horse,  and  which  are  apt  to  fire  into  each 
others'  faces. 

WIT  AND  HUMOR. 

Wit  was  originally  a  general  name  for  all  the  intellectual 
powers,  meaning  the  faculty  which  kens,  perceives,  knows,  under- 
stands j  it  was  gradually  narrowed  in  its  signification  to  express 
merely  the  resemblance  between  ideas ;  and  lastly,  to  note  that 
resemblance  when  it  occasioned  ludicrous  surprise.  It  marries 
ideas  lying  wide  apart,  by  a  sudden  jerk  of  the  understanding. 
Humor  originally  meant  moisture,  a  signification  it  metaphorically 
.retains,  for  it  is  the  very  juice  of  the  mind,  oozing  from  the  brain, 
and  enriching  and  fertilizing  wherever  it  falls.  Wit  exists  by 
antipathy ;  humor,  by  sympathy.  Wit  laughs  at  things  ;  humor 
laughs  with  them.  Wit  lashes  external  appearances,  or  cunningly 
exaggerates  single  foibles  into  character ;  humor  glides  into  the 
heart  of  its  object,  looks  lovingly  on  the  infirmities  it  detects,  and 
represents  the  whole  man.  Wit  is  abrupt,  darting,  scornful,  and 
tosses  its  analogies  in  your  face ;  humor  is  slow  and  shy,  insi- 
nuating its  fun  into  your  heart.  Wit  is  negative,  analytical, 
destructive ;  humor  is  creative.  The  couplets  of  Pope  are  witty, 
but  Sancho  Panza  is  a  humorous  creation.  Wit,  when  earnest, 
has  the  earnestness  of  passion,  seeking  to  destroy ;  humor  has  the 
earnestness  of  affection,  and  would  lift  up  what  is  seemingly  low, 
into  our  charity  and  love.  Wit,  bright,  rapid,  and  blasting  as  the 
lightning,  flashes,  strikes,  and  vanishes  in  an  instant :  humor, 
warm  and  all-embracing  as  the  sunshine,  bathes  its  objects  in  a 
genial  and  abiding  light.  Wit  implies  hatred  or  contempt  of  folly  * 
and  cr  me,  produces  its  effects  by  brisk  shocks  of  surprise,  uses 
the  whip  of  scorpions  and  the  branding-iron, — stabs,  stings, 
pinches,  tortures,  goads,  teases,  corrodes,  undermines;  humor 
implies  a  sure  conception  of  the  beautiful,  the  majestic,  and  the 
true,  by  whose  light  it  surveys  and  shapes  their  opposites.  It  is 
a  humane  influence,  softening  with  mirth  the  ragged  inequalities 
of  existence, — promoting  tolerant  views  of  life, — bridging  over 
the  spaces  which  separate  the  lofty  from  the  lowly,  the  great  from 
the  humble.  Old  Dr.  Fuller's  remark,  that  a  negro  is  "  the  image 
of  God  cut  in  ebony,"  is  humorous;  Horace  Smith's  inversion  of 
it,  that  the  taskmaster  is  "  the  image  of  the  devil  cut  in  ivory," 


724 


EDWIN  P.  WHIPPLE. 


is  witty.  Wit  can  coexist  with  fierce  and  malignant  passions; 
but  humor  demands  good  feeling  and  fellow-feeling,  —  feeling 
not  merely  for  what  is  above  us,  but  for  what  is  around  and 
beneath  us. 

THE  LITERATURE  OF  MIRTH. 

The  ludicrous  side  of  life,  like  the  serious  side,  has  its  litera- 
ture ;  and  it  is  a  literature  of  untold  wealth.  Mirth  is  a  Proteus, 
changing  its  shape  and  manner  with  the  thousand  diversities  of 
individual  character,  from  the  most  superficial  gayety,  to  the 
deepest,  most  earnest  humor.  Thus,  the  wit  of  the  airy,  feather- 
brained Farquhar  glances  and  gleams  like  heat-lightning  j  that  of 
Milton  blasts  and  burns  like  the  bolt.  Let  us  glance  carelessly 
over  this  wide  field  of  comic  writers,  who  have  drawn  new  forms 
of  mirthful  being  from  life's  ludicrous  side,  and  note,  here  and 
there,  a  wit  or  humorist.  There  is  the  humor  of  Goethe,  like  his 
own  summer  morning,  mirthfully  clear  j  and  there  is  the  tough 
and  knotty  humor  of  old  Ben  Jonson,  at  times  ground  down  at 
the  edge  to  a  sharp  cutting  scorn,  and  occasionally  hissing  out 
stinging  words,  which  seem,  like  his  own  Mercury's,  "  steeped  in 
the  very  brine  of  conceit,  and  sparkle  like  salt  in  fire."  There  is 
the  lithe,  springy  sarcasm,  the  hilarious  badinage,  the  brilliant, 
careless  disdain,  which  sparkle  and  scorch  along  the  glistening 
page  of  Holmes.  There  is  the  sleepy  smile  that  sometimes  lies 
so  benignly  on  the  sweet  and  serious  diction  of  old  Isaak  Walton. 
There  is  the  mirth  of  Dickens,  twinkling  now  in  some  ironical 
insinuation, — and  anon  winking  at  you  with  pleasant  malicious- 
ness, its  distended  cheeks  fat  with  suppressed  glee, — and  then, 
again,  coming  out  in  broad  gushes  of  humor,  overflowing  all 
banks  and  bounds  of  conventional  decorum.  There  is  Sydney 
Smith, — sly,  sleek,  swift,  subtle, — a  moment's  motion,  and  the 
human  mouse  is  in  his  paw  !  There,  in  a  corner,  look  at  that  petu- 
lant little  man,  his  features  working  with  thought  and  pain,  his 
lips  wrinkled  with  a  sardonic  smile ;  and,  see  !  the  immortal  per- 
sonality has  received  its  last  point  and  polish  in  that  toiling  brain, 
and,  in  a  strait,  luminous  line,  with  a  twang  like  Scorn's  own 
arrow,  hisses  through  the  air  the  unerring  shaft  of  Pope, — to 

"Dash  the  proud  gamester  from  his  gilded  car, 
And  bare  the  base  heart  that  lurks  beneath  a  star." 

There,  moving  gracefully  through  that  carpeted  parlor,  mark  that 
dapper,  diminutive  Irish  gentleman.  The  moment  you  look  at 
him,  your  eyes  are  dazzled  with  the  whizzing  rockets  and  hissing- 
wheels,  streaking  the  air  with  a  million  sparks,  from  the  pyro- 


EDWIN  T.  WHIPPLE. 


725 


technic  brain  of  Anacreon  Moore.  Again,  cast  your  eyes  from 
that  blinding  glare  and  glitter  to  the  soft  and  beautiful  brilliancy, 
the  winning  grace,  the  bland  banter,  the  gliding  wit,  the  diffusive 
humor,  which  make  you  in  love  with  all  mankind,  in  the  charm- 
ing pages  of  Washington  Irving. 

Let  us  now  turn  to  the  benevolent  mirth  of  Addison  and  Steele, 
whose  glory  it  was  to  redeem  polite  literature  from  moral  depra- 
vity, by  showing  that  wit  could  chime  merrily  in  with  the  voice 
of  virtue,  and  who  smoothly  laughed  away  many  a  vice  of  the 
national  character,  by  that  humor  which  tenderly  touches  the 
sensitive  point  with  an  evanescent  grace  and  genial  glee.  And 
here  let  us  not  forget  Goldsmith,  whose  delicious  mirth  is  of  that 
rare  quality  which  lies  too  deep  for  laughter ;  which  melts  softly 
into  the  mind,  suffusing  it  with  inexpressible  delight,  and  sending 
the  soul  dancing  joyously  into  the  eyes  to  utter  its  merriment  in 
liquid  glances,  passing  all  the  expression  of  tone.  And  here, 
though  we  cannot  do  him  justice,  let  us  remember  the  name  of 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  deserving  a  place  second  to  none  in  that 
band  of  humorists,  whose  beautiful  depth  of  cheerful  feeling  is  the 
very  poetry  of  mirth.  In  ease,  grace,  delicate  sharpness  of  satire, 
in  a  felicity  of  touch  which  often  surpasses  the  felicity  of  Addi- 
son, in  a  subtlety  of  insight  which  often  reaches  farther  than  the 
subtlety  of  Steele, — the  humor  of  Hawthorne  presents  traits  so 
fine  as  to  be  almost  too  excellent  for  popularity,  as,  to  every  one 
who  has  attempted  their  criticism,  they  are  too  refined  for  state- 
ment. The  brilliant  atoms  flit,  hover,  and  glance  before  our 
minds,  but  the  subtle  sources  of  their  ethereal  light  lie  beyond 
our  analysis, — 

"And  no  speed  of  ours  avails 
To  hunt  upon  their  shining  trails." 

And  now  let  us  breathe  a  benison  on  these  our  mirthful  bene- 
factors, these  fine  revellers  among  human  weaknesses,  these  stern, 
keen  satirists  of  human  depravity.  Wherever  Humor  smiles 
away  the  fretting  thoughts  of  care,  or  supplies  that  antidote  which 
cleanses 

"  the  stuff'd  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff 
That  weighs  upon  the  heart/' — 

wherever  Wit  riddles  folly,  abases  pride,  or  stings  iniquity, — 
there  glides  the  cheerful  spirit,  or  glitters  the  flashing  thought, 
of  these  bright  enemies  of  stupidity  and  gloom.  Thanks  to  them, 
hearty  thanks,  for  teaching  us  that  the  ludicrous  side  of  life  is  its 
wicked  side,  no  less  than  its  foolish ;  that  in  a  lying  world  there 
is  still  no  mercy  for  falsehood  j  that  Guilt,  however  high  it  may 
lift  its  brazen  front,  is  never  beyond  the  lightnings  of  scorn  •  and 


726 


JOSIAH  G.  HOLLAND. 


that  the  lesson  they  teach  agrees  with  the  lesson  taught  by  all 
experience,  that  life  in  harmony  with  reason  is  the  only  life  safe 
from  laughter ;  that  life  in  harmony  with  virtue  is  the  only  life 
safe  from  contempt. 


JOSIAH  GILBERT  HOLLAND, 

The  author  of  Timothy  TiteomVa  Letters,  whose  fame  has  suddenly  hecome  so 
wide-spread,  was  born  in  Belchertown,  Massachusetts,  July  21,  1819.  When  he 
had  partially  completed  his  studies  preparatory  to  entering  college,  his  health 
became  enfeebled  by  too  severe  application,  and  he  concluded,  after  a  period  of  re- 
laxation, to  study  medicine,  which  he  did,  in  the  mean  time  engaging  in  teaching 
as  a  means  of  support.  In  1845,  he  took  his  degree  of  M.D.,  at  the  Berkshire 
Medical  College,  Pittslield,  Massachusetts,  aud  removed  to  Springfield  to  practise 
his  profession,  and  shortly  afterwards  was  married  to  Elizabeth  L.  Chapin,  of 
that  city.  But,  his  practice  for  the  first  two  years  not  being  adequate  to  his 
wants,  he  accepted  the  offer  of  a  situation  as  teacher  of  a  private  school  at  Rich- 
mond, Virginia.  After  being  there  three  months,  he  received  the  appointment 
of  Superintendent  of  Public  Schools  in  Yicksburg,  Mississippi,  which  he  accepted. 
While  there,  he  wrote  frequently  for  the  press;  but,  after  discharging  the  duties 
of  his  office  to  great  satisfaction  for  a  year  and  a  half,  he  received  the  offer  of  the 
editorial  department  of  the  "  Springfield  Republican,"  which  he  accepted,  and  at 
that  post  ho  has  remained  ever  since,  discharging  its  duties  with  such  singular 
tact  and  ability,  that  that  journal  is  without  precedent  or  parallel  in  our  land  as 
a  successful  country  paper. 

In  1854,  Dr.  Holland  wrote  for  the  "Republican,"  in  successive  numbers,  the 
history  of  the  four  western  counties  of  Massachusetts,  which  was  afterwards 
published  in  two  volumes.  In  1857  appeared  The  Bay  Path,  a  novel  founded  on 
th«  colonial  history  of  his  previous  work,  which  was  well  received  here,  and 
warmly  commended  in  the  London  "Athenaeum."  But  the  work  which  has  given 
Dr.  Holland  most  fame,  and  which  we  rejoice  to  know  has  put  "more  money  in 
his  purse,"  (having  gone  through  nine  editions  in  twelve  weeks,)  is  the  volume 
entitled  Timothy  Titcomb's  Letters  to  Young  People,  published  in  1S58.  These 
Letters  first  appeared  in  the  "Republican,"  under  the  signature  of  Timothy 
Titcomb,  and  attracted  universal  attention  for  their  beauty  of  style,  purity  of 
English,  and  sound  common  sense.  The  advice  contained  in  them  is  excellent, 
entirely  practical,  sufficiently  minute,  aud  eminently  judicious, — intended  to  make, 
not  angels,  but  useful  and  happy  men  and  women,-  and  they  richly  deserve  all 
the  popularity  they  have  received.  The  same  year,  outside  of  his  laborious 
editorial  duties,  be  wrote  Bitter  Sweet,  which  was  published  by  Scribner.  It 
is  a  sort  of  pastoral  poem,  unique  in  its  structure,  and  has  been  well  received. 
The  scene  of  this  poem  is  a  New  England  Thanksgiving,  at  which  the  gathered 
family,  after  the  bountiful  repast  and  the  pleasantries  of  the  evening,  talk  far 


JOSIAH  G.  HOLLAND. 


727 


into  the  night  upon  questions  of  theology,  in  connection  with  their  personal 
experiences  of  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  life.1 

THE  TRUE  TRACK. 

Gro  with  me,  if  you  please,  to  the  next  station-house,  and  look 
off  upon  that  line  of  railroad.  It  is  as  straight  as  an  arrow.  Out 
run  the  iron  lines,  glittering  in  the  sun, — out,  as  far  as  we  can 
see,  until,  converging  almost  to  a  single  thread,  they  pierce  the 
sky.  What  were  those  rails  laid  in  that  way  for  ?  It  is  a  road, 
is  it  ?  Try  your  cart  or  your  coach  there.  The  axletrees  are  too 
narrow,  and  you  go  bumping  along  upon  the  sleepers.  Try  a 
wheelbarrow.  You  cannot  keep  it  on  the  rail.  But  that  road 
was  made  for  something.  Now  go  with  me  to  the  locomotive- 
shop.  What  is  this  ?  We  are  told  it  is  a  locomotive.  What  is 
a  locomotive  ?  Why,  it  is  a  carriage  moved  by  steam.  But  it  is 
very  heavy.  The  wheels  would  sink  into  a  common  road  to  the 
axle.  That  locomotive  can  never  run  on  a  common  road  j  and  the 
man  is  a  fool  who  built  it.  Strange  that  men  will  waste  time  and 
money  in  that  way  !  But  stop  a  moment.  Why  wouldn't  those 
wheels  just  fit  those  rails  ?  We  measure  them,  and  then  we  go  to 
the  track  and  measure  its  gauge.  That  solves  the  difficulty.  Those 
rails  were  intended  for  the  locomotive,  and  the  locomotive  for 
the  rails.  They  are  good  for  nothing  apart.  The  locomotive  is 
not  even  safe  anywhere  else.  If  it  should  get  off,  after  it  is  once 
on,  it  would  run  into  rocks  and  stumps,  and  bury  itself  in  sands 
or  swamps  beyond  recovery. 

Young  man,  you  are  a  locomotive.  You  are  a  thing  that  goes 
by  a  power  planted  inside  of  you.  You  are  made  to  go.  In  fact, 
considered  as  a  machine,  you  are  very  far  superior  to  a  loco- 
motive. The  maker  of  the  locomotive  is  man  j  your  maker  is 
man's  Maker.  You  are  as  different  from  a  horse,  or  an  ox,  or  a 
camel,  as  a  locomotive  is  different  from  a  wheelbarrow,  a  cart,  or  a 
coach.  Xow,  do  you  suppose  that  the  being  who  made  you — 
manufactured  your  machine,  and  put  into  it  the  motive  power — 
did  not  make  a  special  road  for  you  to  run  upon  ?  My  idea  of 
religion  is  that  it  is  a  railroad  for  a  human  locomotive,  and  that 
just  so  sure  as  it  undertakes  to  run  upon  a  road  adapted  only  to 
animal  power,  will  it  bury  its  wheels  in  the  sand,  dash  itself 
among  rocks,  and  come  to  inevitable  wreck.  If  you  don't  believe 
this,  try  the  other  thing.  Here  are  forty  roads  :  suppose  you  choose 


1  "We  mean  it  as  very  high  praise  when  we  say  that  Bitter  Sweet  is  one 
of  the  few  books  that  have  fouud  the  secret  of  drawing  up  and  assimilating  the 
juices  of  this  New  World  of  ours." — Atlantic  Monthly,  May,  1859. 


728 


JOSTAH  G.  HOLLAND. 


one  of  them,  and  see  where  you  come  out.  Here  is  the  dram- 
shop road.  Try  it.  Follow  it,  and  see  how  long  it  will  be  before 
you  come  to  a  stump  and  a  smash-up.  Here  is  the  road  of 
sensual  pleasure.  You  are  just  as  sure  to  bury  your  wheels  in  the 
dirt  as  you  try  it.  Your  machine  is  too  heavy  for  that  track  alto- 
gether. Here  is  the  winding,  uncertain  path  of  frivolity.  There 
are  morasses  on  each  side  of  it,  and,  with  the  headway  that  you 
are  under,  you  will  be  sure,  sooner  or  later,  to  pitch  into  one  of 
them.  Here  is  the  road  of  philosophy,  but  it  runs  through  a 
country  from  which  the  light  of  Heaven  is  shut  out;  and  while 
you  may  be  able  to  keep  your  machine  right  side  up,  it  will  only 
be  by  feeling  your  way  along  in  a  clumsy,  comfortless  kind  of 
style,  and  with  no  certainty  of  ever  arriving  at  the  heavenly  sta- 
tion-house. Here  is  the  road  of  skepticism.  That  is  covered 
with  fog,  and  a  fence  runs  across  it  within  ten  rods.  Don't  you 
see  that  your  machine  was  never  intended  to  run  on  those  roads  ? 
Don't  you  know  that  it  never  was,  and  don't  you  know  that  the 
only  track  under  heaven  upon  which  it  can  run  safely  is  the  reli- 
gious track  ?  Don't  you  know  that  just  as  long  as  you  keep  your 
wheels  on  that  track,  wreck  is  impossible  ?  Don't  you  know  that 
it  is  the  only  track  on  which  wreck  is  not  certain  ?  I  know  it, 
if  you  don't;  and  I  tell  you  that  on  that  track,  which  God  has 
laid  down  expressly  for  your  soul  to  run  upon,  your  soul  will  find 
free  play  for  all  its  wheels,  and  an  unobstructed  and  happy  pro- 
gress. It  is  straight  and  narrow,  but  it  is  safe  and  solid,  and  fur- 
nishes the  only  direct  route  to  the  heavenly  city.  Now,  if  God 
made  your  soul,  and  made  religion  for  it,  you  are  a  fool  if  you 
refuse  to  place  yourself  on  the  track.  You  cannot  prosper  any- 
where else,  and  your  machine  will  not  run  anywhere  else. 


USEFULNESS  HEALTH  HAPPINESS. 

There  is  no  better  relief  to  study  than  the  regular  performance 
of  special  duties  in  the  house.  To  feel  that  one  is  really  doing 
something  every  day,  that  the  house  is  the  tidier  for  one's  efforts, 
and  the  comfort  of  the  family  enhanced,  is  the  surest  warrant  of 
content  and  cheerfulness.  There  is  something  about  this  habit 
of  daily  work — this  regular  performance  of  duty — which  tends  to 
regulate  the  passions,  to  give  calmness  and  vigor  to  the  mind,  to 
impart  a  healthy  tone  to  the  body,  and  to  diminish  the  desire  for 
life  in  the  street  and  for  resort  to  gossiping  companions. 

Were  I  as  rich  as  Croesus,  my  girls  should  have  something  to 
do  regularly,  just  as  soon  as  they  should  become  old  enough  to  do 
any  thing.  They  should,  in  the  first  place,  make  their  own  bed 
and  take  care  of  their  own  room.  They  should  dress  each  other. 
They  should  sweep  a  portion  of  the  house.    They  should  learn, 


JOSIAH  G.  HOLLAND. 


729 


above  all  things,  to  help  themselves,  and  thus  to  be  independent 
in  all  circumstances.  xV  woman,  helpless  from  any  other  cause 
than  sickness,  is  essentially  a  nuisance.  There  is  nothing  womanly 
and  ladylike  in  helplessness.  My  policy  would  be,  as  girls  grow 
up,  to  assign  to  them  special  duties,  first  in  one  part  of  the  house, 
then  in  another,  until  they  should  become  acquainted  with  all 
housewifely  offices ;  and  I  should  have  an  object  in  this  beyond 
the  simple  acquisition  of  a  knowledge  of  housewifery.  It  should 
be  for  the  acquisition  of  habits  of  physical  industry, — of  habits 
that  conduce  to  the  health  of  body  and  mind, — of  habits  that  give 
them  an  insight  into  the  nature  of  labor,  and  inspire  within  them 
a  genuine  sympathy  with  those  whose  lot  it  is  to  labor. 

All  young  mind  is  uneasy  if  it  be  good  for  any  thing.  There 
is  not  the  genuine  human  stuff  in  a  girl  who  is  habitually  and  by 
nature  passive,  placid,  and  inactive.  The  body  and  the  mind 
must  both  be  in  motion.  If  this  tendency  to  activity  be  left  to 
run  loose, — undirected  into  channels  of  usefulness, — a  spoiled 
child  is  the  result.  A  girl  growing  up  to  womanhood  is,  when 
unemployed,  habitually  uneasy.  The  mind  aches  and  chafes  be- 
cause it  wants  action,  for  a  motive.  Now,  a  mind  in  this  con- 
dition is  not  benefited  by  the  command  to  stay  at  home,  or  the 
withdrawal  from  companions.  It  must  be  set  to  work.  This 
vital  energy  that  is  struggling  to  find  relief  in  demonstration 
should  be  so  directed  that  habits  may  be  formed, — habits  of  in- 
dustry that  obviate  the  wish  for  change  and  unnecessary  play,  and 
form  a  regular  drain  upon  it.  Otherwise,  the  mind  becomes  dissi- 
pated, the  will  irresolute,  and  confinement  irksome.  Girls  will 
never  be  happy,  except  in  the  company  of  their  playmates,  unless 
home  becomes  to  them  a  scene  of  regular  duty  and  personal 
usefulness. 

There  is  another  obvious  advantage  to  be  derived  from  the 
habit  of  engaging  daily  upon  special  household  duties.  The 
imagination  of  girls  is  apt  to  become  active  to  an  unhealthy  de- 
gree when  no  corrective  is  employed.  False  views  of  life  are 
engendered,  and  labor  is  regarded  as  menial.  Ease  comes  to  be 
looked  upon  as  a  supremely  desirable  thing;  so  that  when  the 
real,  inevitable  cares  of  life  come,  there  is  no  preparation  for 
them,  and  weak  complainings  or  ill-natured  discontent  are  the 
result. 

And  here  I  am  naturally  introduced  to  another  subject.  Young 
women,  the  glory  of  your  life  is  to  do  something  and  to  be  some- 
thing. You  very  possibly  may  have  formed  the  idea  that  ease 
and  personal  enjoyment  are  the  ends  of  your  life.  This  is  a  ter- 
rible mistake.  Development  in  the  broadest  sense  and  in  the 
highest  direction  is  the  end  of  your  life.  You  may  possibly  find 
ease  with  it,  and  a  great  deal  of  precious  personal  enjoyment,  or 


730 


ALICE  GARY. 


your  life  may  be  one  long  experience  of  self-denial.  If  you  wish 
to  be  something  more  than  the  pet  and  plaything  of  a  man,  if  you 
would  rise  above  the  position  of  a  pretty  toy  or  the  ornamental 
fixture  of  an  establishment,  you  have  got  a  work  to  do.  You 
have  got  a  position  to  maintain  in  society ;  you  have  got  the  poor 
and  the  sick  to  visit  ■  you  may  possibly  have  a  family  to  rear  and 
train ;  you  have  got  to  take  a  load  of  care  upon  your  shoulders 
and  bear  it  through  life.  You  have  got  a  character  to  sustain ; 
and  I  hope  that  you  will  have  the  heart  of  a  husband  to  cheer 
and  strengthen.  Ease  is  not  for  you.  Selfish  enjoyment  is  not 
for  you.  The  world  is  to  be  made  better  by  you.  You  have  got 
to  suffer  and  to  work ;  and  if  there  be  a  spark  of  the  true  fire  in 
you,  your  hearts  will  respond  to  these  words. 


ALICE  CARY. 

Alice  Cary,  descended  from  Huguenot  and  Puritan  ancestry,  was  born  in 
Hamilton  County,  Ohio,  in  April,  1820.  Her  ancestors,  soon  after  the  Revolu- 
tionary war,  emigrated  from  Connecticut  to  the  Northwestern  Territory,  locating 
in  the  "  Clovernook,"  which  she  has  characterized  with  great  beauty  and 
originality.  Here  she  passed  all  the  years  of  her  life  up  to  1850.  When  about 
eighteen  years  old,  she  gave  to  the  press,  at  Cincinnati,  a  small  volume  of  her 
poems,  which  were  warmly  commended,  not  only  for  what  they  were,  but  for 
what  they  promised. 

At  the  suggestion  of  many  friends,  she  left  her  Western  home  for  New  York 
City  in  1850,  and  was  soon  followed  by  her  sister  Phoebe,  who  is  a  few  years 
younger,  where  they  both  have  since  dwelt.  In  1850,  the  first  volume  of  the 
poems  of  Alice  and  Phoebe  Cary  was  issued  in  Philadelphia,  which  was  well  re- 
ceived ;  and  from  this  time  the  sisters  became  prominent  contributors  to  some  of 
the  leading  magazines  and  journals  of  the  country.  In  1851,  Alice  published  the 
first  series  of  her  "Clovernook"  papers,1  which  gave  her  at  once  a  position  as  a 
prose-writer.  In  1852  appeared  Hagar,  a  Story  of  To-Day ;  in  1853,  a  second 
series  of  "  Clovernook"  papers ;  and  in  the  same  year,  Lyra,  and  other  Poems.  In 
185L  Ticknor  &  Co.,  of  Boston,  brought  out  Clovernook  Children,  a  juvenile, 
which  was  warmly  received,  and  at  once  became  the  favorite  of  the  young  folks. 
In  1855,  Miss  Cary  prepared  a  complete  edition  of  her  poems  for  the  press,  which 
was  issued  in  the  fall  of  that  year.  It  contained  The  Maiden  of  Tlascala,  a  poem 
of  a  more  elaborate  if  not  of  a  more  ambitious  character  than  any  she  had  here- 
tofore given  to  the  public,  and  added  not  a  little  to  her  already  high  reputa- 
tion.   In  1856  appeared  her  Married,  not  Mated,  which  embodies  many  of  the 


1  Eutitled  Clovernook,  or  Jiecolleciions  of  our  Neighborhood  in  the  West,  pub, 
Hshed  by  Redtield,  New  York. 


ALICE  CARY. 


731 


excellencies  of  Clovernooh,1  the  characters  being  drawn  with  wonderful  fidelity 
and  force. 

Since  the  issue  of  her  last  volume  of  poems,  Miss  Cary  has  given  many  fugi- 
tive pieces  of  great  beauty  to  various  periodicals. 


LIGHT  AND  LOVE. 

Light  waits  for  us  in  heaven.    Inspiring  thought ! 

That,  when  the  darkness  all  is  overpast, 
The  beauty  which  the  Lamb  of  God  has  bought 

Shall  flow  about  our  saved  souls  at  last, 
And  wrap  them  from  all  night-time  and  all  Avoe : — 
The  Spirit  and  the  Word  assure  us  so. 

Love  lives  for  us  in  heaven.    Oh,  not  so  sweet 
Is  the  May  dew  which  mountain-flowers  enclose, 

Nor  golden  raining  of  the  winnow'd  wheat, 
Nor  blushing  out  of  the  brown  earth,  of  rose, 

Or  whitest  lily,  as,  beyond  time's  wars, 

The  silvery  rising  of  these  two  twin-stars. 


HARVEST-TIME. 


God's  blessing  on  the  reapers  !  all  day  long 
A  quiet  sense  of  peace  my  spirit  rills, 

As  whistled  fragments  of  untutor'd  song 
Blend  with  the  rush  of  sickles  on  the  hills: 

And  the  blue  wild-flowers  and  green  brier-leaves 

Are  brightly  tangled  with  the  yellow  sheaves. 

Where  straight  and  even  the  new  furrows  lie, 
The  cornstalks  in  their  rising  beauty  stand; 

Heaven's  loving  smile  upon  man's  industry 
Makes  beautiful  with  plenty  the  wide  land. 

The  barns,  press'd  out  with  the  sweet  hay,  I  see, 

And  feel  how  more  than  good  God  is  to  me ! 

In  the  cool  thicket  the  red-robin  sings, 
And  merrily  before  the  mower's  scythe 

Chirps  the  green  grasshopper,  while  slowly  swings, 
In  the  scarce-swaying  air,  the  willow  lithe ; 

And  clouds  sail  softly  through  the  upper  calms, 

White  as  the  fleeces  of  the  unshorn  lambs. 

Outstretch'd  beneath  the  venerable  trees, 

Conning  his  long,  hard  task,  the  schoolboy  lies, 

And,  like  a  fickle  wooer,  the  light  breeze 

Kisses  his  brow  ;  then,  scarcely  sighing,  flies  ; 


1  "We  do  not  hesitate  to  predict  for  these  sketches  a  wide  popularity.  They 
bear  the  true  stamp  of  genius, — simple,  natural,  truthful, — and  evince  a  keen  sense 
of  the  humor  and  pathos,  of  the  comedy  and  tragedy,  of  life  in  the  country." — 
J.  G.  Whittiee. 


732 


ALICE  CARY. 


And  all  about  him  pinks  and  lilies  stand, 
Painting  with  beauty  the  wide  pasture-land. 

Oh,  there  are  moments  when  we  half  forget 
The  rough,  harsh  grating  of  the  file  of  Time ; 

And  I  believe  that  angels  come  down  yet 
And  walk  with  us,  as  in  the  Eden  clime ; 

Binding  the  heart  away  from  woe  and  strife, 

With  leaves  of  healing  from  the  Tree  of  Life. 

And  they  are  most  unworthy  who  behold 
The  bountiful  provisions  of  God's  care, 

When  reapers  sing  among  the  harvest-gold, 
And  the  mown  meadow  scents  the  quiet  air, 

And  yet  who  never  say,  with  all  their  heart, 

How  good,  my  Father,  oh,  how  good  thou  art! 


THE  BROKEN  HOUSEHOLD. 


Vainly,  vainly  memory  seeks, 
Round  our  father's  knee, 

Laughing  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks 
Where  they  used  to  be : 

Of  the  circle  once  so  wide 

Three  are  wanderers,  t  hree  have  died. 

Golden-hair'd  and  dewy-eyed, 

Prattling  all  the  day, 
Was  the  baby  first  that  died: 

Oh  !  'twas  hard  to  lay 
Dimpled  hand  and  cheek  of  snow 
In  the  grave  so  dark  and  low ! 

Smiling  back  on  all  who  smiled, 
Ne'er  by  sorrow  thrall'd, 

Half  a  woman,  half  a  child, 
Was  the  next  one  call'd : 

Then  a  grave  more  deep  and  wide 

Made  they  by  the  baby's  side. 


When  or  where  the  other  died 

Only  heaven  can  tell ; 
Treading  manhood's  path  of  pride 

Was  he  when  he  fell ; 
Haply  thistles,  blue  and  red, 
Bloom  about  his  lonely  bed. 

I  am  for  the  living  three 

Only  left  to  pray  ; 
Two  are  on  the  stormy  sea  ; — 

Farther  still  than  they 
Wanders  one,  his  young  heart  dim,- 
Oftenest,  most,  I  pray  for  him. 

Whatsoe'er  they  do  or  dare, 

Wheresoe'er  they  roam, 
Have  them,  Father,  in  thy  care, 

Guide  them  safely  home, — 
Home,  0  Father,  in  the  sky, 
Where  none  wander  and  none  die. 


WHAT  IS  LIFE? 

Oh,  what  is  life !  at  best  a  narrow  bound, 

Where  each  that  lives  some  baffled  hope  survives, — 

A  search  for  something,  never  to  be  found, 
Records  the  history  of  the  gi'eatest  lives. 

There  is  a  haven  for  each  weary  bark, 

A  port  where  they  who  rest  are  free  from  sin ; 

But  we,  like  children  trembling  in  the  dark, 
Drive  on  and  on,  afraid  to  enter  in. 


PHCEBE  CARY.  733 


PHCEBE  CARY. 

Phcebe  Cary  was  born  in  Hamilton  County,  Ohio,  in  the  year  1825.  In  1854, 
she  published  a  volume  of  her  collected  writings,  entitled  Poems  and  Parodies} 
Her  fortunes  have  been  linked  with  her  sister's,  and  both  now  reside  in  the  city 
of  New  York,  enriching,  from  time  to  time,  the  columns  of  various  periodicals 
with  their  poetical  effusions. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  WOMAN. 

Oh,  beautiful  as  morning  in  those  hours 
When,  as  her  pathway  lies  along  the  hills, 

Her  golden  fingers  wake  the  dewy  flowers, 
And  softly  touch  the  waters  of  the  rills, 

Was  she  who  walk'd  more  faintly  day  by  day 

Till  silently  she  perish'd  by  the  way. 

It  was  not  hers  to  know  that  perfect  heaven 
Of  passionate  love  return'd  by  love  as  deep ; 

Not  hers  to  sing  the  cradle-song  at  even, 
Watching  the  beauty  of  her  babe  asleep  ; 

"Mother  and  brethren/' — these  she  had  not  known, 

Save  such  as  do  the  Father's  will  alone. 

Yet  found  she  something  still  for  which  to  live, — 
Hearths  desolate,  where  angel-like  she  came, 


1  I  do  not  like  "parodies,"  especially  if  written  on  any  thing  serious  and  beau- 
tiful. They  may  be  good  as  parodies, — as  a  merchant  of  worthless  moral  charac- 
ter is  "good"  commercially  if  he  can  pay  his  notes, — but  they  are  often  the  mark 
of  a  frivolous  mind,  and  leave  behind  associations  of  which  one  would  be  glad  to 
divest  themselves.  But  one  of  them,  by  that  singular  law  of  association, — con- 
trast,— reminds  me  of  the  following  exquisite  gem  by 

JAMES  ALDRICH. 

Mr.  Aldrich,  (1810 — 1856,)  who  lived  and  died  in  New  York,  was  much  beloved 
for  his  social  qualities  and  admired  for  his  talents  and  culture.  Though  engaged 
in  mercantile  pursuits,  he  was  a  warm  lover  and  friend  of  polite  letters  and  the 
fine  arts,  and  was  for  a  season  an  associate  with  Park  Benjamin  in  the  conduct 
of  a  literary  journal.  He  wrote  several  graceful,  touching,  and  finished  poems, 
of  which  the  following,  at  least,  deserves  perpetual  remembrance  : — 

A  DEATH-BED. 

Her  suffering  ended  with  the  day ; 

Yet  lived  she  at  its  close, 
And  breathed  the  long,  long  night  away 

In  statue-like  repose. 

But  when  the  sun,  in  all  his  state, 

Illumed  the  eastern  skies, 
She  pass'd  through  Glory's  morning-gate, 

And  walk'd  in  Paradise ! 

62 


734 


AMELIA  B.  WELBY. 


And  "little  ones"  to  whom  her  hand  could  give 

A  cup  of  water  in  her  Master's  name ; 
And  breaking  hearts  to  bind  away  from  death, 
With  the  soft  hand  of  pitying  love  and  faith. 

She  never  won  the  voice  of  popular  praise ; 

But,  counting  earthly  triumph  as  but  dross, 
Seeking  to  keep  her  Saviour's  perfect  ways, 

Bearing  in  the  still  path  his  blessed  cross, 
She  made  her  life,  while  with  us  here  she  trod, 
A  consecration  to  the  will  of  God ! 

And  she  hath  lived  and  labor'd  not  in  vain: 

Through  the  deep  prison-cells  her  accents  thrill, 

And  the  sad  slave  leans  idly  on  his  chain, 
And  hears  the  music  of  her  singing  still ; 

"While  little  children,  with  their  innocent  praise, 

Keep  freshly  in  men's  hearts  her  Christian  ways. 

And  what  a  beautiful  lesson  she  made  known, — 
The  whiteness  of  her  soul  sin  could  not  dim ; 

Ready  to  lay  down  on  God's  altar-stone 
The  dearest  treasure  of  her  life  for  him. 

Her  flame  of  sacrifice  never,  never  waned, 

How  could  she  live  and  die  so  self-sustain'd  ? 

For  friends  supported  not  her  parting  soul. 

And  whisper'd  words  of  comfort,  kind  and  sweet, 
When  treading  onward  to  that  final  goal, 

Where  the  still  bridegroom  waited  for  her  feet  ; 
Alone  she  walk'd,  yet  with  a  fearless  tread, 
Down  to  Death's  chamber,  and  his  bridal  bed! 


AMELIA  B.  WELBY,  1821—1852. 


TO  AMELIA  AVE L BY. 


Darling  of  all  hearts  that  listen 
To  your  warble  wild  and  true! 

As  a  lovely  star  doth  glisten 
In  the  far  West, — so  do  you ! 

Are  you  sure  you  are  a  mortal  ? 

Or  a  Peri  in  disguise, 
Watching  till  the  heavenly  portal 

Lets  you  into  Paradise? 

Whiling  all  the  weary  hours 
With  the  songs  you  used  to  sing 

In  those  bright  aerial  bowers 
Where  the  rainbow  dips  its  wing 


Peri!  no! — all  woman-feeling 
Pleads  in  that  impassion'd  lay; 

Yet  'tis  woman  proudly  stealing 
Some  fond  angel's  harp  away  ; 

Mingling,  with  divine  emotion 
Holy  as  a  seraph's  thought, 

Human  love  and  warm  devotion, 
Into  rarest  pathos  wrought. 

Sweep  again  the  silver  chords! 

Pour  the  soul  of  music  there! 
Write,  for  your  heart's  tune,  the  tuords, 

All  our  hearts  will  play  the  air! 

Trances  Sauge.xt  Osgood. 


This  sweet  poetess,  whose  maiden  name  was  Coppuck,  was  born  in  the  small 
town  of  St.  Michael's,  Maryland,  in  1821.  At  the  age  of  fourteen,  her  father  re- 
moved to  Lexington,  and  afterwards  to  Louisville,  Kentucky,  where,  in  1838,  she 
was  married  to  Mr.  George  B.  Welby,  a  merchant  of  that  city.   She  died  in  1852. 


AMELIA  B.  WELBY. 


735 


Mrs.  Welby  early  wrote  for  the  "Louisville  Journal,"  under  the  signature  of 
"Amelia;"  and  in  1844,  a  collection  of  her  poems  was  published,  in  a  small 
volume,  at  Boston.  In  1850,  a  beautiful  edition  was  published  by  Applcton 
&  Co.,  entitled  Poems,  by  Amelia;  a  New  and  Enlarged  Edition;  illustrated  with 
Original  Designs  by  Weir.1 

THE  RAINBOW. 

I  sometimes  have  thoughts,  in  my  loneliest  hours, 
That  lie  on  my  heart  like  the  dew  on  the  flowers, 
Of  a  ramble  I  took  one  bright  afternoon 
When  my  heart  was  as  light  as  a  blossom  in  June ; 
The  green  earth  was  moist  with  the  late-fallen  showers, 
The  breeze  flutter'd  down  and  blew  open  the  flowers, 
While  a  single  white  cloud,  to  its  haven  of  rest, 
On  the  white  wing  of  Peace,  floated  off  in  the  west. 

As  I  threw  back  my  tresses  to  catch  the  cool  breeze, 
That  scatter'd  the  rain-drops  and  dimpled  the  seas, 
Far  up  the  blue  sky  a  fair  rainbow  unroll'd 
Its  soft-tinted  pinions  of  purple  and  gold. 
'Twas  born  in  a  moment,  yet,  quick  as  its  birth, 
It  had  stretch'd  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth, 
And,  fair  as  an  angel,  it  floated  as  free, 
With  a  wing  on  the  earth  and  a  wing  on  the  sea. 

How  calm  was  the  ocean  !  how  gentle  its  swell ! 

Like  a  woman's  soft  bosom  it  rose  and  it  fell  ; 

While  its  light  sparkling  waves,  stealing  laughingly  o'er, 

When  they  saw  the  fair  rainbow,  knelt  down  on  the  shore. 

No  sweet  hymn  ascended,  no  murmur  of  prayer, 

Yet  I  felt  that  the  spirit  of  worship  was  there, 

And  bent  my  young  head,  in  devotion  and  love, 

'Neath  the  form  of  the  angel  that  floated  above. 

How  wide  was  the  sweep  of  its  beautiful  wings ! 
How  boundless  its  circle,  how  radiant  its  rings  ! 
If  I  look'd  on  the  sky,  'twas  suspended  in  air ; 
If  I  look'd  on  the  ocean,  the  rainbow  was  there ; 
Thus  forming  a  girdle,  as  brilliant  and  whole 
As  the  thoughts  of  the  rainbow  that  circled  my  soul. 
Like  the  wing  of  the  Deity,  calmly  unfurl'd, 
It  bent  from  the  cloud  and  encircled  the  world. 

There  are  moments,  I  think,  when  the  spirit  receives 
Whole  volumes  of  thought  on  its  unwritten  leaves, 
When  the  folds  of  the  heart  in  a  moment  unclose, 
Like  the  innermost  leaves  from  the  heart  of  a  rose. 
And  thus,  when  the  rainbow  had  pass'd  from  the  sky, 
The  thoughts  it  awoke  were  too  deep  to  pass  by ; 


1  "Mrs.  Welby  has  nearly  all  the  imagination  of  Maria  del  Occidente,  (Maria 
Brooks,)  with  a  more  refined  taste;  and  nearly  all  the  passion  of  Mrs.  Norton, 
with  a  nicer  ear  and  (what  is  sui'prising)  equal  art.  Very  few  American  poets 
are  at  all  comparable  with  her  in  the  true  poetic  qualities.  As  for  our  poetesses, 
(an  absurd  but  necessary  word,)  few  of  them  approach  her." — Edgar  A.  Poe. 


AMELIA  B.  WELBY. 


It  left  my  full  soul,  like  tlie  wing  of  a  dove, 

All  fluttering  with  pleasure  and  fluttering  with  love. 

I  know  that  each  moment  of  rapture  or  pain 
But  shortens  the  links  in  life's  mystical  chain ; 
I  know  that  my  form,  like  that  bow  from  the  wave, 
Must  pass  from  the  earth,  and  lie  cold  in  the  grave ; 
Yet,  oh !  when  Death's  shadows  my  bosom  encloud, 
"When  I  shrink  at  the  thought  of  the  coffin  and  shroud, 
May  Hope,  like  the  rainbow,  my  spirit  enfold 
In  her  beautiful  pinions  of  pui-ple  and  gold ! 


THE  OLD  MAID. 

Why  sits  she  thus  in  solitude  ?  her  heart 

Seems  melting  in  her  eye's  delicious  blue, — 
And  as  it  heaves,  her  ripe  lips  lie  apart, 

As  if  to  let  its  heavy  throbbings  through  ; 
In  her  dark  eye  a  depth  of  softness  swells, 

Deeper  than  that  her  careless  girlhood  wore 
And  her  cheek  crimsons  Avith  the  hue  that  tells 

The  rich,  fair  fruit  is  ripen'd  to  the  core. 

It  is  her  thirtieth  birthday  !  with  a  sigh 

Her  soul  hath  turn'd  from  youth's  luxuriant  bowers, 
And  her  heart  taken  up  the  last  sweet  tie 

That  measured  out  its  links  of  golden  hours ! 
She  feels  her  inmost  soul  within  her  stir 

With  thoughts  too  Avild  and  passionate  to  speak; 
Yet  her  full  heart — its  own  interpreter — 

Translates  itself  in  silence  on  her  cheek. 

Joy's  opening  buds,  affection's  glowing  flowers, 

Once  lightly  sprang  within  her  beaming  track ; 
Oh,  life  was  beautiful  in  those  lost  hours, 

And  yet  she  does  not  wish  to  wander  back! 
No  !  she  but  loves  in  loneliness  to  think 

On  pleasures  past,  though  never  more  to  be: 
Hope  links  her  to  the  future, — but  the  link 

That  binds  her  to  the  past  is  memory ! 

From  her  lone  path  she  never  turns  aside, 

Though  passionate  worshippers  before  her  fall , 
Like  some  pure  planet  in  her  lonely  pride, 

She  seems  to  soar  and  beam  above  them  all ! 
Not  that  her  heart  is  cold  ! — emotions  new 

And  fresh  as  flowers  are  with  her  heart-strings  knit: 
And  sweetly  mournful  pleasures  wander  through 

Her  virgin  soul,  and  softly  ruffle  it. 

For  she  hath  lived  with  heart  and  soul  alive 
To  all  that  makes  life  beautiful  and  fair; 

Sweet  Thoughts,  like  honey-bees,  have  made  their  hive 
Of  her  soft  bosom-cell,  and  cluster  there; 

Yet  life  is  not  to  her  what  it  hath  been : 

Her  soul  hath  learn'd  to  look  beyond  its  gloss, — 


AMELIA  B.  WELBT. 


737 


And  now  she  hovers  like  a  star  between 

Her  deeds  of  love, — her  Saviour  on  the  cross ! 

Beneath  the  cares  of  earth  she  does  not  bow, 

Though  she  hath  ofttimes  drain'd  its  bitter  cup, 
But  ever  wanders  on  with  heavenward  brow, 

And  eyes  whose  lovely  lids  are  lifted  up ! 
She  feels  that  in  that  lovelier,  happier  sphere, 

Her  bosom  yet  will,  birdlike,  find  its  mate. 
And  all  the  joys  it  found  so  blissful  here 

Within  that  spirit-realm  perpetuate. 

Yet,  sometimes  o'er  her  trembling  heart-strings  thrill 

Soft  sighs,  for  raptures  it  hath  ne'er  enjoy'd, — 
And  then  she  dreams  of  love,  and  strives  to  fill 

With  wild  and  passionate  thoughts  the  craving  void. 
And  thus  she  wanders  on, — half  sad,  half  blest, — 

Without  a  mate  for  the  pure,  lonely  heart 
That,  yearning,  throbs  within  her  virgin  breast, 

Never  to  find  its  lovely  counterpart ! 


ON  SEEING  AN  INFANT  SLEEPING  UPON  ITS  MOTHER'S  BOSOM. 

It  lay  upon  its  mother's  breast,  a  thing 

Bright  as  a  clew-drop  when  it  first  descends, 
Or  as  the  plumage  of  an  angel's  wing 

Where  every  tint  of  rainbow-beauty  blends ; 
It  had  soft  violet  eyes,  that,  'neath  each  lid 

Half  closed  upon  them,  like  bright  waters  shone, 
While  its  small  dimpled  hands  were  slyly  hid 

In  the  warm  bosom  that  it  nestled  on. 

There  was  a  beam  in  that  young  mother's  eye 

Lit  by  the  feelings  that  she  could  not  speak, 
As  from  her  lips  a  plaintive  lullaby 

Stirr'd  the  bright  tresses  on  her  infant's  cheek, 
While  now  and  then  with  melting  heart  she  press'd 

Soft  kisses  o'er  its  red  and  smiling  lips, — 
Lips,  sweet  as  rose-buds  in  fresh  beauty  dress'd 

Ere  the  young  murmuring  bee  their  honey  sips. 

It  was  a  fragrant  eve ;  the  sky  was  full 

Of  burning  stars,  that  tremulously  clear 
Shone  on  those  lovely  ones,  while  the  low  lull 

Of  falling  waters  fell  upon  the  ear; 
And  the  new  moon,  like  a  pure  shell  of  pearl 

Encircled  by  the  blue  waves  of  the  deep, 
Lay  'mid  the  fleecy  clouds  that  love  to  curl 

Around  the  stars  when  they  their  vigils  keep. 

My  heart  grew  softer  as  I  gazed  upon 

That  youthful  mother  as  she  soothed  to  rest 
With  a  low  song  her  loved  and  cherish'd  one, — 

The  bud  of  promise  on  her  gentle  breast ; 

62* 


738 


THOMAS  B.  READ. 


For  'tis  a  sight  that  angel  ones  above 

May  stoop  to  gaze  on  from  their  bowers  of  bliss, 
When  Innocence  upon  the  breast  of  Love 

Is  cradled,  in  a  sinful  world  like  this. 


THOMAS  BUCHANAN  READ. 

Thomas  Buchanan  Read  was  born  in  Chester  County,  Pennsylvania,  in  1822. 
At  the  age  of  fourteen  he  removed  to  Cincinnati,  where,  from  visiting  the  studio 
of  Clevinger,  he  became  ambitious  to  be  a  sculptor.  He  had  made  considerable 
proficiency  in  the  art,  when  his  master  left  for  Europe.  But  the  love  of  the  beau- 
tiful was  too  strong  in  him  to  be  repressed  by  such  an  occurrence,  and  he  resolved 
to  be  a  painter;  and  so  successful  was  he  in  his  first  efforts  that  he  concluded  to  go 
to  the  East,  where  he  could  have  better  advantages;  and  accordingly,  in  1841  he 
removed  to  Boston,  where  he  remained  five  years  in  the  practice  of  his  profession. 

Up  to  this  time  Mr.  Read,  though  he  had  frequently  written  fugitive  verses, 
had  published  but  little ;  but  now  he  began  to  contribute  to  the  leading  periodi- 
cals, and  soon  became  a  favorite  with  readers.  Most  of  his  best  poems  appeared 
first  in  "  Graham's  Magazine."  In  1846,  he  removed  to  Philadelphia,  and  in 
1850  sailed  for  Europe,  and  spent  a  year  in  Italy,  pursuing  his  studies  as  an 
artist.  On  his  return  home,  he  visited  England,  where  he  was  engaged  to  paint 
a  number  of  portraits,  and,  while  doing  so,  published  a  volume  of  poems,  which 
attracted  much  notice,  and  was  warmly  commended  by  the  London  press.  Of 
The  Closing  Scene,  the  "  North  British  Review"  said,  "  It  is  an  addition  to  the 
permanent  stock  of  poetry  in  the  English  language." 

In  1S52,  Mr.  Read  returned  home,  and  passed  the  following  winter  in  Cincin- 
nati. The  next  year  he  went  abroad  the  second  time,  accompanied  by  his  family, 
and  settled  in  Florence,  enjoying  the  intercourse  of  a  delightful  society  of  artists 
and  men  of  letters;  and  subsecpuently  spent  two  years  in  Rome.  In  1858,  he  re- 
turned to  Philadelphia  with  some  of  the  richest  specimens  of  art, — the  creations 
of  his  own  genius, — all  of  which  were  engaged  at  prices  that  show  that  our 
countrymen  know  how  to  appreciate  and  reward  true  merit. 

Mr.  Read's  first  collection  of  Poems  was  printed  in  Boston  in  1847.  In  1848 
he  published,  in  Philadelphia,  Lays  and  Ballads,  and  in  1853  appeared  The 
Pilgrims  of  the  Great  St.  Bernard, — a  prose  romance.  His  more  recent  publica- 
tions are  Sylvia;  or  the  Last  Shepherd, — an  Eclogue:  and  other  Poem-s ;  The 
House  big  the  Sea, — a  Poem  ;  and  The  New  Pastoral.1'  The  last  consists  of  a  series 
of  sketches  of  rustic  and  domestic  life,  mostly  of  primitive  simplicity,  and  so 
truthful  as  to  be  not  less  valuable  as  history  than  attractive  as  poetry. 


1  Beautiful  editions  of  the  last  three  poems  have  been  published  by  Parry  «fc 
McMillan.  His  Selection  from  the  "  Female  Poets  of  America,  with  Biogra- 
phical Notices,"  should  be  noticed, — an  elegant  book  published  by  E.  H.  Butler 
&  Co.,  which  has  reached  the  seventh  edition. 


THOMAS  B.  READ. 


THE  CLOSING  SCENE. 

Within  this  sober  realm  of  leafless  trees, 
The  russet  year  inhaled  the  dreamy  air, 

Like  some  tann'd  reaper  in  his  hour  of  ease, 
When  all  the  fields  are  lying  brown  and  bare. 

The  gray  barns,  looking  from  their  hazy  hills 
O'er  the  dim  waters  widening  in  the  vales, 

Sent  down  the  air  a  greeting  to  the  mills, 
On  the  dull  thunder  of  alternate  flails. 

All  sights  were  mellow'd,  and  all  sounds  subdued, 
The  hills  seem'd  farther,  and  the  streams  sang  low ; 

As  in  a  dream,  the  distant  woodman  hew'd 
His  winter  log  with  many  a  muffled  blow. 

The  embattled  forests,  erewhile  arm'd  in  gold, 
Their  banners  bright  with  every  martial  hue, 

Now  stood,  like  some  sad  beaten  host  of  old, 
Withdrawn  afar  in  Time's  remotest  blue. 

On  slumberous  wings  the  vulture  tried  his  flight ; 

The  dove  scarce  heard  his  sighing  mate's  complaint ; 
And,  like  a  star  slow  drowning  in  the  light, 

The  village  church-vane  seem'd  to  pale  and  faint. 

The  sentinel  cock  upon  the  hill-side  crew, — 
Crew  thrice,  and  all  was  stiller  than  before, — 

Silent  till  some  replying  wanderer  blew 

His  alien  horn,  and  then  was  heard  no  more. 

Where  erst  the  jay  within  the  elm's  tall  crest 

Made  garrulous  trouble  round  the  unfledged  young; 

And  where  the  oriole  hung  her  swaying  nest 
By  every  light  wind  like  a  censer  swung  ; 

Where  sang  the  noisy  masons  of  the  eves, 

The  busy  swallows  circling  ever  near, 
Foreboding,  as  the  rustic  mind  believes, 

An  early  harvest  and  a  plenteous  year  ; 

Where  every  bird  which  charm'd  the  vernal  feast 
Shook  the  sweet  slumber  from  its  wings  at  morn, 

To  warn  the  reapers  of  the  rosy  east, 

All  now  was  songless,  empty,  and  forlorn. 

Alone  from  out  the  stubble  piped  the  quail, 

And  croak'd  the  crow  through  all  the  dreary  gloom; 

Alone  the  pheasant,  drumming  in  the  vale, 
Made  echo  to  the  distant  cottage-loom. 

There  was  no  bud,  no  bloom,  upon  the  bowers ; 

The  spiders  wove  their  thin  shrouds  night  by  night ; 
The  thistle-down,  the  only  ghost  of  flowers, 

Sail'd  slowly  by — pass'd  noiseless  out  of  sight. 


THOMAS  B.  READ. 


Amid  all  this, — in  this  most  cheerless  air, 

And  where  the  woodbine  sheds  upon  the  porch 

Its  crimson  leaves,  as  if  the  year  stood  there, 
Firing  the  floor  with  his  inverted  torch, — 

Amid  all  this,  the  centre  of  the  scene, 

The  white-hair'd  matron,  with  monotonous  tread, 

Plied  her  swift  wheel,  and  with  her  joyless  mien 
Sat  like  a  Fate,  and  watch'd  the  flying  thread. 

She  had  known  Sorrow.    He  had  walk'd  with  her, 
Oft  supp'd,  and  broke  with  her  the  ashen  crust, 

And  in  the  dead  leaves  still  she  heard  the  stir 
Of  his  black  mantle  trailing  in  the  dust. 

While  yet  her  cheek  was  bright  with  summer  bloom, 
Her  country  summon'd,  and  she  gave  her  all, 

And  twice  war  bow'd  to  her  his  sable  plume ; 
He  gave  the  swords  to  rest  upon  the  wall. 

Re-gave  the  swords, — but  not  the  hand  that  drew, 
And  struck  for  liberty  the  dying  blow ; 

Nor  him  who,  to  his  sire  and  country  true, 
Fell  'mid  the  ranks  of  the  invading  foe. 

Long,  but  not  loud,  the  droning  wheel  went  on, 
Like  the  low  murmurs  of  a  hive  at  noon ; 

Long,  but  not  loud,  the  memory  of  the  gone 

Breathed  through  her  lips  a  sad  and  tremulous  tune. 

At  last  the  thread  was  snapp'd,  her  head  was  bow'd : 
Life  droop'd  the  distaff  through  his  hands  serene ; 

And  loving  neighbors  smoothed  her  careful  shroud, 
While  Death  and  Winter  closed  the  autumn  scene. 


THE  DESERTED  ROAD. 

Ancient  road,  that  wind'st  deserted 
Through  the  level  of  the  vale, 

Sweeping  toward  the  crowded  market 
Like  a  stream  without  a  sail ; 

Standing  by  thee,  I  look  backward, 
And,  as  in  the  light  of  dreams, 

See  the  years  descend  and  vanish, 
Like  thy  whitely  tented  teams. 

Here  I  stroll  along  the  village 
As  in  youth's  departed  morn  ; 

But  I  miss  the  crowded  coaches, 
And  the  driver's  bugle-hoim, — 

Miss  the  crowd  of  jovial  teamsters 
Filling  buckets  at  the  wells, 

With  their  wains  from  Conestoga, 
And  their  orchestras  of  bells. 


THOMAS  B.  READ. 


To  the  mossy  way-side  tavern 
Comes  the  noisy  throng  no  more, 

And  the  faded  sign,  complaining, 
Swings,  unnoticed,  at  the  door ; 

While  the  old,  decrepit  tollman, 
Waiting  for  the  few  who  pass, 

Reads  the  melancholy  story 
In  the  thickly-springing  grass. 

Ancient  highway,  thou  art  vanquish'd  ; 

The  usurper  of  the  vale 
Rolls,  in  fiery,  iron  rattle, 

Exultations  on  the  gale. 

Thou  art  vanquish'd  and  neglected ; 

But  the  good  which  thou  hast  done, 
Though  by  man  it  be  forgotten, 

Shall  be  deathless  as  the  sun. 

Though  neglected,  gray,  and  grassy, 
Still  I  pray  that  my  decline 

May  be  through  as  vernal  valleys 
And  as  blest  a  calm  as  thine. 


THE  EMIGRANTS. 

At  length  the  long  leave-taking  is  all  o'er ; 

The  train  descends ;  and  lo,  the  happy  vale 

Is  closed  from  sight  beyond  the  mournful  hill, 

And  all  the  West,  before  the  onward  troop, 

Lies  in  the  far  unknown.    As  goes  a  bride, 

With  pain  and  joy  alternate  in  her  breast, 

To  find  a  home  within  the  alien  walls 

Of  him  who  hath  enticed  her  hence, — her  heart 

More  hoping  than  misgiving, — so,  to-day, 

Departed  the  slow  train  ;  and  now  the  miles, 

Gliding  beneath  with  gradual  but  sure  pace, 

Bring  them  at  last  to  unfamiliar  scenes. 

Thoughtful  they  hold  their  onward,  plodding  course, 

Each  in  his  own  reflection  wrapt ;  for  now, 

With  every  step,  some  ancient  tie  is  broke, 

Some  dream  relinquish'd,  or  some  friend  given  up : 

While  old  associations  spring,  self-call'd, 

Even  as  tears,  unbidden.    Thus,  a  while, 

They  keep  the  silent  tenor  of  their  way  ; 

Till,  like  a  sudden,  unexpected  bird, 

Which  from  the  still  fields  soars  into  the  air, 

Flooding  the  noon  with  melody,  up  swells 

The  gladsome  voice  of  Arthur  into  song, 

Cheering  the  drooping  line. 


742 


MARGARET  MILLER  DAVIDSON. 


Arthur's  song. 

Bid  adieu  to  the  homestead,  adieu  to  the  vab, 

Though  the  memory  recalls  them,  give  grief  to  the  gale: 

There  the  hearths  are  unlighted,  the  embers  are  black, 

Where  the  feet  of  the  onward  shall  never  turn  back. 

For  as  -well  might  the  stream  that  comes  down  from  the  mount, 

Glancing  up,  heave  the  sigh  to  return  to  its  fount ; 

Yet  the  lordly  Ohio  feels  joy  in  his  breast 

As  he  follows  the  sun,  onward,  into  the  West. 

Oh,  to  roam,  like  the  rivers,  through  empires  of  woods, 
AVhere  the  king  of  the  eagles  in  majesty  broods; 
Or  to  ride  the  wild  horse  o'er  the  boundless  domain, 
And  to  drag  the  wild  butfalo  down  to  the  plain; 
There  to  chase  the  fleet  stag,  and  to  track  the  huge  bear, 
And  to  face  the  lithe  panther  at  bay  in  his  lair, 
Are  a  joy  which  alone  cheers  the  pioneer's  breast ; 
For  the  only  true  hunting-  ground  lies  in  the  West! 

Leave  the  tears  to  the  maiden,  the  fears  to  the  child, 
While  the  future  stands  beckoning  afar  in  the  wild  ; 
For  there  Freedom,  more  fair,  walks  the  primeval  land, 
AVhere  the  wild  deer  all  court  the  caress  of  her  hand. 
There  the  deep  forests  fall,  and  the  old  shadows  fly, 
And  the  palace  and  temple  leap  into  the  sky. 
Oh,  the  East  holds  no  place  where  the  onward  can  rest, 
And  alone  there  is  room  in  the  land  of  the  West  ! 

New  Pastoral. 


MARGARET  MILLER  DAVIDSON,  1823—1838. 

Margaret  Miller  Davidson,  the  sister  of  Lucretia,1  and  quite  as  remark- 
able for  precocity  of  intellect,  was  born  at  Plattsburg,  New  York,  on  the  26th 
of  March,  1823.  Like  her  sister,  she  was  of  delicate  and  feeble  frame  from  her 
infancy,  and,  like  her,  she  had  an  early  passion  for  knowledge.  Her  mother 
rather  restrained  than  incited  her;  but,  before  she  could  even  read  well,  she 
would  talk  in  the  language  of  poetry, — of  "  the  pale,  cold  moon,"  of  the  stars 
"that  shone  like  the  eyes  of  angels,"  &c.  At  six  years  old,  she  was  so  far 
advanced  in  literature  and  intelligence  as  to  be  the  companion  of  her  mother 
when  confined  to  her  room  by  protracted  illness.  She  read  not  only  well,  but 
elegantly :  her  love  of  reading  amounted  to  a  passion,  and  her  intelligence  sur- 
passed belief.  Strangers  viewed  with  astonishment  a  child,  not  seven  years  old, 
reading  with  enthusiastic  delight  Thomson's  "  Seasons,"  the  "  Pleasures  of  Hope," 
Cowper's  "  Task,"  and  even  Milton,  and  marking  with  taste  and  discrimination 
the  passages  that  struck  her.    But  the  Bible  was  her  daily  study,  over  which  she 


1  See  p.  600. 


MARGARET  MILLER  DAVIDSON. 


743 


did  not  hurry  as  a  task,  but  would  spend  an  hour  or  two  in  commenting  with  her 
mother  on  the  contents  of  the  chapter  she  had  read. 

In  1833,  when  she  was  ten  years  old,  she  had  a  severe  attack  of  scarlet  fever, 
from  which  she  recovered  but  slowly;  and  ber  father,  thinking  that  the  climate 
and  situation  of  Saratoga  would  benefit  her,  removed  thither  in  that  year.  But 
she  showed  her  love  for  the  wilder  scenes  of  her  "  Native  Lake"  in  the  following 
sweet  verses — remarkable  for  one  so  young — on  the  charms  of 

LAKE  CHAMPLAIN. 

Thy  verdant  banks,  thy  lucid  stream, 
Lit  by  the  sun's  resplendent  beam, 
Reflect  each  bending  tree  so  light 
Upon  thy  bounding  bosom  bright : 
Could  I  but  see  thee  once  again, 
My  own,  my  beautiful  Champlain ! 

The  little  isles  that  deck  thy  breast, 

And  calmly  on  thy  bosom  rest, 

How  often,  in  my  childish  glee, 

I've  sported  round  them  bright  and  free  ! 

Could  I  but  see  thee  once  again, 

My  own,  my  beautiful  Champlain  ! 

How  oft  I've  watch'd  the  freshening  shower 

Bending  the  summer  tree  and  flower, 

And  felt  my  little  heart  beat  high 

As  the  bright  rainbow  gi*aced  the  sky ! 

Could  I  but  see  thee  once  again, 

My  own,  my  beautiful  Champlain ! 

And  shall  I  never  see  thee  more, 

My  native  lake,  my  much-loved  shore  ? 

And  must  I  bid  a  long  adieu, 

My  dear,  my  infant  home,  to  you  ? 

Shall  I  not  see  thee  once  again, 

My  own,  my  beautiful  Champlain  ? 

In  1834,  she  was  again  seized  by  illness, — a  liver-complaint,  which  by  sym- 
pathy affected  her  lungs,  and  confined  her  to  her  room  for  four  months.  On  her 
recovery,  her  genius,  which  had  seemed  to  lie  dormant  in  sickness,  broke  forth 
with  a  brilliancy  that  astonished  her  friends  ;  and  she  poured  out,  in  rapid  suc- 
cession, some  of  her  best  pieces.  But  her  health  was  evidently  declining.  The 
death  of  a  beloved  brother,  in  1835,  affected  her  deeply;  and,  with  short  and 
transient  gleams  of  health  amid  dark  and  dismal  prospects,  this  amiable  and 
gifted  child  slept,  as  she  herself  trusted,  in  the  arms  of  her  Redeemer,  on  the 
25th  of  November,  1838,  aged  fifteen  years  and  eight  months.1 


1  Read  an  article  in  the  u  London  Quarterly  Review,"  by  the  poet  Southey, 
vol.  lxix.  p.  91.  In  commenting  upon  Washington  Irving's  charming  Memoir 
of  this  wonderful  child,  the  "  Democratic  Review"  for  July,  1811,  thus  remarks: 
■ — "  This  is  a  record,  by  one  of  the  finest  writers  of  the  age,  of  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  prodigies  that  the  poetical  literature  of  any  country  has  produced." 


744 


MARGARET  MILLER  DAVIDSON. 


In  1833,  while  on  a  visit  to  New  York,  she  expressed,  in  the  following  beautiful 
lines,  her 

YEARNINGS  FOR  HOME. 

I  would  fly  from  the  city,  would  fly  from  its  care, 

To  my  own  native  plants  and  my  flowerets  so  fair ! 

To  the  cool  grassy  shade,  and  the  rivulet  bright 

"Which  reflects  the  pale  moon  on  its  bosom  of  light. 

Again  would  I  view  the  old  mansion  so  dear 

"Where  I  sported,  a  babe,  without  sorrow  or  fear. 

I  would  leave  this  great  city,  so  brilliant  and  gay, 

For  a  peep  at  my  home  on  this  pure  summer-day. 

I  have  friends  whom  I  love,  and  would  leave  with  regret, 

But  the  love  of  my  home,  oh,  'tis  tenderer  yet! 

There  a  sister  reposes,  unconscious,  in  death, — 

'Twas  there  she  first  drew,  and  there  yielded,  her  breath ; 

A  father  I  love  is  away  from  me  now, — 

Oh,  could  I  but  print  a  sweet  kiss  on  his  brow, 

Or  smooth  the  gray  locks  to  my  fond  heart  so  dear, 

How  quickly  would  vanish  each  trace  of  a  tear ! 

Attentive  I  listen  to  pleasure's  gay  call ; 

But  my  own  darling  Home,  it  is  dearer  than  all. 


TO  HER  MOTHER.1 

0  mother !  would  the  power  were  mine 
To  wake  the  strain  thou  lovest  to  hear, 

And  breathe  each  trembling  new-born  thought 
Within  thy  fondly  listening  ear, 

As  when,  in  days  of  health  and  glee, 

My  hopes  and  fancies  wander'd  free. 

But,  mother !  now  a  shade  hath  pass'd 
Athwart  my  brightest  visions  here; 

A  cloud  of  darkest  gloom  hath  wrapp'd 
The  remnant  of  my  brief  career : 

No  song,  no  echo  can  I  win; 

The  sparkling  fount  hath  dried  within. 

The  torch  of  earthly  hope  burns  dim, 

And  fancy  spreads  her  wings  no  more ; 
And  oh,  how  vain  and  trivial  seem 

The  pleasures  that  I  prized  before  \ 
My  soul,  with  trembling  steps  and  slow, 

Is  struggling  on  through  doubt  and  strife ; 
Oh,  may  it  prove,  as  time  rolls  on, 

The  pathway  to  eternal  life! 
Then,  when  my  cares  and  fears  are  o'er, 
I'll  sing  thee  as  in  "days  of  yore." 


This  was  the  last  poem  she  ever  wrote. 


GEORGE  IT.  BOKER. 


745 


I  said  that  Hope  had  pass'd  from  earth, — 
'Twas  but  to  fold  her  wings  in  heaven, 

To  whisper  of  the  soul's  new  birth, 
Of  sinners  saved  and  sins  forgiven : 

When  mine  are  wash'd  in  tears  away, 

Then  shall  my  spirit  swell  the  lay. 

When  God  shall  guide  my  soul  above 
By  the  soft  chords  of  heavenly  love, — 
When  the  vain  cares  of  earth  depart, 
And  tuneful  voices  swell  my  heart, 
Then  shall  each  word,  each  note  I  raise, 
Burst  forth  in  pealing  hymns  of  praise ; 
And  all  not  offer'd  at  his  shrine, 
Dear  mother,  I  will  place  on  thine. 


GEORGE  H.  BOKER. 


The  following  is  the  dedication  to  "Songs  of  Summer: 


TO  GEORGE  H.  BOKER. 


Not  mine  the  tragic  poet's  art, 
His  empire  of  the  human  heart : 
That  world  is  shut  from  me, 
But  you  possess  the  key. 

I  see  you  in  your  wide  domain, 
Surrounded  by  a  stately  train, 
That  lived  and  died  of  yore : 
But  now  they  die  no  more ! 

The  Moor  Calaynos :  Anne  Boleyn : 
The  Guzman  and  the  cruel  queen ; 
And  that  unhappy  pair 
That  float  in  hell's  murk  air ! 


Anon  your  bitter  Fool  appears, 
Masking  in  mirth  his  cynic  sneers  ; 
We  hear  his  bells,  and  smile, 
But  long  to  weep  the  while. 

A  narrower  range  to  me  belongs, 
A  little  land  of  summer  songs, 
A  realm  of  thought  apart 
From  all  that  wrings  the  heart. 

To  win  you  to  my  small  estate, 
Old  friend,  I  greet  you  at  the  gate, 
And  from  its  fairest  bower 
Bring  you  this  simple  flower. 

Richard  Henry  Stoddard. 


George  Henry  Boker  was  horn  in  the  city  of  Philadelphia  in  1824,  and  was 
graduated  at  Princeton  College  in  1841.  After  travelling  some  time  in  Europe 
for  literary  improvement,  he  returned  home  "  to  devote  a  life  of  opulent  leisure  to 
the  cultivation  of  letters  and  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  liberal  arts  and  of  society." 
In  1847  appeared  his  first  publication,  under  the  title  of  The  Lesson  of  Life,  and 
other  Poems ;  and  the  next  year,  Calaynos,  a  Tragedy,  which  was  well  received. 
The  scene  is  laid  in  Spain,  and  the  plot  is  designed  to  illustrate  the  hostile  feeling 
between  the  Spanish  and  Moorish  races.  His  next  production  was  Anne  Boleyn, 
a  Tragedy,  which  shows  more  maturity  of  thought  than  Calaynos,  and  a  finer  vein 
of  poetical  feeling.  These  were  followed  by  The  Betrothal,  Francesca  da  Rimini, 
and  other  plays.  In  1856  appeared  a  collection  of  his  dramatic  and  miscellaneous 
poems,  in  two  beautiful  volumes,  from  the  press  of  Ticknor  &  Fields.1 


1  "The  glow  of  his  images  is  chastened  by  a  noble  simplicity,  keeping  them 
within  the  line  of  human  sympathy  and  natural  expression.  He  has  followed  the 
masters  of  dramatic  writing  with  rare  judgment.    He  also  excels  many  gifted 


74b 


GEORGE  H.  BOKER. 


ODE  TO  A  MOUNTAIN  OAK. 

Proud  mountain  giant,  whose  majestic  face, 
From  thy  high  watch-tower  on  the  steadfast  rock, 
Looks  calmly  o'er  the  trees  that  throng  thy  base, 
How  long  hast  thou  withstood  the  tempest's  shock 
How  long  hast  thou  look'd  down  on  yonder  vale 

Sleeping  in  sun  before  thee  ; 
Or  bent  thy  ruffled  brow,  to  let  the  gale 

Steer  its  white,  drifting  sails  just  o'er  thee  ? 

Strong  link  'twixt  vanish'd  ages  ! 

Thou  hast  a  sage  and  reverend  look ; 

As  if  life's  struggle,  through  its  varied  stages, 

Were  stamp'd  on  thee,  as  in  a  book. 
Thou  hast  no  voice  to  tell  what  thou  hast  seen, 
Save  a  low  moaning  in  thy  troubled  leaves ; 
And  canst  but  point  thy  scars,  and  shake  thy  head, 
With  solemn  warning,  in  the  sunbeam's  sheen; 
And  show  how  Time  the  mightiest  thing  bereaves, 
By  the  sere  leaves  that  rot  upon  thy  bed. 


poets  of  his  class  in  a  quality  essential  to  an  acted  play, — spirit.  His  language 
also  rises  often  to  the  highest  point  of  energy,  pathos,  and  beauty." — H.  T. 

TuCKEItMAN. 

Mr.  Boker's  Ballad  of  Sir  Jolin  Fran/din  is  a  beautiful  production, — a  happy 
imitation  of  the  ancient  ballad, — but  too  long  for  insertion  here.  It  reminds 
me,  however,  of  the  graceful  "  Ballad  of  the  Tempest,"  by 

JAMES  T.  FIELDS. 

Mr.  Fields  was  born  at  Portsmouth,  New  Hampshire,  in  1820,  and  is  a  partner 
of  the  well-known  publishing-house  of  Ticknor  &  Fields,  Boston, — a  house  that 
never  published  an  inferior  book,  nor  any  book  in  an  inferior  manner.*  Mr. 
Fields  has  won  considerable  reputation  as  a  poet,  by  the  volume  of  his  poetical 
productions  published  in  1849,  and  by  two  volumes  privately  printed  for  friends 
in  1854  and  1858. 

BALLAD  OF  THE  TEMPEST. 

We  were  crowded  in  the  cabin,  As  thus  we  sat  in  darkness, 

Not  a  soul  would  dare  to  sleep, —  Each  one  busy  in  his  prayers, — 

It  was  midnight  on  the  waters,  "We  are  lost!"  the  captain  shouted, 

And  a  storm  was  on  the  deep.  As  he  stagger'd  down  the  stairs. 

'Tis  a  fearful  thing  in  winter  But  his  little  daughter  whisper'd, 

To  be  shatter'd  in  the  blast,  As  she  took  his  icy  hand, 

And  to  hear  the  rattling  trumpet  "Isn't  God  upon  the  ocean, 

Thunder,  "  Cut  away  the  mast !"  Just  the  same  as  on  the  land  ?" 

So  we  shudder'd  there  in  silence, —  Then  we  kiss'd  the  little  maiden, 

For  the  stoutest  held  his  breath,  And  we  spoke  in  better  cheer, 

While  the  hungry  sea  was  roaring,  And  we  anchor'd  safe  in  harbor 

And  the  breakers  talk'd  with  Death.  When  the  morn  was  shining  clear. 


*  Their  recent  "  Household  Edition  of  the  Waverley  Novels" — the  best  published  in  this 
country— is  highly  creditable  to  their  judgment  and  taste. 


GEORGE  H.  BOKER. 


Type  of  long-suffering  power ! 

Even  in  my  gayest  hour 
Thou'dst  still  my  tongue,  and  send  my  spirit  far, 
To  wander  in  a  labyrinth  of  thought ; 
For  thou  hast  waged  with  Time  unceasing  war, 
And  out  of  pain  hast  strength  and  beauty  brought. 
Thou  amidst  storms  and  tempests  hadst  thy  birth, 
Upon  these  bleak  and  scantly-sheltering  rocks, 
Nor  much  save  storm  and  wrath  hast  known  on  earth ; 
Yet  nobly  hast  thou  bode  the  fiercest  shocks 
That  Circumstance  can  pour  on  patient  Worth. 

I  see  thee  springing,  in  the  vernal  time, 
A  sapling  weak,  from  out  the  barren  stone, 
To  dance  with  May  upon  the  mountain-peak; 
Pale  leaves  put  forth  to  greet  the  genial  clime, 
And  roots  shot  down  life's  sustenance  to  seek, 
While  mere  existence  was  a  joy  alone, — 

Oh,  thou  wert  happy  then  ! 
On  Summer's  heat  thy  tinkling  leaflets  fed, 
Each  fibre  toughen'd,  and  a  little  crown 
Of  green  upon  thy  modest  brow  was  spread, 
To  catch  the  rain,  and  shake  it  gently  down 

But  then  came  Autumn,  when 
Thy  dry  and  tatter' d  leaves  fell  dead  ; 

And  sadly  on  the  gale 

Thou  drop'dst  them  one  by  one, — 
Drop'dst  them,  with  a  low,  sad  wail, 

On  the  cold,  unfeeling  stone. 
Next  Winter  seized  thee  in  his  iron  grasp, 

And  shook  thy  bruised  and  straining  form ; 
Or  lock'd  thee  in  his  icicles'  cold  clasp, 
And  piled  upon  thy  head  the  shorn  cloud's  snowy  fleece 
Wert  thou  not  joyful,  in  this  bitter  storm, 
That  the  green  honors,  which  erst  deck'd  thy  head, 
Sage  Autumn's 'slow  decay,  had  mildly  shed? 
Else,  with  their  weight,  they'd  given  thy  ills  increase, 
And  dragg'd  thee  helpless  from  thy  uptorn  bed. 

Year  after  v  ear,  in  kind  or  adverse  fate, 

Thy  branches  stretch'd,  and  thy  young  twigs  put  forth, 

Nor  changed  thy  nature  with  the  season's  date: 

Whether  thou  wrestled'st  with  the  gusty  north, 

Or  beat  the  driving  rain  to  glittering  froth, 

Or  shook  the  snow-storm  from  thy  arms  of  might, 

Or  drank  the  balmy  dews  on  summer's  night ; — 

Laughing  in  sunshine,  writhing  in  the  storm, 

Yet  wert  thou  still  the  same  ! 
Summer  spread  forth  thy  towering  form, 
And  Winter  strengthen'd  thy  great  frame. 

Achieving  thy  destiny 

On  went'st  thou  sturdily, 
Shaking  thy  green  flags  in  triumph  and  jubilee  ! 

From  thy  secure  and  sheltering  branch 

The  wild  bird  pours  her  glad  and  fearless  lay, 


GEORGE  H.  BOKER. 


That,  with  the  sunbeams,  falls  upon  the  vale, 
Adding  fresh  brightness  to  the  smile  of  day. 
'Neath  those  broad  boughs  the  youth  has  told  love's  tale 
And  thou  hast  seen  his  hardy  features  blanch, 
Heard  his  snared  heart  beat  like  a  prison'd  bird, 
Fluttering  with  fear,  before  the  fowler  laid ; 
While  his  bold  figure  shook  at  every  word, — 
The  strong  man  trembling  at  a  timid  maid ! 
And  thou  hast  smiled  upon  their  children's  play ; 
Seen  them  grow  old,  and  gray,  and  pass  away. 
Heard  the  low  prattle  of  the  thoughtless  child, 
Age's  cold  wisdom,  and  the  lessons  mild 
Which  patient  mothers  to  their  offspring  say ; — 
Yet  art  thou  still  the  same  ! 

Man  may  decay ; 
Race  after  race  may  pass  away  ; 
The  great  may  perish,  and  their  very  fame 

Rot  day  by  day, — 
Rot  noteless  with  their  once  inspired  clay : 

Still,  as  at  their  birth, 
Thou  stretchest  thy  long  arms  above  the  earth, — ■ 

Type  of  unbending  Will ! 
Type  of  majestic,  self-sustaining  Power! 
Elate  in  sunshine,  firm  when  tempests  lower, 
May  thy  calm  strength  my  wavering  spirit  fill ! 

Oh,  let  me  learn  from  thee, 

Thou  proud  and  steadfast  tree, 
To  bear  unmurmuring  what  stern  Time  may  send  ; 
Nor  'neath  life's  ruthless  tempests  bend : 

But  calmly  stand  like  thee, 

Though  wrath  and  storm  shake  me, 
Though  vernal  hopes  in  yellow  Autumn  end, 
And,  strong  in  Truth,  work  out  my  destiny. 
Type  of  long-suffering  Power ! 

Type  of  unbending  Will ! 
Strong  in  the  tempest's  hour, 

Bright  when  the  storm  is  still; 
Rising  from  every  contest  with  an  unbroken  heart, 
Strengthen'd  by  every  struggle,  emblem  of  might  thou  art 
Sign  of  what  man  can  compass,  spite  of  an  adverse  state, 
Still,  from  thv  rocky  summit,  teach  us  to  war  with  Fate ! 


TO  ENGLAND. 
I. 

Lear  and  Cordelia !  'twas  an  ancient  tale 

Before  thy  Shakspeare  gave  it  deathless  fame : 
The  times  have  changed,  the  moral  is  the  same 

So  like  an  outcast,  dowerless,  and  pale, 

Thy  daughter  went ;  and  in  a  foreign  gale 

Spread  her  young  banner,  till  its  sway  became 
A  wonder  to  the  nations.    Days  of  shame 

Are  close  upon  thee:  prophets  raise  their  wail. 


GEORGE  II.  BOKER. 


When  the  rude  Cossack  with  an  outstretch'd  hand 
Points  his  long  spear  across  the  narrow  sea, — 
"Lo!  there  is  England  !"  when  thy  destiny 
Storms  on  thy  straw-crown'd  head,  and  thou  dost  stand 
Weak,  helpless,  mad,  a  by-word  in  the  land, — 
God  grant  thy  daughter  a  Cordelia  be ! 

1852. 

ii. 

Stand,  thou  great  bulwark  of  man's  liberty ! 

Thou  rock  of  shelter,  rising  from  the  wave, 

Sole  refuge  to  the  overwearied  brave 
Who  plann'd,  arose,  and  battled  to  be  free, 
Fell  undeterr'd,  then  sadly  turn'd  to  thee ; — 

Saved  the  free  spirit  from  their  country's  grave, 

To  rise  again,  and  animate  the  slave, 
When  God  shall  ripen  all  things.    Britons,  ye 
Who  guard  the  sacred  outpost,  not  in  vain 

Hold  your  proud  peril !    Freemen  undefiled, 

Keep  watch  and  ward !    Let  battlements  be  piled 
Around  your  cliffs  ;  fleets  marshall'd,  till  the  main 
Sink  under  them ;  and  if  your  courage  wane, 

Through  force  or  fraud,  look  westward  to  your  child ! 

1853. 

in. 

At  length  the  tempest  from  the  North  has  burst, 

The  threaten'd  storm,  by  sages  seen  of  old; 

And  into  jarring  anarchy  is  rolFd 
Harmonious  peace,  so  long  and  fondly  nursed 
By  watchful  nations.    Tyranny  accursed 

Has  broken  bounds, — the  wolf  makes  towards  the  fold. 

Up !  ere  your  priceless  liberties  be  sold 
Into  degrading  slavery  !    The  worst 
That  can  befall  you  is  the  brunt  of  war, 

Dealt  on  a  shield  that  oft  has  felt  the  weight 

Of  foeman's  blows. — Up  !  ere  it  be  too  late ! 
For  God  has  squandered  all  his  precious  store 
Of  right  and  mercy,  if  the  time's  so  sore 

That  slaves  can  bring  you  to  their  own  base  state. 

1854. 

IV. 

Far  from  the  Baltic  to  the  Euxine's  strand, 

Peals  the  vast  clamor  of  commencing  war ; 

And  we,  0  England,  on  another  shore, 
Like  brothers  bound,  with  wistful  faces  stand, — 
With  shouts  of  cheer,  with  wavings  of  the  hand, — 

With  eager  throbbings  of  the  heart,  to  pour 

Our  warlike  files  amid  the  battle's  war, 
And  nerve  the  terrors  of  thy  lifted  brand. 
Old  wrongs  have  vanish'd  in  thy  evil  hours ; 

The  blood  that  fell  between  us,  in  the  fight, 

Has  dried  away  before  a  heavenly  light. 
We'll  strew  thy  paths  of  victory  with  flowers, 
Weep  o'er  thy  woes,  and  cry,  with  all  our  powers, 

Thy  cause  is  God's,  because  thy  cause  is  right! 

63*  1854. 


750 


SARA  JANE  LIPPINCOTT. 


SARA  JANE  LIPPINCOTT. 

This  gifted  writer,  who  has  won  such  an  enviable  reputation  around  the  hearth- 
stones of  this  country,  under  the  name  of  "Grace  Greenwood,"  was  born  in 
Pompey,  Onondaga  County,  New  York.  Her  maiden  name  was  Sara  Jane 
Clarke,  which  was  changed  by  her  marriage  with  Mr.  Leander  K.  Lippincott,  of 
Philadelphia,  in  October,  1853;  but  the  appellation  by  which  she  will  be  best 
known  in  American  literature  will  be  that  under  which  she  made  her  first  appear- 
ance as  an  author, — "  Grace  Greenwood." 

While  she  was  a  school-girl,  her  parents  removed  to  Rochester,  where  she  en- 
joyed the  excellent  educational  advantages  of  that  place.  In  1843,  she  removed 
with  her  parents  to  New  Brighton,  Pennsylvania,  where  she  resided  until  her 
marriage.  Soon  after  her  removal  thither,  she  appeared  as  an  authoress,  under 
the  signature  of  "  Grace  Greemvood,"  in  the  columns  of  the  "New  York  Mirror," 
then  under  the  editorial  care  of  George  P.  Morris  and  N.  P.  Willis.  Among  her 
poetical  pieces  which  attracted  most  admiration  were  Ariadne,  The  Horseback 
Ride,  and  Pygmalion.  These  were  succeeded  by  various  prose  compositions,  some 
of  which  appeared  in  "The  National  Era,"  published  in  Washington.  In  con- 
nection with  her  other  literary  labors,  she  was  the  editor  of  "  The  Lady's  Book" 
for  a  year.1  Her  first  volume,  entitled  Greenwood  Leaves,  was  published  in  1850. 
In  1851,  she  published  a  volume  of  Poems,  and  an  admirable  juvenile  story-book, 
called  History  of  my  Pets.  A  second  scries  of  Greenwood  Leaves  was  issued  the 
following  year:  and  also  another  juvenile  work,  called  Recollections  of  my  Child- 
hood. In  the  spring  of  1852,  she  visited  Europe,  and  spent  fifteen  months  in 
England  and  on  the  Continent.  Soon  after  her  return,  she  published  a  record 
of  her  travels,  entitled  Haps  and  Mishaps  of  a  Tour  in  Europe.  In  October, 
1853,  she  entered  upon  the  editorship  of  "The  Little  Pilgrim,"  a  monthly  maga- 
zine for  children,  published  in  Philadelphia  by  Mr.  Leander  K.  Lippincott,  to 
whom  about  this  time  she  was  married.  In  the  fall  of  1855,  she  published  Merrie 
England,  the  first  of  a  series  of  books  of  foreign  travel  for  children.  In  the  spring 
of  1856,  a  volume,  entitled  A  Forest  Tragedy,  and  other  Tales,  appeared;  and  in 
the  fall  of  1857,  Stories  and  Legends  of  History  and  Travel,  being  the  second  of 
the  series  mentioned  above. 

It  will  thus  be  seen  that  Mrs.  Lippincott's  life  is  any  thing  but  an  idle  one; 
and  we  rejoice  that  she  is  thus  keeping  her  talent  bright  by  use,  charming  all  her 
readers,  both  old  and  young,  by  her  fine  thoughts,  expressed  in  a  style  of  great 
ease,  simplicity,  and  beauty. 

THE  HORSEBACK  RIDE. 

When  troubled  in  spirit,  when  weary  of  life, 
When  I  faint  'neath  its  burdens,  and  shrink  from  its  strife, 
When  its  fruits,  turn'd  to  ashes,  are  mocking  my  taste, 
And  its  fairest  scene  seems  but  a  desolate  waste, 


1  Sep  some  account  of  this  in  a  note  on  page  427. 


SARA  JANE  LIPPINCOTT. 


751 


Then  come  ye  not  near  me,  my  sad  heart  to  cheer, 
With  friendship's  soft  accents,  or  sympathy's  tear. 
No  pity  I  ask,  and  no  counsel  I  need, 
But  bring  me,  oh,  bring  me  my  gallant  young  steed, 
With  his  high  arched  neck,  and  his  nostril  spread  wide, 
His  eye  full  of  fire,  and  his  step  full  of  pride ! 
As  I  spring  to  his  back,  as  I  seize  the  strong  rein, 
The  strength  to  my  spirit  returneth  again ! 
The  bonds  are  all  broken  that  fetter'd  my  mind, 
And  my  cares  borne  away  on  the  wings  of  the  wind ; 
My  pride  lifts  its  head,  for  a  season  bow'd  down. 
And  the  queen  in  my  nature  now  puts  on  her  crown ! 

Now  we're  off — like  the  winds  to  the  plains  whence  they  came  ; 
And  the  rapture  of  motion  is  thrilling  my  frame ! 
On,  on  speeds  my  courser,  scarce  printing  the  sod, 
Scarce  crushing  a  daisy  to  mark  where  he  trod ! 
On,  on  like  a  deer,  when  the  hound's  early  bay 
Awakes  the  wild  echoes,  away,  and  away ! 
Still  faster,  still  farther,  he  leaps  at  my  cheer, 
Till  the  rush  of  the  startled  air  whirrs  in  my  ear ! 
Now  'long  a  clear  rivulet  lieth  his  track, — 
See  his  glancing  hoofs  tossing  the  white  pebbles  back ! 
Now  a  glen,  dark  as  midnight — what  matter  ? — we'll  down, 
Though  shadows  are  round  us,  and  rocks  o'er  us  frown ; 
The  thick  branches  shake,  as  we're  hurrying  through, 
And  deck  us  with  spangles  of  silvery  dew ! 

What  a  wild  thought  of  triumph,  that  this  girlish  hand 
Such  a  steed  in  the  might  of  his  strength  may  command! 
What  a  glorious  creature  !    Ah  !  glance  at  him  now, 
As  I  check  him  a  while  on  this  green  hillock's  brow ; 
How  he  tosses  his  mane,  with  a  shrill,  joyous  neigh, 
And  paws  the  firm  earth  in  his  proud,  stately  play ! 
Hurrah!  off"  again,  dashing  on  as  in  ire, 
Till  the  long,  flinty  pathway  is  flashing  with  fire  ! 
Ho  !  a  ditch  ! — Shall  we  pause  ?    No ;  the  bold  leap  we  dare, 
Like  a  swift-winged  arrow  we  rush  through  the  air ! 
Oh,  not  all  the  pleasures  that  poets  may  praise, 
Not  the  wildering  waltz  in  the  ball-room's  blaze, 
Nor  the  chivalrous  joust,  nor  the  daring  race, 
Nor  the  swift  regatta,  nor  merry  chase, 
Nor  the  sail,  high  heaving  waters  o'er, 
Nor  the  rural  dance  on  the  moonlight  shore, 
Can  the  wild  and  thrilling  joy  exceed 
Of  a  fearless  leap  on  a  fiery  steed  ! 


THE  ARMY  OF  REFORM. 

Yes,  ye  are  few, — and  they  were  few 
Who,  daring  storm  and  sea, 

Once  raised  upon  old  Plymouth  rock 
"The  anthem  of  the  free." 


SARA  JANE  LIPPINCOTT. 


And  they  were  few  at  Lexington, 

To  battle,  or  to  die, — 
That  lightning-flash,  that  thunder-peal, 

That  told  the  storm  was  nigh. 

And  they  were  few,  who  dauntless  stood 

Upon  old  Bunker's  height, 
And  waged  with  Britain's  strength  and  pri< 

The  fierce,  unequal  fight. 

And  they  were  few,  who,  all  unawed 

By  kingly  "  rights  divine," 
The  Declaration,  rebel  scroll, 

Untrembling  dared  to  sign. 

Yes,  ye  are  few,  for  one  proud  glance 

Can  take  in  all  your  band, 
As  now  against  a  countless  host, 

Firm,  true,  and  calm,  ye  stand. 

Unmoved  by  Folly's  idiot  laugh, 
Hate's  curse,  or  Envy's  frown, — 

Wearing  your  rights  as  royal  robes, 
Your  manhood  as  a  crown, — 

With  eyes  whose  gaze,  unveil'd  by  mists, 

Still  rises  clearer,  higher, — 
With  stainless  hands,  and  lips  that  Truth 

Hath  touch'd  with  living  fire, — 

With  one  high  hope,  that  ever  shines 

Before  you  as  a  star, — 
One  prayer  of  faith,  one  fount  of  strength, 

A  glorious  few  ye  are  ! 

Ye  dare  not  fear,  ye  cannot  fail, 

Your  destiny  ye  bind 
To  that  sublime,  eternal  law 

That  rules  the  march  of  mind. 

See  yon  bold  eagle  toward  the  sun 

Now  rising  free  and  strong, 
And  see  yon  mighty  river  roll 

Its  sounding  tide  along  : 

Ah !  yet  near  earth  the  eagle  tires, 

Lost  in  the  sea,  the  river; 
But  naught  can  stay  the  human  mind, — 

'Tis  upward,  onward,  ever! 

It  yet  shall  tread  the  starlit  paths, 

By  highest  angels  trod, 
And  pause  but  at  the  farthest  world 

In  the  universe  of  God. 


SARA  JANE  LIPPINCOTT. 


'Tis  said  that  Persia's  baffled  king, 

In  mad,  tyrannic  pride, 
Cast  fetters  on  the  Hellespont, 

To  curb  its  swelling  tide  : 

But  freedom's  own  true  spirit  heaves 

The  bosom  of  the  main  ; 
It  toss'd  those  fetters  to  the  skies, 

And  bounded  on  again  ! 

The  scorn  of  each  succeeding  age 

On  Xerxes'  head  was  hurl'd, 
And  o'er  that  foolish  deed  has  peal'd 

The  long  laugh  of  a  world. 

Thus,  thus,  defeat,  and  scorn,  and  shame, 

Is  his,  who  strives  to  bind 
The  restless,  leaping  waves  of  thought, 

The  free  tide  of  the  mind. 


THE  POET  OF  TO-DAY. 

What  siren  joy  from  thy  high  trust  hath  won  thee, 

0  Poet  of  to-day  ? — thou  still  unheard, 
Though  struggling  nations  cast  their  eyes  upon  thee, 

And  the  roused  world  is  waiting  for  thy  word ! 

Why  lingerest  thou  amid  the  summer  places, 
The  gardens  of  romance,  the  haunt  of  dreams, 

'Mid  verdurous  shadows,  lit  by  fairy  faces, 
And  fitful  playing  of  soft,  golden  gleams  ? 

Arouse !  look  up,  to  where  above  thee  tower 
Regions  of  being  grander,  freer,  higher, 

Where  God  reveals  his  presence  and  his  power, 
E'en  as  of  old,  in  thunders  and  in  fire. 

Ah,  when  the  soul  of  ancient  song  was  blending 
With  the  rapt  bard's  in  his  immortal  strains, 

'Twas  like  the  wine  drunk  on  Olympus,  sending 
Divine  intoxication  through  the  veins. 

It  brought  strange,  charmed  words,  and  magic  singing, 
And  forms  of  beauty  burning  on  the  sight, — 

Young  loves  their  flight  through  airs  ambrosial  winging 
And  dark-brow'd  heroes  arming  for  the  fight, — 

The  trumpet's  "golden  cry,"  the  shield's  quick  flashing 
The  dance  of  banners  and  the  rush  of  war. — 

Death-showers  of  arrows  and  the  spear's  sharp  clashing 
The  homeward  rolling  of  the  victor's  car! 

But,  ah  !  in  all  that  song's  heroic  story, 

Had  sad  Humanity  one  briefest  part  ? 
Sounds  through  the  clang  of  words,  the  storm,  the  glory 

One  sharp,  strong  cry  from  out  her  bleeding  heart  ? 


■ 


EDITH  MAY. 


And  at  her  feet  a  lion  and  a  lamb 
Couch'd,  side  by  side.    Irresolute  spring  hath  gone 
And  summer  comes  like  Psyche,  zephyr-borne 
To  her  sweet  land  of  pleasures. 

She  is  here  ! 
Amid  the  distant  vales  she  tarried  long, 
But  she  hath  come,  oh  joy  ! — for  I  have  heard 
Her  many-chorded  harp  the  livelong  day 
Sounding  from  plains  and  meadows,  where,  of  late, 
Rattled  the  hail's  sharp  arrows,  and  where  came 
The  wild  north  wind  careering  like  a  steed 
Unconscious  of  the  rein.    She  hath  gone  forth 
Into  the  forest,  and  its  poised  leaves 
Are  platform'd  for  the  zephyr's  dancing  feet. 
Under  its  green  pavilions  she  hath  rear'd 
Most  beautiful  things  ;  the  spring's  pale  orphans  lie 
Shelter'd  upon  her  breast ;  the  bird's  loud  song 
At  morn  out  soars  his  pinion,  and  when  waves 
Put  on  night's  silver  harness,  the  still  air 
Is  musical  with  soft  tones.    She  hath  baptized 
Earth  with  her  joyful  weeping.    She  hath  bless'd 
All  that  do  rest  beneath  the  wing  of  Heaven, 
And  all  that  hail  its  smile.    Her  ministry 
Is  typical  of  love.    She  hath  disdain'd 
No  gentle  office,  but  doth  bend  to  twine 
The  grape's  light  tendrils  and  to  pluck  apart 
The  heart-leaves  of  the  rose.    She  doth  not  pass 
Unmindful  the  bruised  vine,  nor  scorn  to  lift 
The  trodden  weed ;  and  when  her  lowlier  children 
Faint  by  the  wayside  like  worn  passengers, 
She  is  a  gentle  mother,  all  night  long 
Bathing  their  pale  brows  with  her  healing  dews. 
The  hours  are  spendthrifts  of  her  wealth  ;  the  days 
Are  dower'd  Avith  her  beauty. 


THE  COLORING  OF  HAPPINESS. 

My  heart  is  full  of  prayer  and  praise  to-day, 
So  beautiful  the  whole  world  seems  to  me ! 
I  know  the  morn  has  dawn'd  as  is  its  wont, 
I  know  the  breeze  comes  on  no  lighter  wing, 
I  know  the  brook  chimed  yesterday  that  same 
Melodious  call  to  my  unanswering  thought  ; 
But  I  look  forth  with  new-created  eyes, 
And  soul  and  sense  seem  link'd  and  thrill  alike, 
And  things  familiar  have  unusual  grown, 
Taking  my  spirit  with  a  fair  surprise! 
But  yesterday,  and  life  seemed  tented  round 
With  idle  sadness.    Not  a  bird  sang  out 
But  with  a  mournful  meaning;  not  a  cloud — 
And  there  were  many — but  in  flitting  past 
Trail'd  somewhat  of  its  darkness  o'er  my  heart, 
And  loitering,  half  becalm'd,  unfreighted  all, 
Went  by  the  Heaven-bound  hours. 


756 


EDITH  MAY. 


But,  oh!  to-day 
Lie  all  harmonious  and  lovely  things 
Close  to  my  spirit,  and  a  while  it  seems 
As  if  the  blue  sky  were  enough  of  Heaven ! 
My  thoughts  are  like  tense  chords  that  give  their  music 
At  a  chance  breath ;  a  thousand  delicate  hands 
Are  harping  on  my  soul !  no  sight,  no  sound, 
But  stirs  me  to  the  keenest  sense  of  pleasure, — 
Be  it  no  more  than  the  wind's  cautious  tread, 
The  swaying  of  a  shadow,  or  a  bough, 
Or  a  dove's  flight  across  the  silent  sky. 

Oh,  in  this  sunbright  sabbath  of  the  heart, 

How  many  a  prayer  puts  on  the  guise  of  thought, 

An  angel  unconfess'd !    Its  rapid  feet, 

That  leave  no  print  on  memory's  sands,  tread  not 

Less  surely  their  bright  path  than  choral  hymns 

And  litanies.    I  know  the  praise  of  worlds, 

And  the  soul's  unvoiced  homage,  both  arise 

Distinctly  to  His  ear  who  holds  all  nature 

Pavilion'd  by  His  presence ;  who  has  fashion'd 

With  an  impartial  care,  alike  the  star 

That  keeps  unpiloted  its  airy  circle, 

And  the  sun-quicken'd  germ,  or  the  poor  moss 

The  building  swallow  plucks  to  line  her  nest. 

A  POET'S  LOVE. 

The  stag  leaps  free  in  the  forest's  heart, 

But  thy  step  is  lighter,  my  love,  my  bride  ! 
Light  as  the  quick-footed  breezes  that  part 

The  plumy  ferns  on  the  mountain's  side  ; 
Swift  as  the  zephyrs  that  come  and  pass 
O'er  the  waveless  lake  and  the  billowy  grass. 
I  hear  thy  voice  where  the  white  wave  gleams, 
In  the  one-toned  bells  of  the  rippled  streams, 
In  the  silvery  boughs  of  the  aspen-tree, 

In  the  wind  that  stirreth  the  shadowy  pine, 
In  the  shell  that  moans  for  the  distant  sea, 

Never  was  voice  so  sweet  as  thine  ! 
Never  a  sound  through  the  even  dim 
Came  half  so  soft  as  thy  vesper  hymn. 

I  have  follow'd  fast,  from  the  lark's  low  nest, 

Thy  breezy  step  to  the  mountain  crest. 

The  livelong  day  I  have  wander'd  on, 

Till  the  stars  were  up,  and  the  twilight  gone, 

Ever  unwearied  where  thou  hast  roved, 

Fairest,  and  purest,  and  best-beloved  ! 

I  have  felt  thy  kiss  in  the  leafy  aisle, 

And  thy  breath  astir  in  my  floating  hair ; 
I  have  met  the  light  of  thy  haunting  smile 

In  the  deep  still  woods,  and  the  sunny  air ; 
For  thou  lookest  down  from  the  bending  skies, 
And  the  earth  is  glad  with  thy  laughing  eyes. 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 


757 


When  my  heart  is  sad,  and  my  pulse  beats  low, 
Whose  touch  so  light  on  my  aching  brow  ? 
Who  cometh  in  dreams  to  my  midnight  sleep  ? 

Who  bendeth  over  my  noonday  rest  ? 
Who  singeth  me  songs  in  the  forest  deep, 

Laying  my  head  to  her  gentle  breast? 
When  life  grows  dim  to  my  weary  eye, 
When  joy  departeth,  and  sorrow  is  nigh, 
Who,  'neath  the  track  of  the  stars,  save  thee, 
Speaketh  or  singeth  of  hope  to  me  ? 

There  comes  a  time  when  the  morn  shall  rise, 

Yet  charm  no  smile  to  thy  filmed  eyes. 

There  comes  a  time  when  thou  liest  low 

With  the  roses  dead  on  thy  frozen  brow, 

With  a  pall  hung  over  thy  tranced  rest, 

And  the  pulse  asleep  in  thy  silent  breast. 

There  shall  come  a  dirge  through  the  valleys  drear, 

And  a  white-robed  priest  to  thine  icy  bier. 

His  lips  are  cold,  but  his  dim  eyes  weep, 

And  he  maketh  thy  gi-ave  where  the  snow  falls  deep 

Woe  is  me,  when  I  watch  and  pray 

For  the  lightest  sound  of  thy  coming  foot, 
For  the  softest  note  of  thy  summer  lay, 

For  the  faintest  chord  of  thy  vine-strung  lute ! 
Woe  is  me,  when  the  storms  sweep  by 
And  the  mocking  winds  are  my  sole  reply  ! 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

This  brilliant  and  fascinating  writer,  and  graceful  and  eloquent  orator,  is  the 
son  of  George  Curtis,  of  Providence,  Rhode  Island,  and  was  born  in  that  city  in 
1824.  At  six  years  of  age,  he  was  placed  at  a  school  near  Boston,  and  after 
being  there  five  years,  he  returned  to  Providence,  where  he  pursued  his  studies 
till  he  was  fifteen,  when  his  father  removed  to  New  York.  Here  he  entered  a 
large  mercantile  house;  but,  after  remaining  in  it  a  year,  he  returned  to  his 
studies  for  two  years,  when,  at  eighteen,  he  joined  the  celebrated  Association  at 
Brook  Farm,  West  Roxbury,  Massachusetts.  Here  he  remained  a  year  and  a  half, 
and  then,  after  spending  the  winter  in  New  York,  being  still  enamored  of  the 
country,  he  went  to  Concord,  Massachusetts,  and  lived  in  a  farmer's  family, 
working  hard  a  portion  of  every  day  upon  the  farm,  enjoying  the  society  of 
Emerson,  Hawthorne,  and  others  of  kindred  literary  tastes,  and  perfecting 
himself  in  various  literary  accomplishments. 

In  1846,  Mr.  Curtis  sailed  for  Europe,  and  after  visiting,  with  a  scholar's  eye, 
all  the  Southern  countries,  went  to  Berlin,  to  pursue  his  studies,  and,  in  184S, 
matriculated  at  the  University.  After  this,  he  travelled  through  Italy  again, 
visited  Sicily,  Malta,  and  the  East,  and  returned  home  in  the  summer  of  1850. 
In  the  autumn  of  that  year,  he  published  the  Nile  Xotcs  of  a  Howndji,  a  great 
part  of  which  was  written  on  the  Nile.    In  1852,  The  Hoicadji  in  Syria  appeared, 

64 


758 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 


and  also  Lotus-Fating,  a  Summer  Hook;  and  the  same  year  be  became  connected 
with  "  Putnam's  Magazine,"  and  wrote  that  series  of  brilliant  satiric  sketches 
of  society  called  The  Potiphar  Papers,  which  were  afterwards  collected  and 
published  in  a  volume. 

In  the  winter  of  1853,  Mr.  Curtis  entered  the  field  as  a  lecturer,  and  was 
invited  to  lecture  in  different  parts  of  the  country.  His  success  was  all  that  his 
most  ardent  friends  could  desire;  for,  to  a  most  graceful  and  finished  style,  a 
pure  taste,  and  a  fine  fancy,  he  adds  a  gracefulness  of  delivery  that  gives  to  all 
his  public  efforts  a  charm  that  captivates  his  audience.  In  1854,  he  delivered 
a  poem  before  a  literary  society  at  Brown  University,  Providence,  Rhode  Island. 
In  1856,  he  took  a  very  active  part  in  the  "  Fremont  campaign,"  speaking  con- 
stantly, through  the  summer,  with  great  effect.  Those  who  had  the  good  for- 
tune to  hear  any  of  these  addresses  will  not  soon  forget  them,  uniting  as  they 
did  the  soundest  argument  to  a  chaste  and  brilliant  oratory.  In  August  of 
that  year,  he  delivered  an  oration  before  the  literary  societies  of  Wesleyan 
University,  Middletown,  Connecticut,  on  The  Duty  of  the  American  Scholar  to 
Politics  and  the  Times. 

In  the  spring  of  1856,  Mr.  Curtis  did  what  it  is  never  wise  for  a  scholar  to 
do, — risked  all  his  means  in  mercantile  business.  In  November  of  the  same 
year,  he  was  married  to  the  daughter  of  Francis  G.  Shaw,  eldest  son  of  the 
late  Robert  G.  Shaw,  of  Boston.  In  the  spring  of  1857,  the  house  with  which 
he  was  connected  became  embarrassed,  and  he  was  obliged  to  take  an  active  part 
in  the  management  of  its  affairs.  But  it  was  too  late  :  the  ship  was  too  leaky ; 
and  in  August,  just  at  the  beginning  of  the  crisis,  she  went  down  with  all  on 
board.    He  lost  his  all ;  but,  like  Milton,  he 

"  did  not  bate 
One  jot  of  heart  or  hope," 

but  is  now  nobly  recovering  himself  with  his  pen  and  living  voice. 

JERUSALEM  OR  ROME  ? 

To  any  young  man,  or  to  any  man  in  whose  mind  the  glow  of 
poetic  feeling  has  not  yet  died  into  "the  light  of  common  day/'  the 
first  view  of  a  famous  city  is  one  of  the  memorable  epochs  of  life. 
Even  if  you  go  directly  from  common-place  New  York  to  com- 
mon-sense London,  you  will  awake  in  the  night  with  a  hushed 
feeling  of  awe  at  being  in  Shakspeare's  city,  and  Milton's,  and 
Cromwell's.  More  agreeable  to  your  mood  is  the  heavy  moulding 
of  the  banqueting-room  of  Whitehall  than  the  crystal  splendors 
of  the  palace  in  the  park.  Because  over  the  former  the  dusk  of 
historical  distance  is  already  stealing,  removing  it  into  the  roman- 
tic and  ideal  realm. 

But  more  profound,  because  farther  removed  from  the  criticism 
of  contemporary  experience,  is  the  interest  of  the  Italian  cities. 
They  represent  characteristic  epochs  of  human  history.  Home, 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 


759 


Florence,  Venice,  are  not  names  merely,  but  ideas.  They  were 
the  capitals  of  power  that  in  various  ways  and  degrees  ruled  the 
world. 

Deeper  still  is  the  feeling  that  hallows  the  cities  beyond  Italy, 
— for  beyond  Italy  are.  Athens  and  Jerusalem. 

Rome,  Athens,  and  Jerusalem, — the  physical,  the  intellectual, 
and  the  moral,  do  we  long  doubt  which  is  the  greatest  ? 

The  Art  of  Greece  is  still  supreme.  The  Empire  of  Rome  has 
never  been  rivalled.  But  the  spirit  which  has  inspired  Art  with 
a  sentiment  profoundcr  than  the  Greek, — the  Faith  which  has 
held  sway  subtler  and  more  universal  than  the  Roman, — are  they 
not  the  spirit  and  the  faith  that  make  Jerusalem,  El  Khuds,  or 
the  holy,  because  they  were  best  illustrated  and  taught  by  a  life 
whose  influence  commenced  there  ? 

More  cognate  to  ready  sympathy,  more  appealing  to  the  sensu- 
ous imagination,  is  the  pomp  of  Imperial  Rome,  as,  with  camp-fires 
burning  from  the  Baltic  to  the  Euxine,  and  from  farthest  Eu- 
phrates to  the  Pillars  of  Hercules,  its  gorgeous  confusion  of  bar- 
baric splendor  and  Grecian  elegance  gleams  athwart  the  past. 

Fascinated  by  that  splendor,  as  by  auroral  fires  streaming 
through  the  sky, —  recognising  the  forms  of  its  law,  its  society, 
and  its  speech  inherent  in  his  own, — marking  over  all  historic 
lands  and  submerged  in  African  solitudes  the  foot-prints  of  its 
triumphant  march,  the  young  student,  revering  in  Rome  the 
might  of  his  own  human  genius,  going  out  to  possess  the  earth, 
reaches  the  gates  of  its  metropolis  with  an  ardor  that  merges  in 
romance. 

Hence  were  hurled  the  thunderbolts  that  shook  the  world,  and 
whose  vibrations  tremble  yet.  Hither  comes  the  poet,  the  philo- 
sopher, the  statesman,  the  scholar  •  and  in  no  city  of  the  world 
was  there  ever  assembled  so  much  human  genius  in  every  kind, 
and  in  every  time,  as  in  Rome. 

Yet  against  the  claims  of  its  superb  Italian  rival,  what  has  the 
Syrian  city  to  show  ? 

Not  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  j  for  Hadrian  was  more  magni- 
ficent, if  less  wise.  Nor  the  visible  career  of  the  Jews,  whose 
empire  was  greatest  under  Solomon,  but  was  then  only  a  part  of  a 
later  Roman  province.  Jerusalem  does  not  rival  Rome  with  the 
imperial  pomp  of  its  recollections,  nor  by  its  artistic  achievements, 
— for  its  only  notable  remains  are  part  of  the  foundation  of  Solo- 
mon's Temple,  while  the  most  imposing  ruins  of  Syria  are  the 
Roman  relics  of  Palmyra  and  Baalbec.  Nay,  Rome  came  from 
Italy,  and,  scattering  the  Jews,  destroyed  Jerusalem. 

To  the  myriads  of  men  who  throng  whole  centuries  of  history, 
— as  Xerxes'  army  the  plains  of  Greece, — headed  by  the  eagle 
and  asserting  Rome,  Jerusalem  opposes  a  single  figure,  bearing  a 


760 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 


palm-branch,  and  riding  upon  an  ass  into  the  golden  gate  of  the 
city.  That  palm  is  the  magic  wand  which  shall  wave  the  dis- 
cordant world  into  harmony  j  that  golden  gate  is  the  symbol  of  the 
way  which  only  he  can  enter  who  knows  the  magic  of  the  palm. 
That  single  figure  is  the  most  eminent  in  history.  The  highest 
hope  of  Art  is  to  reveal  his  beauty, — the  sublimest  strains  of  Lite- 
rature are  the  prophecies  and  records  of  his  career, — the  struggle 
of  Society  is  to  plant  itself  upon  the  truth  he  taught. 

In  the  vision  of  the  Past,  as  upon  an  infinite  battle-field,  that 
single  figure  meets  the  might  of  Borne,  and  the  skill  of  Greece, 
and  the  wit  of  Egypt,  and  the  flame  of  their  glory  is  paled  before 
his  glance.  He  rode  in  at  the  golden  gate,  and  was  crucified 
between  thieves.  But  it  is  the  victim  which  consecrates  the  city. 
In  vain  the  heroism  of  the  Republic  and  the  purple  splendor  of 
the  Emperor  would  distract  imagination  and  give  a  deeper  charm 
to  Rome.  The  cold  auroral  fires  stream  anew  to  the  zenith,  as  we 
sit  in  the  starlight  at  the  tent-door.  But  a  planet  burns  through 
them  brighter  than  they ;  and  we  no  longer  discuss  which  city  we 
approach  with  the  profoundest  interest. 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR.1 

Do  you  ask  me  our  duty  as  scholars  ?  Gentlemen,  thought, 
which  the  scholar  represents,  is  life  and  liberty.  There  is  no 
intellectual  or  moral  life  without  liberty.  Therefore,  as  a  man 
must  breathe  and  see  before  he  can  study,  the  scholar  must  have 
liberty,  first  of  all;  and  as  the  American  scholar  is  a  man  and  has 
a  voice  in  his  own  government,  so  his  interest  in  political  affairs 
must  precede  all  others.  He  must  build  his  house  before  he  can 
live  in  it.  He  must  be  a  perpetual  inspiration  of  freedom  in 
politics.  He  must  recognise  that  the  intelligent  exercise  of  poli- 
tical rights,  which  is  a  privilege  in  a  monarchy,  is  a  duty  in  a 
republic.  If  it  clash  with  his  ease,  his  retirement,  his  taste, 
his  study,  let  it  clash,  but  let  him  do  his  duty.  The  course 
of  events  is  iucessant,  and  when  the  good  deed  is  slighted,  the 
bad  deed  is  done. 

Scholars,  you  would  like  to  loiter  in  the  pleasant  paths  of  study. 
Every  man  loves  his  ease, — loves  to  please  his  taste.  But  into 
how  many  homes  along  this  lovely  valley  came  the  news  of  Lex- 
ington and  Bunker  Hill,  eighty  years  ago,  and  young  men  like  us, 
studious,  fond  of  leisure,  young  lovers,  young  husbands,  young 
brothers,  and  sons,  knew  that  they  must  forsake  the  wooded  hill- 


1  From  an  oration  delivered  on  Tuesday,  August  5,  1S5G,  before  the  Literary- 
Societies  of  Wesleyan  University,  Middletown,  Connecticut. 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 


701 


side,  the  river-meadows,  golden  with  harvest,  the  twilight  walk 
along  the  river,  the  summer  Sunday  in  the  old  church,  parents, 
wife,  child,  mistress,  and  go  away  to  uncertain  war.  Putnam 
heard  the  call  at  his  plough,  and  turned  to  go,  without  waiting. 
Wooster  heard  it,  and  obeyed. 

Not  less  lovely  in  those  days  was  this  peaceful  valley,  not  less 
soft  this  summer  air.  Life  was  dear,  and  love  as  beautiful,  to 
those  young  men  as  it  is  to  us,  who  stand  upon  their  graves.  But, 
because  they  were  so  dear  and  beautiful,  «those  men  went  out, 
bravely  to  fight  for  them  and  fall.  Through  these  very  streets 
they  marched,  who  never  returned.  They  fell,  and  were  buried; 
but  they  can  never  die.  Not  sweeter  are  the  flowers  that  make 
your  valley  fair,  not  greener  are  the  pines  that  give  your  river  its 
name,  than  the  memory  of  the  brave  men  who  died  for  freedom. 
A.nd  yet  no  victim  of  those  days,  sleeping  under  the  green  sod 
of  Connecticut,  is  more  truly  a  martyr  of  Liberty  than  every 
murdered  man  whose  bones  lie  bleaching  in  this  summer  sun  upon 
the  silent  plains  of  Kansas. 

Gentlemen,  while  we  read  history,  we  make  history.  Because 
our  fathers  fought  in  this  great  cause,  we  must  not  hope  to  escape 
fighting.  Because,  two  thousand  years  ago,  Leonidas  stood 
against  Xerxes,  we  must  not  suppose  that  Xerxes  was  slain,  nor, 
thank  God,  that  Leonidas  is  not  immortal.  Every  great  crisis  of 
human  history  is  a  pass  of  Thermopylae,  and  there  is  always  a 
Leonidas  and  his  three  hundred  to  die  in  it,  if  they  cannot  con- 
quer. And  so  long  as  Liberty  has  one  martyr,  so  long  as  one 
drop  of  blood  is  poured  out  for  her,  so  long  from  that  single  drop 
of  bloody  sweat  of  the  agony  of  humanity  shall  spring  hosts  as 
countless  as  the  forest-leaves,  and  mighty  as  the  sea. 

Brothers  !  the  call  has  come  to  us.  I  bring  it  to  you  in  these 
calm  retreats.  I  summon  you  to  the  great  fight  of  Freedom. 
I  call  upon  you  to  say,  with  your  voices,  whenever  the  occasion 
offers,  and  with  your  votes,  when  the  day  comes,  that  upon 
these  fertile  fields  of  Kansas,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  continent, 
the  upas-tree  of  slavery,  dripping  death-dews  upon  national 
prosperity  and  upon  free  labor,  shall  never  be  planted.  I  call 
upon  you  to  plant  there  the  palm  of  peace,  the  vine  and  the 
olive  of  a  Christian  civilization.  I  call  upon  you  to  determine 
whether  this  great  experiment  of  human  freedom,  which  has 
been  the  scorn  of  despotism,  shall,  by  its  failure,  be  also  our 
sin  and  shame.  I  call  upon  you  to  defend  the  hope  of  the 
world. 

The  voices  of  our  brothers  who  are  bleeding,  no  less  than  of  our 
fathers  who  bled,  summon  us  to  this  battle.  Shall  the  children 
of  unborn  generations,  clustering  over  that  vast  Western  empire, 
rise  up  and  call  us  blessed,  or  cursed  ?    Here  are  our  Marathon 

64* 


762 


RICHARD  H.  STODDARD. 


and  Lexington ;  here  are  our  heroic  fields.  The  hearts  of  all 
good  men  beat  with  us.  The  fight  is  fierce — the  issue  is  with 
God.    But  God  is  good. 


RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARD. 

Richard  Henry  Stoddard  was  born  in  Hingham,  Massachusetts,  on  the  2d 
of  July,  1825.  His  father,  who  was  a  sea-captain,  sailed  for  Gottenburg  when 
our  author  was  about  a  year  old,  and  the  vessel  was  never  after  heard  of.  In 
1835,  his  mother,  who  had  married  again,  removed  to  New  York,  where  he  has 
resided  ever  since.  When  he  was  old  enough  to  do  any  thing  for  himself,  he 
went  into  a  lawyer's  office  and  copied  law-papers ;  but,  not  liking  this,  he  after- 
wards went  into  an  iron-foundry,  where  he  worked  six  years  in  learning  the  trade 
of  an  iron-moulder.  Here  he  began  to  write  verses,  and,  soon  after  the  "  Union 
Magazine"  (afterwards  Sartain's)  was  started,  he  became,  in  1847,  a  contributor 
to  it.  He  now  commenced  his  literary  career,  publishing,  in  1848,  a  small  volume 
of  poetry,  entitled  Footprints,  and  writing  for  various  magazines, — the  "  Knicker- 
bocker," "Putnam's  Monthly,"  "  Graham's,"  and  the  "International."  In  the 
fall  of  1851,  a  second  volume  was  brought  out  by  Ticknor  &  Fields,  entitled 
simply  Poems,  which  consisted  of  his  contributions  to  the  above-mentioned 
magazines.  About  this  time  he  was  appointed  to  a  situation  in  the  New  York 
Custom-House,  and  in  the  next  year  (1852)  he  gave  to  the  public  a  volume 
of  very  sweet  poetic  prose,  entitled  Adventures  in  Fairy-Land,  and  in  the  autumn 
of  the  same  year  he  was  married  to  Miss  Elizabeth  D.  Barston,  of  Mattapoi- 
sett,  Plymouth  County,  Massachusetts,  herself  a  poetess  of  very  decided  merit. 
In  1856  appeared  Songs  of  Summer,1  in  which  are  some  short  pieces  of  exquisite 
beauty. 

Mr.  Stoddard  is  still  in  the  Custom-House  in  New  York, — a  location,  one 
would  think,  not  very  near  Parnassus;  yet  he  continues  to  devote  his  leisure 
moments  to  poetry  and  general  literature, —  with  what  success  the  following 
beautiful  pieces  show. 

HYMN  TO  THE  BEAUTIFUL. 

My  heart  is  full  of  tenderness  and  tears, 

And  tears  are  in  mine  eyes,  I  know  not  why  ; 
With  all  my  grief,  content  to  live  for  years, 

Or  even  this  hour  to  die. 
My  youth  is  gone,  but  that  I  heed  not  now ; 

My  love  is  dead,  or  worse  than  dead  can  be ; 
My  friends  drop  off  like  blossoms  from  a  bough, 
But  nothing  troubles  me, 


1  See  his  Dedication  to  Songs  of  Summer,  under  George  H.  Boker,  p.  745. 


RICHARD  H.  STODDARD. 


Only  the  golden  flush  of  sunset  lies 
Within  my  heart  like  fire,  like  dew  within  my  eyes  ! 

Spirit  of  Beauty  !  whatsoe'er  thou  art, 
I  see  thy  skirts  afar,  and  feel  thy  power; 
It  is  thy  presence  fills  this  charmed  hour 
And  fills  my  charmed  heart ; 
Nor  mine  alone,  but  myriads  feel  thee  now, 
That  know  not  what  they  feel,  nor  why  they  bow : 
Thou  canst  not  be  forgot, 
For  all  men  worship  thee,  and  know  i£  not  ; 
Nor  men  alone,  but  babes  with  wondrous  eyes, 
New-comers  on  the  earth,  and  strangers  from  the  skies  ! 

We  hold  the  keys  of  heaven  within  our  hands, 
The  gift  and  heirloom  of  a  former  state, 
And  lie  in  infancy  at  heaven's  gate, 
Transfigured  in  the  light  that  streams  along  the  lands 
Around  our  pillows  golden  ladders  rise, 
And  up  and  down  the  skies, 
With  winged  sandals  shod, 
The  angels  come  and  go,  the  messengers  of  God ! 
Nor  do  they,  fading  from  us,  e'er  depart, — 
It  is  the  childish  heart ; 
We  walk  as  heretofore, 
Adown  their  shining  ranks,  but  see  them  never  more  ! 
Not  heaven  is  gone,  but  we  are  blind  with  tears, 
Groping  our  way  along  the  downward  slope  of  years  ! 

From  earliest  infancy  my  heart  was  thine ; 
With  childish  feet  I  trod  thy  temple-aisles  ; 
Not  knowing  tears,  I  worshipp'd  thee  with  smiles, 
Or  if  I  ever  wept,  it  was  with  joy  divine  ! 
By  day  and  night,  on  land,  and  sea,  and  air, — 

I  saw  thee  everywhere  ! 
A  voice  of  greeting  from  the  wind  was  sent ; 

The  mists  enfolded  me  with  soft  white  arms  ; 
The  birds  did  sing  to  lap  me  in  content, 
The  rivers  wove  their  charms, 
And  every  little  daisy  in  the  grass 
Did  look  up  in  my  face,  and  smile  to  see  me  pass  ! 

Not  long  can  Nature  satisfy  the  mind, 

Nor  outward  fancies  feed  its  inner  flame; 

We  feel  a  growing  want  we  cannot  name, 
And  long  for  something  sweet,  but  undefined  ; 
The  wants  of  Beauty  other  wants  create, 
Which  overflow  on  others  soon  or  late  ; 
For  all  that  worship  thee  must  ease  the  heart, 

By  Love,  or  Song,  or  Art : 
Divinest  Melancholy  walks  with  thee, 

Her  thin  white  cheek  forever  lean'd  on  thine ; 
And  Music  leads  her  sister  Poesy, 

In  exultation  shouting  songs  divine  ! 
But  on  thy  breast  Love  lies, — immortal  child  !  — 
Begot  of  thine  own  longings  deep  and  wild : 


RICHARD  H.  STODDARD. 


The  more  we  worship  him,  the  more  we  grow 
Into  thy  perfect  image  here  below, 
For  here  below,  as  in  the  spheres  above, 
All  Love  is  Beauty,  and  all  Beauty,  Love  ! 

Not  from  the  things  around  us  do  we  draw 

Thy  light  within ;  within  the  light  is  born  ; 

The  growing  rays  of  some  forgotten  morn, 
And  added  canons  of  eternal  law. 
The  painter's  picture,  the  rapt  poet's  song, 

The  sculpture's  statue,  never  saw  the  Day  ; 

Not  shaped  and  moulded  after  aught  of  clay, 
Whose  crowning  work  still  does  its  spirit  wrong ; 
Hue  after  hue  divinest  pictures  groAV, 

Line  after  line  immortal  songs  arise, 
And  limb  by  limb,  out-starting  stern  and  slow, 

The  statue  wakes  with  wonder  in  its  eyes  ! 
And  in  the  master's  mind 
Sound  after  sound  is  born,  and  dies  like  wind, 
That  echoes  through  a  range  of  ocean-caves, 
And  straight  is  gone  to  weave  its  spell  upon  the  waves  1 
The  mystery  is  thine, 
For  thine  the  more  mysterious  human  heart, 
The  Temple  of  all  wisdom,  Beauty's  shrine, 
The  oracle  of  Art! 

Earth  is  thine  outer  court,  and  Life  a  breath  ; 
Why  should  we  fear  to  die,  and  leave  the  earth  ? 
Not  thine  alone  the  lesser  key  of  Birth, — 
But  all  the  keys  of  Death ; 
And  all  the  worlds,  with  all  that  they  contain 

Of  Life,  and  Death,  and  Time,  are  thine  alone ; 
The  universe  is  girdled  with  a  chain, 

And  hung  below  the  throne 
Where  Thou  dost  sit,  the  universe  to  bless, — 
Thou  sovereign  smile  of  God,  eternal  loveliness  ! 


THE  TWO  BRIDES. 

I  saw  two  maidens  at  the  kirk, 
And  both  were  fair  and  sweet ; 

One  in  her  wedding-robe, 

And  one  in  her  winding-sheet. 

The  choristers  sang  the  hymn, 
The  sacred  rites  were  read, 

And  one  for  life  to  Life 

And  one  to  Death  was  wed. 

They  were  borne  to  their  bridal  beds, 
In  loveliness  and  bloom, — 

One  in  a  merry  castle, 
The  other  a  solemn  tomb. 


BAYARD  TAYLOR. 


765 


One  on  the  morrow  woke 
In  a  world  of  sin  and  pain ; 

But  the  other  was  happier  far, 
And  never  woke  again  ! 


BIRDS. 

Birds  are  singing  round  my  window, 
Tunes  the  sweetest  ever  heard, 

And  I  hang  my  cage  there  daily, 
But  I  never  catch  a  bird. 

So  with  thoughts  my  brain  is  peopled, 
And  they  sing  there  all  day  long ; 

But  they  will  not  fold  their  pinions 
In  the  little  cage  of  song  ! 


THE  SKY. 

The  sky  is  a  drinking-cup,  We  drink  that  wine  all  day, 

That  was  overturn'd  of  old,  Till  the  last  drop  is  drain'd  up, 

And  it  pours  in  the  eyes  of  men  And  are  lighted  off  to  bed 

Its  wine  of  airy  gold  !  By  the  jewels  in  the  cup  ! 


THE  SEA. 

[the  lover.] 

You  stoop'd  and  pick'd  a  wreathed  sheik 

Beside  the  shining  sea  : 
"  This  little  shell,  when  I  am  gone, 

Will  whisper  still  of  me." 
I  kiss'd  your  hands,  upon  the  sands, 

For  you  were  kind  to  me  ! 

I  hold  the  shell  against  my  ear, 

And  hear  its  hollow  roar  : 
It  speaks  to  me  about  the  sea, 

But  speaks  of  you  no  more. 
I  pace  the  sands,  and  wring  my  hands, 

For  you  are  kind  no  more  ! 


BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

Bayard  Taylor,  whose  ancestors  emigrated  with  William  Penn,  was  born  in 
Kennet  Square,  Chester  County,  Pennsylvania,  on  the  11th  of  January,  1825. 
At  the  age  of  seventeen,  he  became  an  apprentice  in  a  printing-office  at  West 
Chester,  devoting  his  leisure  time  assiduously  to  the  study  of  Latin  and  French, 
and  writing  poetry  for  the  "  New  York  Mirror"  and  for  "  Graham's  Magazine." 
These  effusions  were  collected  and  published  in  1S44,  in  a  volume  called  Ximencu 


766 


BAYARD  TAYLOR. 


With  the  proceeds  of  this,  and  some  advances  made  to  him  by  the  proprietors  of 
two  or  three  leading  journals  in  consideration  of  letters  to  be  furnished,  he  com- 
menced that  year  a  series  of  travels  which,  continued  up  to  the  present  time,  has 
made  him  the  greatest  traveller,  for  his  years,  that  ever  lived.  Having  passed 
two  years  in  Great  Britain,  Germanjr,  France,  Switzerland,  and  Italy,  he  returned 
home,  and  published  an  account  of  his  travels,  under  the  title  of  Views  Afoot, 
which  was  very  favorably  received.  He  settled  in  New  York,  and  in  1848  be- 
came connected  with  the  "  Tribune"  as  a  permanent  contributor,  and,  shortly 
after,  published  Rhymes  of  Travel.  In  1849,  he  visited  California,  and  returned 
by  way  of  Mexico,  giving  an  account  of  his  travels  in  the  "Tribune,"  of  which  he 
had  now  become  an  associate  editor. 

In  1851,  he  set  out  upon  his  Eastern  tour,  by  the  way  of  England,  Germany, 
and  Italy,  and  reached  Cairo  in  November.  Thence  he  went  to  Central  Africa, 
and,  after  penetrating  to  the  negro  kingdoms  of  the  Whjte  Nile,  returned  to  Cairo 
by  April.  Thence  he  went  north  through  Palestine  and  Asia  Minor  to  Constan- 
tinople, and,  after  visiting  some  of  the  islands  of  the  Mediterranean,  returned  to 
England  through  Germany.  In  October,  1852,  he  started  from  England,  by  the 
overland  route,  for  Bombay,  and,  after  a  tour  of  more  than  two  thousand  miles  in 
the  interior  of  India,  reached  Calcutta  on  the  22d  of  February.  Thence  he  em- 
barked for  Hong-Kong;  and  when  Commodore  Perry's  squadron  arrived  at 
Shanghai,  he  entered  the  naval  service  in  order  to  accompany  it  to  the  Loo-Choo 
and  the  Japan  Islands,  which  he  explored ;  then  returned  to  Canton,  and  thence 
took  passage  for  New  York,  where  he  arrived  in  December,  1853,  having  been 
absent  two  years  and  travelled  more  than  fifty  thousand  miles.  His  graphic  and 
entertaining  history  of  this  great  journey  is  given  in  three  works, — A  Journey  to 
Central  Africa;  The  Lands  of  the  Saracen;  and  India,  China,  and  Japan.  In 
July,  1S56,  he  started  on  a  fourth  journey,  during  which  he  visited  Sweden,  Lap- 
land, Norway,  Dalmatia,  Greece,  Crete,  and  Russia.  In  November,  1S57,  he  pub- 
lished Northern  Travel  in  London  and  New  York  simultaneously,  and  returned 
home  in  October,  1858. 1 


THE  BISON-TRACK. 

Strike  the  tent!  the  sun  has  risen;  not  a  cloud  has  ribb'd  the  dawn, 
And  the  frosted  prairie  brightens  to  the  westward,  far  and  wan: 
Prime  afresh  the  trusty  rifle, — sharpen  well  the  hunting-spear, — 
For  the  frozen  sod  is  trembling,  and  a  noise  of  hoofs  I  hear ! 

Fiercely  stamp  the  tether'd  horses,  as  they  snuff  the  morning's  fire, 
And  their  flashing  heads  are  tossing,  Avith  a  neigh  of  keen  desire; 
Strike  the  tent, — the  saddles  wait  us !  let  the  bridle-reins  be  slack, 
For  the  prairie's  distant  thunder  has  betray'd  the  bison's  track! 

See  !  a  dusky  line  approaches ;  hark !  the  onward-surging  roar, 
Like  the  din  of  wintry  breakers  on  a  sounding  wall  of  shore ! 


1  In  1854,  his  Poems  of  the  Orient,  and  in  1855,  his  Poems  of  Home  and  Travel, 
were  published  by  Ticknor  &  Fields. 


BAYARD  TAYLOR. 


7G7 


Dust  and  sand  behind  them  whirling,  snort  the  foremost  of  the  van, 
And  the  stubborn  horns  are  striking  through  the  crowded  caravan. 

Now  the  storm  is  down  upon  us, — let  the  madden'd  horses  go! 
We  shall  ride  the  living  whirlwind,  though  a  hundred  leagues  it  blow ! 
Though  the  surgy  manes  should  thicken,  and  the  red  eyes'  angry  glare 
Lighten  round  us  as  we  gallop  through  the  sand  and  rushing  air ! 

Myriad  hoofs  will  scar  the  prairie,  in  our  wild,  resistless  race, 
And  a  sound,  like  mighty  waters,  thunder  down  the  desert  space : 
Yet  the  rein  may  not  be  tighten'd,  nor  the  rider's  eye  look  back, — 
Death  to  him  whose  speed  should  slacken,  on  the  madden'd  bison's  track ! 

Now  the  trampling  herds  are  threaded,  and  the  chase  is  close  and  warm 
For  the  giant  bull  that  gallops  in  the  edges  of  the  storm : 
Hurl  your  lassoes  swift  and  fearless,  swing  your  rifles  as  we  run ! 
Ha !  the  dust  is  red  behind  him :  shout,  my  brothers,  he  is  won ! 

Look  not  on  him  as  he  staggers, — 'tis  the  last  shot  he  will  need  ; 
More  shall  fall,  among  his  fellows,  ere  we  run  the  bold  stampede, — 
Ere  we  stem  the  swarthy  breakers, — while  the  wolves,  a  hungry  pack, 
Howl  around  each  grim-eyed  carcass,  on  the  bloody  bison-track ! 

LIFE  ON  THE  NILE. 

 "  The  life  thou  seek'st 

Thou'lt  find  beside  the  eternal  Nile." — Moore's  Alciphron. 

The  Nile  is  the  Paradise  of  travel.  I  thought  I  had  already 
fathomed  all  the  depths  of  enjoyment  which  the  traveller's  rest- 
less life  could  reach, — enjoyment  more  varied  and  exciting,  but 
far  less  serene  and  enduring,  than  that  of  a  quiet  home ;  but  here 
I  have  reached  a  fountain  too  pure  and  powerful  to  be  exhausted. 
I  never  before  experienced  such  a  thorough  deliverance  from  all 
the  petty  annoyances  of  travel  in  other  lands,  such  perfect  con- 
tentment of  spirit,  such  entire  abandonment  to  the  best  influences 
of  nature.  Every  day  opens  with  a  jubilate,  and  closes  with  a 
thanksgiving.  If  such  a  balm  and  blessing  as  this  life  has  been 
to  me,  thus  far,  can  be  felt  twice  in  one's  existence,  there  must  be 
another  Nile  somewhere  in  the  world. 

Other  travellers  undoubtedly  make  other  experiences  and  take 
away  other  impressions.  I  can  even  conceive  circumstances  which 
would  almost  destroy  the  pleasure  of  the  journey.  The  same  ex- 
quisitely-sensitive temperament,  which  in  our  case  has  not  been 
disturbed  by  a  single  untoward  incident,  might  easily  be  kept  in 
a  state  of  constant  derangement  by  an  unsympathetic  companion, 
a  cheating  dragoman,  or  a  fractious  crew.  There  are  also  many 
trifling  desagremcns,  inseparable  from  life  in  Egypt,  which  some 
would  consider  a  source  of  annoyance;  but,  as  we  find  fewer  than 
we  were  prepared  to  meet,  we  are  not  troubled  thereby.  *  *  * 

Our  manner  of  life  is  simple,  and  might  even  be  called  mono- 
tonous; but  we  have  never  found  the  greatest  variety  of  landscape 


768 


BAYARD  TAYLOR. 


and  incident  so  thoroughly  enjoyable.  The  scenery  of  the  Nile, 
thus  far,  scarcely  changes  from  day  to  day,  in  its  forms  and 
colors,  but  only  in  their  disposition  with  regard  to  each  other. 
The  shores  are  either  palm-groves,  fields  of  cane  and  dourra, 
young  wheat,  or  patches  of  bare  sand  blown  out  from  the  desert. 
The  villages  are  all  the  same  agglomerations  of  mud  walls,  the 
tombs  of  the  Moslem  saints  are  the  same  white  ovens,  and  every 
individual  camel  and  buffalo  resembles  its  neighbor  in  picturesque 
ugliness.  The  Arabian  and  Libyan  Mountains,  now  sweeping  so 
far  into  the  foreground  that  their  yellow  cliffs  overhang  the  Nile, 
now  receding  into  the  violet  haze  of  the  horizon,  exhibit  little 
difference  of  height,  hue,  or  geological  formation.  Every  new 
scene  is  the  turn  of  a  kaleidoscope,  in  which  the  same  objects  are 
grouped  in  other  relations,  yet  always  characterized  by  the  most 
perfect  harmony.  These  slight  yet  ever-renewing  changes  are  to 
us  a  source  of  endless  delight.  Either  from  the  pure  atmosphere, 
the  healthy  life  we  lead,  or  the  accordant  tone  of  our  spirits,  we 
find  ourselves  unusually  sensitive  to  all  the  slightest  touches,  the 
most  minute  rays,  of  that  grace  and  harmony  which  bathes  every 
landscape  in  cloudless  sunshine.  The  various  groupings  of  the 
palms,  the  shifting  of  the  blue  evening  shadows  on  the  rose-hued 
mountain-walls,  the  green  of  the  wheat  and  sugar-cane,  the  wind- 
ings of  the  great  river,  the  alternations  of  wind  and  calm, — each 
of  these  is  enough  to  content  us,  and  to  give  every  day  a  different 
charm  from  that  which  went  before.  We  meet  contrary  winds, 
calms,  and  sand-banks,  without  losing  our  patience ;  and  even  our 
excitement  in  the  swiftness  and  grace  with  which  our  vessel  scuds 
before  the  north  wind,  is  mingled  with  a  regret  that  our  journey 
is  drawing  so  much  the  more  swiftly  to  its  close.  A  portion  of 
the  old  Egyptian  repose  seems  to  be  infused  into  our  natures;  and 
lately,  when  I  saw  my  face  in  a  mirror,  I  thought  I  perceived  in 
its  features  something  of  the  patience  and  resignation  of  the 
sphinx.  *  *  * 

My  friend,  the  Howadji,1  in  whose  "  Nile-Notes"  the  Egyptian 
atmosphere  is  so  perfectly  reproduced,  says  that  "  conscience  falls 
asleep  on  the  Nile."  If  by  this  he  means  that  artificial  quality 
which  bigots  and  sectarians  call  conscience,  I  quite  agree  with 
him,  and  do  not  blame  the  Nile  for  its  soporific  powers.  But  that 
simple  faculty  of  the  soul,  native  to  all  men,  which  acts  best  when 
it  acts  unconsciously,  and  leads  our  passions  and  desires  into  right 
paths  without  seeming  to  lead  them,  is  vastly  strengthened  by  this 
quiet  and  healthy  life.  There  is  a  cathedral-like  solemnity  in  the 
air  of  Egypt :  one  feels  the  presence  of  the  altar,  and  is  a  better 
man  without  his  will.    To  those  rendered  misanthropic  by  disap- 


1  George  W.  Curtis. 


BAYARD  TAYLOR. 


769 


pointed  ambition,  mistrustful  by  betrayed  confidence,  despairing 
by  unassuageable  sorrow,  let  me  repeat  the  motto  which  heads 
this  chapter.  Central  Africa. 


VISIT  TO  THE  SHILLOOK  NEGROES. 

We  sailed  nearly  all  night  with  a  steady  north  wind,  which 
towards  morning  became  so  strong  that  the  men  were  obliged  to 
take  in  sail  and  let  us  scud  under  bare  poles.  We  had  passed  the 
frontier  of  Egyptian  Soudan  soon  after  sunset,  and  were  then  deep 
in  the  negro  kingdom  of  the  Shillooks.  The  scenery  had  changed 
considerably  since  the  evening.  The  forests  were  taller  and  more 
dense,  and  the  river  more  thickly  studded  with  islands,  the  soil 
of  which  was  entirely  concealed  by  the  luxuriant  girdle  of  shrubs 
and  water-plants  in  which  they  lay  imbedded. 

All  the  rich  animal  world  of  this  region  was  awake  and  stirring 
before  the  sun.  The  wild  fowls  left  their  roosts;  the  zikzaks 
flew  twittering  over  the  waves,  calling  up  their  mates,  the  sleepy 
crocodiles;  the  herons  stretched  their  wings  against  the  wind; 
the  monkeys  leaped  and  chattered  in  the  woods,  and  at  last  whole 
herds  of  hippopotami,  sporting  near  the  shore,  came  up  spouting 
water  from  their  nostrils,  in  a  manner  precisely  similar  to  the 
grampus.  Soon  after  sunrise,  the  rais  observed  some  Shillooks  in 
the  distance,  who  were  sinking  their  canoes  in  the  river,  after 
which  they  hastily  retreated  into  the  woods.  We  ran  along  beside 
the  embowering  shores,  till  we  reached  the  place.  The  canoes 
were  carefully  concealed,  and  some  pieces  of  drift-wood  thrown 
over  the  spot,  as  if  left  there  by  the  river.  The  rais  climbed  to 
the  mast-head  and  called  to  the  people,  assuring  them  that  there 
was  no  danger ;  but,  though  we  peered  sharply  into  the  thickets, 
we  could  find  no  signs  of  any  human  being.  The  river  here 
turned  to  the  south,  disclosing  other  and  richer  groups  of  islands, 
stretching  beyond  one  another  far  into  the  distance.  Directly 
on  our  left  was  the  northern  point  of  the  island  of  Aba,  our  des- 
tination. As  the  island  is  six  or  eight  miles  in  length,  I  deter- 
mined to  make  the  most  of  my  bargain,  and  so  told  the  rais  that 
he  must  take  me  to  its  farther  end,  and  to  the  villages  of  the 
Shillooks,  whom  I  had  come  to  see.  *  *  * 

At  last,  on  rounding  one  of  the  coves  of  Aba,  we  came  upon  a 
flock  of  sheep,  feeding  along  the  shore.  The  ra'is  finally  descried 
the  huts  of  the  village  at  a  distance,  near  the  extremity  of  the 
island.  We  returned  to  the  vessel,  and  were  about  putting  off  in 
order  to  proceed  thither,  when  a  large  body  of  men,  armed  with 
spears,  appeared  in  the  forest,  coming  towards  us  at  a  quick  pace 
The  rais,  who  had  already  had  some  intercourse  with  these  people 
and  knew  something  of  their  habits,  advanced  alone  to  meet  them. 

65 


770 


BAYARD  TAYLOR. 


1  could  see,  through  the  trees,  that  a  consultation  was  held ;  and 
shortly,  though  with  some  signs  of  doubt  and  hesitation,  about  a 
dozen  of  the  savages  advanced  to  within  a  short  distance  of  the 
vessel,  while  the  others  sat  down  on  the  ground,  still  holding  the 
spears  in  their  hands.  The  rais  now  returned  to  the  water's 
edge,  and  said  that  the  Shillooks  had  come  with  the  intention 
of  lighting,  but  he  had  informed  them  that  this  was  a  visit  from 
the  sultan's  son,  who  came  to  see  them  as  a  friend,  and  would 
then  return  to  his  father's  country.  Thereupon  they  consented 
to  speak  with  me,  and  I  might  venture  to  go  on  shore.  I  landed 
again,  with  Achmet,  and  walked  up  with  the  rais  to  the  spot 
where  the  men  were  seated.  The  shekh  of  the  island,  a  tall, 
handsome  man,  rose  to  greet  me,  by  touching  the  palm  of  his 
right  hand  to  mine  and  then  raising  it  to  his  forehead.  I  made 
a  like  salutation,  after  which  he  sat  down.  The  vizier,  (as  he 
called  himself,)  an  old  man  excessively  black  in  complexion,  then 
advanced,  and  the  other  warriors  in  succession,  till  all  had  saluted 
me  *  *  *  While  these  things  were  transpiring,  a  number  of  other 
Shillooks  had  arrived,  so  that  there  were  now  upwards  of  fifty. 
All  were  armed, — the  most  of  them  with  iron-pointed  spears,  some 
with  clubs,  and  some  with  long  poles  having  knobs  of  hard  wood 
on  the  end.  They  were  all  tall,  strong,  stately  people,  not  more 
than  two  or  three  under  six  feet  in  height,  while  the  most  of  them 
were  three  or  four  inches  over  that  standard.  *  *  * 

The  Shillooks  have  not  the  appearance  of  men  who  are  naturally 
malicious.  The  selfish  impudence  with  which  they  demand  pre- 
sents is  common  to  all  savage  tribes.  But  the  Turks,  and  even  the 
European  merchants  who  take  part  in  the  annual  trading  expe- 
ditions up  the  river,  have  dealt  with  them  in  such  a  shameful 
manner  that  they  are  now  mistrustful  of  all  strangers,  and  hence 
it  is  unsafe  to  venture  among  them.  I  attribute  the  friendly  cha- 
racter of  my  interview  with  them  as  much  to  good  luck  as  to  good 
management.  The  rais  afterwards  informed  me  that  if  the  shekh 
had  not  been  satisfied  with  the  dress  I  gave  him,  he  would  cer- 
tainly have  attempted  to  plunder  the  vessel.  He  stated  that  the 
Shillooks  are  in  the  habit  of  going  down  the  river  as  far  as  the 
country  of  the  Hassaniyehs,  sinking  their  boats  and  concealing 
themselves  in  the  woods  in  the  daytime,  while  by  night  they  ven- 
ture into  the  villages  and  rob  the  people  of  their  dourra,  for  which 
they  have  a  great  fondness.  They  cultivate  nothing  themselves, 
and  their  only  employment  is  the  chase  of  the  elephant,  hippopo- 
tamus, and  other  wild  beasts.  All  the  region  east  of  the  river 
abounds  with  herds  of  elephants  and  giraffes  \  but  I  was  not  for- 
tunate enough  to  get  sight  of  them. 

Here  is  the  true  land  of  the  lotus;  and  the  Shillooks,  if  not  the 
lotojj/iagoi  of  the  Greeks,  are,  with  the  exception  of  the  Chinese, 


BAYARD  TAYLOR. 


771 


the  only  modern  eaters  of  the  plant.  I  was  too  late  to  see  it  in 
blossom,  and  there  were  but  few  specimens  of  it  among  these 
islands ;  but  not  far  beyond  Aba  it  appears  in  great  profusion, 
and  both  the  seeds  and  roots  are  eaten  by  the  natives.  Dr. 
Knoblecher,  who  ate  it  frequently  during  his  voyage,  informed 
me  that  the  root  resembles  the  potato  in  consistence  and  taste, 
with  a  strong  flavor  of  celery.  These  islands  arc  inhabited  only 
by  the  hunters  and  fishers  of  the  tribe,  who  abandon  them  in 
summer,  when  they  are  completely  covered  by  the  inundation. 
At  lat.  12°,  or  about  thirty  miles  south  of  Aba,  both  banks  of  the 
river  are  cultivated,  and  thence,  for  upwards  of  two  hundred 
miles,  the  villages  are  crowded  so  close  to  each  other  all  along  the 
shores,  that  they  almost  form  two  continuous  towns,  fronting  each 
other.  This  part  of  the  White  Nile  is  the  most  thickly  popu- 
lated region  in  Africa,  and  perhaps  in  the  world,  China  alone 
excepted.  The  number  of  the  Shillooks  is  estimated  at  between 
two  and  three  millions,  or  equal  to  the  population  of  all  Egypt. 

Ibid. 

THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.1 

As  we  crossed  the  mouth  of  the  Ulvsfjord2  that  evening,  we 
had  an  open  sea  horizon  toward  the  north,  a  clear  sky,  and  so 
much  sunshine  at  eleven  o'clock  that  it  was  evident  the  Polar  day 
had  dawned  upon  us  at  last.  The  illumination  of  the  shores  was 
unearthly  in  its  glory,  and  the  wonderful  effects  of  the  orange  sun- 
light, playing  upon  the  dark  hues  of  the  island  cliffs,  can  neither 
be  told  nor  painted.    The  sun  hung  low  between  Fugloe,3  rising 


1  Mr.  Taylor  is  now  in  the  province  of  Finnmark,  the  northernmost  province 
of  Norway,  crossed  in  ahout  the  centre  by  lat.  70°  North,  and  long.  22°  East. 

2  Fjord,  or  much  better  Fiord,  (pronounced  Fe-ord.)  is  a  Norwegian  word,  sig- 
nifying "bay  or  estuary,"  and  forms  a  part  of  numerous  names  in  the  North  of 
Europe.  Ulvs-tiord  is  a  bay  to  the  east  of  the  island  of  Tromsoe,  (lat.  70°,  long. 
19°  East.)  which  has  on  its  western  side  a  seaport  also  of  the  same  name. 

3  Fugloe,  or  Fugelb'e,  and  Arnoe,  are  small  islands  to  the  north  of  the  island 
of  Troinsba.  Two  defects  in  most  of  Mr.  Taylor's  books  of  travels  are,  want  of 
sufficient  dates,  that  we  may  know  tchen  he  was  at  the  places  mentioned  ;  and 
of  careful  topography,  that  we  may  know  exactly  irhere  to  locate  him.  And  here 
I  would  speak  in  high  commendation  of  the  Gazetteer,  by  J.  Thomas,  M.D..  and 
T.  Baldwin,  published  by  J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Co.,  Philadelphia,  of  21S2  royal 
octavo  pages.  It  is  an  honor  to  our  country;  aud  I  have  seldom  consulted  it  but 
with  entire  satisfaction. 

I  am  also  here  remindedof  another  valuable  work,  thefirst  volume  of  which  has 
just  been  published  by  Childs  &  Peterson, — A  Critical  Dictionary  of  English 
Literature,  and  British  and  American  Authors,  Living  and  Deceased,  from  the 
Earliest  Accounts  to  the  Middle  of  the  Nineteenth  Century,  containing  Thirty  Thou- 
sand Biographies  and  Literary  Notices,  with  Forty  Indexes  of  Subject*,  by  S.  Austin 
AUibone.  It  is  a  royal  octavo  volume  of  100j  pages,  in  double  columns,  and  a 
marvel  of  industry  and  research  ;  and  when  the  second  volume  is  published,  it  will 
be  altogether  tbe  most  complete  work  of  the  kind  known  in  our  language,  and 
almost  indispensable  in  every  household  where  literature  is  loved  and  cultivated. 


772 


BAYARD  TAYLOR. 


like  a  double  dome  from  the  sea,  and  the  tall  mountains  of  Arnde, 
both  of  which  islands  resembled  immense  masses  of  transparent 
purple  glass,  gradually  melting  into  crimson  fire  at  their  bases. 
The  glassy,  leaden-colored  sea  was  powdered  with  a  golden 
bloom,  and  the  tremendous  precipices  at  the  mouth  of  the  Lyn- 
gen  Fjord,  behind  us,  were  steeped  in  a  dark-red,  mellow  flush, 
and  touched  with  pencilling^  of  pure,  rose-colored  light,  until 
their  naked  ribs  seemed  to  be  clothed  in  imperial  velvet.  As  we 
turned  into  the  Fjord  and  ran  southward  along  their  bases,  a 
waterfall,  struck  by  the  sun,  fell  in  fiery  orange  foam  down  the 
red  walls,  and  the  blue  ice-pillars  of  a  beautiful  glacier  filled  up 
the  ravine  beyond  it.  We  were  all  on  deck  j  and  all  faces,  excited 
by  the  divine  splendor  of  the  scene  and  tinged  by  the  same 
wonderful  aureole,  shone  as  if  transfigured.  In  my  whole  life  I 
have  never  seen  a  spectacle  so  unearthly  beautiful. 

Our  course  brought  the  sun  rapidly  toward  the  ruby  cliffs  of 
Arnoe,  and  it  was  evident  that  he  would  soon  be  hidden  from 
sight.  It  was  not  yet  half-past  eleven,  and  an  enthusiastic 
passenger  begged  the  captain  to  stop  the  vessel  until  midnight. 
"  Why/'  said  the  latter,  "it  is  midnight  now,  or  very  near  it : 
you  have  Drontheim  time,  which  is  almost  forty  minutes  in 
arrears."  True  enough,  the  real  time  lacked  but  five  minutes 
of  midnight,  and  those  of  us  who  had  sharp  eyes  and  strong  ima- 
ginations saw  the  sun  make  his  last  dip  and  rise  a  little,  before  he 
vanished  in  a  blaze  of  glory  behind  Arnoe.  I  turned  away  with 
my  eyes  full  of  dazzling  spheres  of  crimson  and  gold,  which 
danced  before  me  wherever  I  looked;  and  it  was  a  long  time 
before  they  were  blotted  out  by  the  semi-oblivion  of  a  daylight 
sleep. 

Northern  Travel. 


INDEX  TO  SUBJECTS, 


AND  TO 

NAMES  INCIDENTALLY  MENTIONED  IN  THE  VOLUME. 


[For  the  Authors  in  the  "Work,  see  Alpha 

Page  ! 


Abbot,  Dr.  Benjamin,  the  instructor  of 

Webster...  258       Buckminster   283  j 

Sparks        332      E.Everett   394 

Palfrey        447       W.  B.  0.  Peabody  ...  476 

Above  and  Below,  by  J.  B.  Lowell   715 

Active  and  Inactive  Learning   285 

Act  for  Truth,  by  J.  R.  Lowell   717 

Actors,  their  character   47 

Adams,  Charles  Francis   57 

Adams,  John,  Jefferson's  opinion  of.   56 

Adams  and  Liberty   202 

Adams,  Mrs.  John,  letter  of.   56 

Adams,  Phineas,  founder  of  the  Monthly 

Anthology   217 

Adams,  Samuel   55 

Adams,  Rev.  William   523 

Adams,  J.  Q..  character  of,  by  Quiucy  185 

 by  William  Jay   329 

Adversity,  gain  of   342 

Affliction,  blessings  of.   86 

Age  of  Benevolence,  by  Wilcox   374 

Age,  Privileges  of   342 

Agriculture,  Washington  on   54 

Airs  of  Palestine   292 

Album,  verses  for   180 

Alexander,  J.  Addison,  D.D   190 

Alexander,  James  W.,  D.D   190 

 remarks  on  Dr.  Witherspoon   45 

Alhambra  by  Moonlight   279 

Algiers,  White  Slavery  in   117 

Allen,  Ethan,  life  of   333 

Allen,  Paul,  editor  of  Portfolio   157 

Allibone's,  S.  Austin,  Critical  Dictionary 

of  English  Literature  275,  771 

Allston,  W.,  Lines  on  his  Picture   554 

Alnwick  Castle   407 

Alpine  Flowers   340 

Alpine  Sheep   720 

Alps,  description  of,  by  H.  B.  Wallace        7  )3 

65 


betical  List,  ox  the  Twenty-Second  Page.] 

Page 


Alsop,  Eichaid   94 

A  Man's  a  Man,  by  Beecher   685 

America,  Farewell  to   115 

America  to  Great  Britain   231 

American  Almanac   333 

American  Dictionary  of  the  English  Lan- 
guage  140 

American  First  Class  Book   292 

American  Flag   404 

American  Journal  of  Science   233 

American  Liberty,  dangers  of.   131 

American  Literature,  claims  on   346 

  by  Griswold   690 

American  Mechanic   190 

American  Melodies   505 

American  Revolution,  cause  of.   221 

American  Scholar,  duty  of.   760 

Ames,  Seth,  life  of  his  father.   132 

Andre,  Major,  Hamilton's  character  of....  127 

Angels,  Footsteps  of.   563 

Annals  of  the  American  Pulpit   423 

Annoyer,  the,  by  Willis   559 

Anthology,  Monthly,  account  of.   217 

Appeal  to  Young  Men   208 

Application  of  Geological  Evidence   236 

Ardent  Spirits,  Dr.  Rush  upon   79 

 sin  of  trafficking  in...  207,  462 

Armies,  the  Two,  by  Holmes   626 

Arnold,  Benedict,  life  of.   333 

Ariel,  Wreck  of,  by  Cooper   319 

Arsenal  at  Springfield   564 

Art  and  Scenery  in  Europe   702 

Arthur  Clenning,  a  novel,  by  Flint   237 

Arthur  Mervyn, — Brown's   177 

Arthur's  Song   742 

Artist  Life,  by  Tuckerman   675 

Atalantis.  a  Story  of  the  Sea   546 

Athanasion,  by  A.  C.  Coxe   70S 

Athenia  of  Damascus   511 

*  773 


774 


INDEX. 


Page 


Athens,  Liberty  to,  by  Percival   414 

Atlantic  Monthly   713 

Atrocious  Judges   578 

Aunt,  .My,  by  Holmes   123 

Authority  in  a  Household   533 

Austin,  James  T   372 

Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast-Table   623 

Aylmere,  by  K.  T.  Conrad   622 

Backwoodsman,  Paulding's   212 

Bakewell's  Geology.  Silliman's  ed   234 

Bald  Eagle,  Wilson's  description  of.   146 

Baldwin,  T.,  bis  Gazetteer   771 

Baltimore  Convention  In  1852   260 

Bancroft,  George,  on  Franklin   37 

 remarks  on  Prescott   437 

Banks,  Sif  Joseph   98 

Barnes,  Daniel  II   254 

Bartram,  William,  his  garden   144 

Battle,  Evening  after  a   107 

Battle-Field,  by  Bryant   385 

Battle-Field,  not  on  the   297 

Beautiful,  Hymn  to  the,  by  Stoddard   762 

Beauty,  spirit  of.   511 

Belle,  the   91 

Belle  and  Bt-au  of  the  Indian   240 

Bellows,  Henry  W.,  Character  of  Gian- 
ni ng   242 

Benevolence,  by  Allston   232 

Bethune,  Joanna   523 

Bible  as  a  School-Book   82 

Bible,  Dr.  Alexander's  remarks  on   189 

Bible,  its  value,  by  J.  Q.  Adams   155 

Bible  versus  Slavery   463 

Biblical  Repertory   190 

Biblical  Researches,  by  Robinson   391 

Biddle,  E.  C.  &  J   373 

Biddle,  Nicholas,  editor  of  Portfolio   157 

Bigclow  Papers,  by  Lowell   713 

Biuney,  Horace,  remarks  on  Wallace   702 

 Eulogy  on  Marshall   121 

Biography  of  Good  Wives   478 

Birds  of  America,  by  Audubon   254 

Birds,  by  R.  II.  Stoddard   765 

Bison  Track,  by  Bayard  Taylor   766 

Bitter-Sweet,  a  poem  by  Holland   726 

Blair,  John   69 

Blanchard  &  Lea   373 

Blannerhasset   197 

Blindness,  by  II.  W.  Beecher   686 

Blind  Preacher,  who  he  was   193 

Boardman,  Henry  A.,  D.D   190 

Boat  Race  at  Oxford   711 

Body  versus  the  Soul   336 

Bolca,  Mount,  Fossil  Fishes  of.   235 


Page 


Bookbinding,  J.  B.  Nicholson  on   374 

Books,  Channing  on   245 

Books,  remarks  on,  by  Hillard   598 

Borrowing  out  West   534 

Boston  Athenaeum,  history  of.   182,  217 

Boston  in  1S24.  by  Goodrich   372 

Bounties  of  I'rovidence   399 

Bowduin,  James   55 

Bowen,  Francis,  editor  of  the  North  Ame- 
rican Review   218 

Bracebridge  Hall   275 

Brain,  the,  by  Holmes   628 

Braiuerd.  Rev.  David   29 

Brewster,  James   499 

Brides,  the  Two,  by  Stoddard   764 

British  Spy,  by  Wirt   192 

Broken  Household   732 

Brotherhood  of  Man,  by  Washington   52 

Brothers,  the,  by  Sprague   356 

Brown,  C.  B.,  Prescott's  remarks  on   178 

Brown,  Nicholas   430 

Buccaneer,  Dana's   304 

Bucket,  the  Old  Oaken   299 

Bunker  Hill  Monument,  by  Webster   266 

Bunyan  in  his  Cell,  by  Cheever   572 

Buried  Valley,  by  Mellen   474 

Burke's  philanthropy   644 

Burns.  Halleck's  lines  on   410 

Burr,  Rev.  Aaron   30 

Burr,  Aaron,  trial  of,  and  his  character...  124 

Burr  and  Blannerhasset   197 

Butler,  E.  II.  &  Co   373 

Butterfly  on  a  Child's  Grave   339 

Calaynos,  a  Tragedy   745 

Caldwell,  Dr.  Charles,  editor  of  Portfolio...  157 

 on  Ames's  eloquence   131 

Campbell,    Thomas, — Tuckerman's  re- 
marks on   677 

Canaan,  Conquest  of,  by  Dwight   102 

Canada,  Silliman's  travels  in   234 

Capture  of  Fugitive  Slaves,  lines  on,  by 

Lowell   717 

Carey,  Matthew   3C5 

Carey  &  Lea   373 

Carlisle,  David   225 

Carr,  Dabney   192 

Carr,  Dr.  Frank   192 

Cedars  of  Lebanon   393 

Celestial  Railroad,  by  Hawthorne   541 

Cerberus  in  America,  by  II.  W.  Beecher...  685 

Chalmers's  opinion  of  Edwards   30 

Champlain,  Lake,  by  M.  M.  Davidson   743 

Channing,  Edward  T.,  editor  of  North 
American  Review   218 


INDEX. 


775 


Page 

Cheever,  George  B.,  on  Dana's  poems  304,  307 


 on  "Wilcox   374 

Chemistry  of  Prof.  B.  Sillimau,  Jr   234 

Child,  Death  of  My   290 

Children,  by  II.  W.  Beecher   6S3 

Child reu,  what  .are  they  ?   3S3 

Childs  &  Peterson   771 

Chimes  of  England   703 

Chivalry  and  Puritanism   4S7 

Choosing  a  Profession   362 

Christian  Life,  by  II.  W.  Beecher   6S5 

Christian  Man's  Life,  by  II.  W.  Beecher...  CS4 

Christian  Woman,  by  Phcebe  Gary   733 

Christianity  in  History   501 

Christianity  not  of  Man   491 

Christianity  the  Great  Emancipator   247 

Christian's  Magazine   166 

City  of  David,  description  of,  by  Ilillhouse  326 

Claims  of  Literature  on  America   346 

Clara  Howard,  by  C.  B.  Brown   177 

Clark,  Lewis  Gaylord   034 

Classical  Learning,  Judge  Story  on   271 

Classical  Themes  for  Music   293 

Clay,  Henry,  Channiug's  letters  to   242 

Clerical  Oppressors   608 

Cleveland,  Henry  R   595 

Cleveland,  Rev.  Aaron,  his  life  and  works  707 
Cling  to  thy  Mother,  by  G.  W.  Bethune...  527 

Clockwork  of  the  Skies   397 

Closing  Scene,  by  T.  B.  Read   739 

Clovernook,  by  Alice  Cary   730 

Cogswell.  Joseph  G   4S3 

Coleman,  William,  facts  on  Hamilton's 

death   125 

College  Examination,  specimen  of.   60 

Colonization  Society,  Wm.  Jay  on   32S 

Columbiad.  Barlow's   117 

Columbus  Discovering  Land   276 

Columbus,  living's  life  of   275 

Columbus's  Return   437 

Commentaries  on  the  Constitution   271 

Commerce  and  Trade   367 

Common  Sense   196 

Compensations  of  Calamity   513 

"Compromise  Measures''   260 

Conqueror's  Grave   381 

Conscience,  verses  on,  by  Mellen   475 

 ■  its  power,  by  D.  Webster   267 

Consolation,  A.  P.  Peabody's  sermons  on..  C50 

Constitution,  American,  its  excellence   69 

Constitution,  Hamilton  on   126 

Constitution,  its  Anti-Slavery  Character..  71 

Consumption,  lines  on,  by  Percival   410 

Contentment,  by  Mrs.  Sigourney   340 

Continental  Congress   579  j 


Pagb 

Conybearc  and  Uowson's  St.  Paul   571 

Coppee,  Prof.  Henry   374 

Cooper's  works,  list  of   315 

Coral  Insect,  by  Mrs.  Sigourney   341 

Corner-Stone,  by  Jacob  Abbott   516 

Country,  Our,  by  G.  W.  Bethune   524 

Country  Pleasures   44G 

Cowpei  thwait  &  Co   373 

Creole  Letter,  Daniel  Webster's   259 

Crime  Revealed  by  Conscience   267 

Crocker  and  Brewster   373 

Cruse,  Peter  II.,  Life  of  Wirt   191 

Culprit  Fay   401 

Curiosities  of  American  Literature   090 

"Curiosity,"  by  Charles  Sprague   352 

Curtis,  Benjamin  R   372 

Curtis,  Charles  P   372 

Cushing,  Thomas   55 

Cushing,  William   C9 

Cuvier,  by  A.  P.  Peabody   651 

Dana,  Prof.  James  D   234 

Dana,  Richard  Henry,  Jr   229 

Dane,  Nathan,  author  of  the  Ordinance  of 

17S7   73 

 founder  of  a  Law  Professorship.  270 

Dangers  to  our  Republic   272 

Daughter,  Character  of  a  Good   451 

Davenport,  John,  influence  on  New  Haven  499 

Dawes,  Thomas,  anecdote  of.   510 

"Day  in  melting  purple  dying"'   422 

Days  of  my  Youth   101 

Death  of  Sin  and  the  Life  of  Holiness   30S 

Death,  the  Great  Leveller   266 

Death,  Victory  over   526 

Deathbed,  by  James  Aldrich   733 

Decalogue  for  Practical  Life   77 

Deinetria,  by  Ilillhouse   324 

Dermot  McMorrogh,  by  J.  Q.  Adams   156 

Departed,  the,  by  Park  Benjamin   617 

Deserted  Bride   505 

Deserted  Road   740 

Desires,  Moderation  in   S5 

Despotism  in  America   577 

Dexter,  Franklin   372 

Dexter,  Samuel  :   25S 

Dial,  the,  a  periodical   513 

Dickinson,  Rev.  R.  S.  Storrs   523 

Dobson's  Encyclopedia   373 

Doing  Good,  True  Happiness   376 

Don  Quixote,  George  Tickuor  on   349 

Doors,  the.  Front  and  Side   627 

Downing,  Major  Jack   361 

Dream,  a,  by  Prof.  Frisbie   291 

Dred,  by  Mrs.  Stowe   664 


776 


INDEX. 


Page 

Duelling,  Dr.  Dwight's  remarks  on   103 

Duellist  unfit  for  Office   209 

Dulheld,  Rev.  George   459 

Dunglisnn.  Prof.  B   373 

Dutchman.  li  ving's  Portrait  of.   281 

Dwight,  Timothy,  account  of,  by  S.  G. 

Goodrich   103 

 letter  to  Wolcott   1C9 

 Goodrich's  remarks  on   369 

Dying  Counsel  of  Jefferson   77 

Dying  Indian   109 

Dying  Raven,  by  R.  II.  Dana   304 

Eagle,  the,  lines  on,  by  G.  Mellen   475 

Early  Lost,  Early  Saved,  by  G.  \Y.  Beth une  528 

East  and  West  One   210 

East  Hampton,  History  of.   20G 

Eastburn,  James   466 

Edinburgh  Encyclopedia   373 

Educational  Profession,  Dignity  of.   245 

Educational  Profession,  remarks  on   193 

Edwards,  Jonathan,  Griswold's  account 

of  his  eloquence   693 

Edwards,  Timothy   25 

Elect,  the,  views  of,  by  H.  W.  Beecher   686 

Ellery,  William   241 

Elliott,  Samuel  A   331 

Ellsworth,  Chief-Justice   120 

Eloquence,  True  Nature  of.   265 

Embargo  Liberty   184 

Emerson,  William   217 

Emigrants,  the,  by  T.  B.  Head   741 

Employment  Essential  to  Health   86 

Encyclopedia  Americana   373 

Enemy,  Where  is  the   4S2 

England.  Boker's  sonnets  to   74S,  749 

England,  A.  II.  Everett  on   345 

England,  remarks  on,  by  Webster   264 

Engles,  William  M   459 

English  Language,  by  G.  B.  Cheever   575 

Enthusiasm — Sympathy,  by  Tuckerman..  676 
Entrance  into  Philadelphia,  Franklin's....  33 

Epithalamium   456 

Erato,  by  Gallagher   592 

Eva's  Death,  Whittier's  Lines  on   66S 

 described  by  Mrs.  Stowe   604 

Evening,  Ode  to,  by  Sands   468 

Evening  Post,  New  York   378 

Evening  Thoughts,  by  Lucy  Hooper   697 

Evening  Wind,  by  Bryant   384 

Everett,  Alexander  H.,  ed.  N.  Amer.  Rev.  218 
Everett,  Edward,  ed.  N.  Amer.  Review....  21S 
Everett,   Edward,  remarks    on  Buck- 
minster   286 

Every  Man  Great   249 


Page 

Everyday  Christianity,  by  H.  W.  Beecher  684 

Every  one  Makes  his  own  Fortune   199 

Evidences  of  Religion,  by  Yerplanck   250 

Evil,  why  permitted   32 

Excebior,  by  Longfellow   5G7 

Exiles  of  Florida,  by  J.  R.  Giddings...  696,  718 
Expenses  of  War  and  Education   046 

Fable  for  Critics,  by  Lowell   712 

Factions,  Political   138 

Faith— the  Race  for  the  Young   492 

Family  Blood,  a  burlesque  poem   708 

Family  Meeting,  by  Charles  Sprague   357 

Farewell  to  America   115 

Fashion  and  Ruin   208 

Federalist,  writers  of.   99,  124 

Federalists  and  Republicans   204 

Federalists,  who  and  what  they  were   204 

Female  Education,  Dr.  Rush  on   79 

Females,  Influence  of  on  Society   219 

Female  Poets  of  America,  by  Griswold....  C90 

Fenno,  John   543 

Ferdinand  and  Isabella   436 

Filial  Affection   277 

First-Born,  Death  of,  by  W.  G.  Clark   637 

Fisher,  Professor,  Biaincrd's  lines  on   457 

Flag,  American   404 

Flanders's  Life  of  Marshall   121 

Fletcher,  Richard   372 

Flora's  Dictionary,  by  Mrs.  Wirt   192 

Florence  Yane,  by  P.  P.  Cook   694 

Florida  War,  Giddings's  History  of.   696 

Flowers,  by  L.  M.  Child   482 

Footsteps  of  Angels   563 

Fop's  Decline   90 

Foresters,  the,  by  Alexander  Wilson   144 

Fortitude,  Norton's  Hues  on   303 

Fourth  of  July   58,  59 

Fowler's  American  Pulpit   498,  571 

Francis  Berrian,  a  novel,  by  Flint   237 

Francis,  Dr.  J.  W   109 

Franklin's  Entrance  into  Philadelphia....  33 

Free  Blacks,  Franklin's  paper  on   37 

Freedom,  Antiquity  of,  by  Bryant   386 

Freedom.  Barlow's  lines  on   119 

Freedom,  by  J.  R.  Lowell   719 

Freedom,  lines  on,  by  Wilcox   375 

Freedom,  Dr.  Channing's  devotion  to   242 

Freedom  of  the  Will   31 

Free  Schools   272 

Freeman's  Journal   108 

Freneau.  Philip,  bis  attacks  on  Wash- 
ington  109 

Froissart's  Ballads   694 

Frontenac,  by  A.B.  Street   653 


INDEX. 


777 


Page 


Frost,  the,  by  II.  F.  Gould   605 

Fruits  of  the  Spirit,  by  Bethune   524 

Fugitive  Slave  Bill   260 

Fugitive  Slaves,  Capture  of,  by  Lowell   717 

Galaxy,  New  England   225 

Gallery  of  Famous  Poets   374 

Gannett,  Ezra  S   477 

Genet,  the  defamer  of  Washington   73 

Genius  of  Universal  Emancipation   583 

Gentle  Charities  of  Life   464 

Genuineness  of  the  Gospels   300 

Geological  Evidence,  Nature  of.   234 

George  Mason,  a  novel  by  Flint   237 

Gethsemane   406 

Gibbon,  Edward,  on  the  Teacher's  Office...  245 

Giddings,  J.  11.,  his  life  and  works   718 

 Sonnet  to,  by  Lowell   718 

Giles's,  Amos,  Distillery   570 

Oilman,  Samuel,  criticism  on  Percival   414 

Girl's  Book,  by  Mrs.  Child   478 

Giving  versus  Keeping   686 

Glory,  True,  by  Charles  Sumner   647 

God  in  Christ,  by  Bushnell   519 

God's  Forgiveness,  views  of,  by  Beecher...  682 

God's  Goodness  in  Creation   105 

Goddard,  William  G   430 

Godey,  Louis  A   427 

Goffe,  the  Regicide   106 

Good  bye,  Proud  World   515 

Goodrich,  Samuel  G.,  remarks  on  Frank- 
lin's life   35 

 on  Webster   261 

 on  Cooper   316 

 on  Hawthorne  537 

Goodrich's,  Chauncey  A.,  Memoir  of  Noah 

Webster   140 

Gospel,  Consolations  of   189 

Gospel  for  the  Poor   169 

Gospel  Ministry,  the  True   433 

Gospel  of  Liberty  and  Peace   152 

Gospels,  Genuineness  of.   300 

Gotham,  Three  Wise  Men  of.   212 

Gould  &  Lincoln   373 

Government  of  God  desirable   206 

Grace  Greenwood   750 

Graham,  Isabella   523 

Grahame,  James,  memoir  of,  by  Josiah 

Quincy   182 

Granger,  James  N   430 

Grave,  the,  by  Washington  Irving   280 

Greece,  remarks  on,  by  Ames   138 

Greece,  ode  to,  by  Brooks   488 

Greek  Culture,  benefit  of.   571 

Greene,  Gen.,  Hamilton's  character  of.   128 


I'AOK 


Greene,  Geo.  W.'s,  life  of  Gen.  Greene   128 

Greenfield  Hill,  by  Dwight   102 

Greenwood  Leaves   750 

Gieyslaer,  by  Hoffman...   543 

Grigg,  John,  his  enterpr  se   373 

Grindstone,  Franklin's   43 

Griscom,  Professor   85 

Guido,  and  other  poems,  by  Embury   614 

Guizot's  opinion  of  Hamilton   124 

Gurney's  West  Indies,  Changing  on   242 

Guy  Rivers,  by  Simms   546 

Hadad,by  Hillhouse   324 

Hadad's  Description  of  Jerusalem   326 

Hagar  in  the  Wilderness   556 

Hail,  Columbia   170 

Halleck,  Fitz-Greene,  lines  on  Drake   400 

 lines  on  Hillhouse   323 

Hall,  John,  D.D   190 

Hall,  John  E   158 

Hall,  Harrison,  publisher  of  the  Portfolio  157 
Hamilton,  Alex.,  character  of,  by  Ames...  136 

 death  of,  by  Mason   165 

 Mason's  character  of.   168 

 Washington,  Jay,  by  Hildreth...  580 

 character  of,  by  II.  B.  Wallace...  705 

Hamilton,  John  C.  life  of  his  father   125 

Happiness,  the  coloring  of   755 

Happiness  in  Doing  Good..   376 

Happiness,  what  is  essential  to   518 

Harper  &  Brothers   372 

Harper's  Magazine  on  the  Teacher's  Office  254 

Harrison,  Robert   69 

Hartford  Convention,   141 

Harvard  University,  history  of   182 

Harvest  Time,  by  Alice  Cary   731 

Hasty  Pudding   118 

Haven,  Nathaniel  Appleton   349 

Hazlett's  opinion  of  Edwards   30 

Heart's  Song,  by  A.  C.  Coxe   708 

Health,  a  song,  by  Pinkney   504 

Heart  Essential  to  Genius   552 

Heavens  before  the  Dawn   398 

Help  the  Slave,  by  II.  W.  Beecher   C84 

Henry,  Patrick,  Witt's  life  of.   192 

Hercules,  Choice  of,  by  Adams   57 

Heritage,  the,  by  J.  R.  Lowell   713 

Hiawatha,  by  Longfellow   561 

"Higher  law,"  remarks  on,  by  Win,  Jay..  331 

 by  Peabody...  652 

Higginson,  Stephen   218 

Hillard,  G.  S.,  remarks  on  Cooper   316 

 on  Halleck's  poetry   408 

 on  Marshall   121 

Historical  Causes  and  Effects   204 


778 


INDEX. 


Page 

"Hoboniok,"  by  L.  M.  Child   478 

Hodge,  Professor   190 

Holidays  Abroad   532 

Holy  Catholic  Church,  by  Beecher   6S4 

Home   461 

Home,  Sweet  Home   360 

Home,  Love  of,  by  Webster   264 

Home,  the  Light  of.   427 

Home,  Yearnings  for,  by  Miss  Davidson...  744 

Honeysuckle,  the  Wild   Ill 

Hooker,  Rev.  Herman,  D.D   690 

Hooper,  Lucy,  Tuckerman's  lines  on   695 

Hopkins,  Samuel   94 

Horseback  Ride   750 

Hospitality   535 

Hour-Glass,  by  J.  Q.  Adams   156 

House  with  Seven  Gables   537 

How  Cheery  are  the  Mariners   618 

Howadji  in  Syria   757 

Humility,  by  Allston   233 

Humming-Bird,  the   255 

Humphreys,  David   94 

Hunt,  Rev.  James,  the  instructor  of  Wirt  191 

Hunter,  the  Lost,  by  Street   654 

Husband's  First  Gray  Hair   633 

Husband  and  Wife's  Grave   306 

Hutchinson,  Col.,  his  accomplishments....  449 

Hymn,  Dedication,  by  Pierpont   295 

Hyperion   561 

Hypocrites,  by  H.  W.  Beecher   686 

I'm  Growing  Old,  by  Saxe   700 

Ice  Trade,  founder  of   218 

Ichabod,  by  Whittier   609 

Idle  Man,  Dana's   304 

Iliad  and  the  Bible   431 

I  love  thy  Kingdom,  Lord   107 

Immortality,  Dana's  lines  on   307 

Inchiquin's  Letters   103,  211 

Independent,  New  York   571 

Indian  Beau  and  Belle   240 

Indian  Mounds   237 

Indian  Summer,  182S   544 

Individual  Greatnes3   249 

Industry  and  Independence   238 

Industry,  value  of.   465 

Infamous  Judges,  by  Hildreth   578 

Infant,  lines  on  the  death  of  an,  by  Mrs. 

Sigourney   340 

Infant,  lines  on  the  death  of  an,  by  Mrs. 

Peters   115 

Infant  Sleeping  on  its  Mother's  Bosom....  737 

Ingersoll,  Charles  J   211 

"Inklings  of  Adventure"   555 

Innocent,  Guilt  of  Punishing  the   432 


Page 

Intellectual  Improvement     516 

Intemperance,  Dr.  Beecher  upon   207 

Invitation,  the,  by  W.  G.  Clark   636 

Irregular  Action,  Attractiveness  of.   495 

Isabella,  Queen   438 

I  See  Thee  Still,  by  Charles  Sprague   359 

Italy,  lines  on,  by  Pinkney   503 

"  It  Snows,"  by  Mrs.  Hale   428 

I  Think  of  Thee   510 

Jack  and  Gill  criticized   160 

Jackson,  Charles   372 

Japan  as  it  Was  and  Is   578 

Jay,  John   69,  328 

.  Ycrplanck's  Eulogy  on   251 

Jay's  Treaty,  debate  on   132 

Jay,  William,  opinion  of  Webster   260 

Jefferson's  enmity  to  Washington   109 

Jersey  Chronicle   109 

Jerusalem  or  Rome,  by  G.  W.  Curtis   758 

John  Bull  and  Brother  Jonathan   215 

Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel,  upon  Teachers,   283 

Johnson  and  Milton  compared   246 

Jokely,  by  Paulding   211 

Judicial  Tribunals,  by  Sumner   649 

"  Julian,"  by  William  Ware   452 

June,  by  William  II.  Burleigh   C61 

Junkin,  George,  D.D   459 

Justice,  remarks  on,  by  Webster   266 

Juvenile  books,  Mrs.  Sigourney's   337 

Kane,  Judge   571 

Keese,  Johu,  Memoir  of  Lucy  Hooper   696 

Kegs,  Battle  of,  by  Hopkinson   66 

Kennedy's,  John  P.,  various  works   191 

 life  of  William  Wirt   191 

Kindness,  Power  of   196 

King,  Charles   73 

King.  Rufus   73 

Kirkland,  Dr.  J.  T.,  Life  of  Ames   132 

Kirkland,  John  T   218 

Knickerbocker  Magazine   634 

Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York   274 

"  Laborare  est  Orare"   659 

Laborer,  the.  by  Gallagher   593 

Lady's  Book,  the   427 

Lafayette,  his  visit  in  1S24    226 

Language,  Origin  of.   142 

Lawrence,  Amos   152 

Laws,  Limits  to   1S2 

Lawsuit,  Modern  Specimen  of.   T5 

Lay  Preacher,  Dennie's   157 

Lays  of  Love  and  Faith   524 

Learning,  Active  and  Inactive   2S5 


INDEX. 


779 


Page 

Leather  Stocking   457 

Leavitt,  Joshua   151 

Ledyard,  John,  anecdote  of,  by  Sparks   333 

Lee,  Charles,  life  of.   333 

Lee,  Eliza  Buckminster   283 

Lee,  Richard  Henry   55 

Leisure  to  be  Properly  Appreciated   675 

Letters  from  Under  a  Bridge   555 

Letters  on  the  Eastern  States   219 

Letters  to  Young  Men,  by  Beecher   680 

Letters  to  Mothers   337 

Leyden,  Siege  of,  by  Motley   688 

Liberty  and  Union   269 

Liberty  to  Athens   414 

Liberty,  Blessings  of,  by  Ledyard   97 

License  Laws   294 

Life's  Evening,  by  T.  Mackellar   673 

Life,  by  F.  8.  Key   224 

Life  in  the  West   506 

Life  of  Lettered  Ease   621 

Life  Thoughts,  by  H.  W.  Beecher   680 

Life,  what  is  it  ?  by  Alice  Gary   732 

Light  and  Love,  by  Alice  Cary   731 

Light,  by  Dr.  Bushnell   522 

Lindsay  &  Blakiston   373,  771 

Lines  on  a  Picture  by  Allston   554 

Lippincott  &  Co.,  J.  B   373 

Literary  Criticisms,  by  Wallace   702 

Literary  Fame,  by  Longfellow   568 

Literary  Magazine   177 

Little,  Brown  &  Co   373 

Live  to  do  Good,  by  Bethune   528 

Livy  and  Tacitus,  Frisbie  on   289 

Locke,  A.  A   657 

Logic   62 

Look  Aloft,  by  Lawrence   5S2 

Lord,  with  glowing  heart,  &c   224 

Loring,  Edward  G   372 

Lotteries,  Evils  of   227 

Love,  Confiding,  by  Maria  Brooks   421 

Lovejoy,  Owen  P   242 

Lowell,  James  Russell,  lines  on  Channing  241 

 lines  on  Irving   274 

Lundy,  Benjamin   583 

Lyrical  and  other  poems,  by  Siinnis   546 

Mackintosh's  opinion  of  Edwards   30 

McFingal,  a  poem   89 

 character  of   92 

 Dr.  Dwight's  opinion  of.   93 

Madeline,  Burial  of,  by  Poc   041 

Madison,  James,  remarks  on,  by  Hildreth  5S0 

Maiden  and  the  Rattlesnake   547 

Maidenhood,  by  Longfellow   565 

Maiden  sat  at  her  Busy  Wheel   616 


Pagk 

Mammon  of  Unrighteousness   668 

Man  as  Man   249 

Man,  remarks  on,  by  Beecher   685 

Man  the  Subject  of  Social  Science   366 

Man  Thinking   513 

Manual  of  Useful  Studies   140 

Marco  Bozzaris   408 

Margaret  Smith's  Journal   606 

Marquette,  Father,  life  of.   333 

Mariner,  the  Drowned   530 

Marius,  lines  on,  by  Mrs.  Child   479 

Marriage,  by  Maria  Brooks   422 

Married  or  Single   442 

Married  not  Mated   730 

Martyr,  the,  by  Mellen   474 

"  Mary,"  by  II.  T.  Tuckerman   678 

Mason  &  Brother   373 

Mason,  Jeremiah   258 

Mason,  John  M.,  Goodrich's  description  of  166 

 on  Hamilton's  death   125 

Mason.  Erskine,  D.D   523 

Massachusetts,  Webster  on   268 

Maud  Muller,  by  Whittier...   610 

Mayflower,  by  Mrs.  Stowe   663 

Mayflower,  Pilgrims  of.   395 

May  to  April   112 

Mellen,  Catharine  Saltonstall   287 

Mellichampe,  by  Simms   546 

Memory,  by  Willis  G.  Clark   635 

Mercury,  the  American  ;   117 

Metaphysics   60 

Mexican  War,  Jay's  history  of   328 

Midnight  Sun,  Taylor's  description  of   771 

Miles  Standish,  Courtship  of.   561 

Miller's  character  of  Edwards   30 

Milton  and  Johnson  compared   246 

Milton's  lines  on  Peace   6i7 

Milton's  Prayer  of  Patience   701 

Minister's  Wooing   661 

Miracles  and  Work  of  Jesus   650 

Mirth,  Literature  of,  by  Whipple   724 

Missions,  Objects  of,  by  Wayland   430 

Mistake  versus  Blunder   65 

Mitchell"s  Geographies   373 

Mocking-Bird,  by  Pike   631 

 the,  by  Audubon   256 

 Wilde's  lines  on  the   314 

 Wilson's  account  of.   148 

Moderation  in  One's  Desires   85 

"Moina,"  Mrs.  Dinnies'  signatvue   632 

Monarchy,  Aristocracy,  Republic   70 

Money,  Principles  that  Regulate   4S 

Montezuma,  diameter  and  Fate  of.   440 

Moon,  verses  on,  by  G.  W.  Doane   472 

Moore,  Augusta   680 


780 


INDEX. 


Page 

Morals   and  Literature,  reciprocal  in- 


fluence of.    287 

Moral  Taste   290 

Morning  Hymn,  by  S.  J.  Smith   180 

 by  Hoffman   544 

Morning,  by  Maria  Brooks   421 

Morning,  the,  by  Webster   264 

Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse   537 

Mother  and  Son,  by  Dana   309 

Mother  in  the  Snow-Storm   361 

Mother,  lines  to,  by  M.  M.  Davidson   744 

Mother,  L.  M.  Davidson's  lines  to  her   602 

Mother's  Bible   508 

Mother's  Book,  by  Mrs.  Child   478 

Mother's  Love,  by  Albert  Barnes   461 

Mother's  Prayer  in  Illness   658 

Mountain  Oak,  ode  to,  by  Boker   746 

Mountains  and  Sea-Shore   629 

Mount  Auburn,  and  other  Poems   552 

Mun  roe  &  Co.,  James   362 

Murderer's  Creek   212 

Murder  of  the  Soul   578 

Music,  Themes  for,  by  Pierpont   293 

My  Child   296 

My  Life  is  like  the  Summer  Bose   314 

My  Mothers  Bible   50S 

Naples,  Bay  of.   596 

National  Bank,  necessity  of   125 

National  Faith,  obligations  of.   132 

National  Feeling   226 

Nature,  pleasure  in  contemplating   145 

Nature  and  the  Supernatural  519 

Nature,  Hymn  to,  by  Peabody   477 

Nautilus,  the  Chambered   625 

Nebraska  Bill,  remonstrance  against   395 

Negro  Bace,  character  of.   248 

Neutral  Nations,  rights  of   140 

New  England,  by  J.  Quincy   184 

New  England  Magazine   225 

New  England,  Palfrey's  history  of.   447 

New  England's  Mountain-Child   657 

New  England's  Dead   553 

New  Home,  who'll  follow   532 

New  Pastoral,  by  Bead   73S 

Newsboy,  by  Elizabeth  O.  Smith   529 

Newspaper  Literature,  specimens   225 

Newspaper  Press,  Ames  on  the   135 

New  World,  conducted  by  Benjamin   617 

Niagara,  Falls  of,  by  Brainard   456 

Niagara,  Mrs.  Sigourney's  lines  on   33S 

Nicholson,  James  B.,  on  Bookbinding   374 

Night,  Dennie's  remarks  on   158 

Night,  lines  on,  by  Percival   417 

Nile,  Life  on  the,  by  Taylor.   767 


Page 


Nile  Notes,  by  Curtis   757 

Nisbet,  Dr.  Charles,  anecdote  of.   46 

 President  of  Dickinson  College...  79 

North  American  Beview,  account  of.   218 

Northeastern  boundary   259 

Northwood,  by  Mrs.  Hale   427 

Norton,  Andrews,  remarks  on,  by  Buck- 
minster   283 

 on  Frisbie   287 

Notch  of  the  White  Mountains   104 

Notes  from  Plymouth  Pulpit   680 

Notes  on  Virginia,  Jefferson's   72 

North  British  Beview  on  J.  B.  Lowell   713 

"  Oh,  Walk  with  God,"  by  A.  C.  Coxe   710 

Ohio,  Shores  of  the   239 

Oh,  Tell  me  not  of  Lofty  Fate   615 

Old  Age  and  the  Professor   628 

Old  Bachelor,  by  Wirt   192 

"Old  Grimes"   496 

Old  Maid,  the,  by  Mrs.  Welby   736 

Old  Oaken  Bucket   299 

Olmsted,  Prof.  Denison   457 

"  Only  a  Year,"  by  Mrs.  Stowe   671 

Optimist,  the,  by  Tuckerman   675 

Ord's,  George,  Life  of  Wilson   145 

Ordinance  of  1787   73 

Ormond,  by  C.  B.  Brown   172 

Ornithological  Biography   255 

Ornithology,  Wilson's   145 

Osborn,  Prof.  H.  S.,  work  on  Palestine   391 

Osceola,  by  Lucy  Hooper   696 

Osgood,  Frances  Sargent,  lines  on  Mrs. 

Welby   734 

Otis,  H.  G  372 

Otis,  James,  character  of.   220 

Our  Country  in  1920   262 

"Our  Country,  right  or  wrong"   329 

Outcast,  and  other  Poems   369 

Oxford  Boat-Bace   711 

Paine,  Thos.,  the  defamer  of  Washington..  73 

Palestine,  by  Whittier   607 

Palestine,  Past  and  Present,  by  H.  S.  Os- 
born  391 

Palfrey,  John  Gorham,  ed.  N.  Amer.  Bev.  218 

Palmyra,  Fall  of   453 

Palmyra  in  its  Glory   452 

Panther,  Perilous  Encounter  with   175 

Paradise  Begained   647 

Parental  Indulgence,  by  Beecher   682 

Parker,  B.  E   192 

Parley's  Miscellanies   369 

Parsons.  Thcophilus   372 


Parting,  the,  by  E.  M.  Chandler   584 


INDEX. 


781 


Page 

Passing  Under  the  Rod,  by  Mrs.  Dana   586 

Past  Meridian   337 

Past,  Present,  and  Future   365 

Past,  the,  by  Bryant   382 

Patch,  Samuel,  Monody  on   4G8 

Patient  Continuance  in  Well-Doing   674 

Patrick  Henry,  Wirt's  life   192 

Patriotism   134 

Patriotism,  views  on,  by  'William  Jay   329 

Pawson  &  Nicholson,  bookbinders.   374 

Peabody,  Andrew  P.,  ed.  X.  Amer.  Rev...  218 
Peabody,  William  B.  0.,  Life  of  Wilson...  115 

Peabody,  Oliver  W.  B   476 

Pebble  and  the  Acorn,  by  Miss  Gould   C04 

"Peace,  be  Still"   179 

Peace,  Franklin's  view  of.   38 

Peace,  lines  on,  by  Freneau   Ill 

Peace,  Prospect  of.   Ill 

Peaceful  Rest,  hour  of   406 

Pencillings  by  the  Way   555 

Pennsylvania  Gazette..   35 

Pennsylvania  Hall,  Pierpont's  lines  on 

the  Burning  of.   460 

People,  the  Source  of  Power     69 

Percy's  Masque,  by  Hillhouse   324 

Permission  of  Evil   32 

Persecution.  Parable  against   42 

Personal  Memoirs,  by  Buckingham   225 

Pestilence  of  1798,  by  C.  B.  Brown   172 

Pestilential  Diseases,  X.  Webster  on   140 

Peter  Parley   369 

Petition,  Right  of,  assailed   150 

Philadelphia  Publishers   373 

Phillips,  Sampson  &  Co   373 

Phillips,  Willard   372 

Philosopher  and  Boy,  a  poem   708 

Philothea,  by  Mrs.  Child   479 

Pierpont,  John,  lines  on  the  Burning  of 

Pennsylvania  Hall   460 

Pilgrim  Fathers,  by  W.  H.  Burleigh   661 

Pinkney,  William   502 

Plough,  Loom,  and  Anvil   365 

Poems  of  Religion  and  Society,  by  J.  Q. 

Adams   156 

Poets  and  Poetry  of  America,  by  Griswold  690 

Poets  and  Poetry  of  England   690 

Poet  of  To-Day   753 

Poet's  Love,  by  Edith  May   756 

Poetical  and  Prose  Reading   590 

Poetry,  its  Purifying  Influence   243 

Politeness,  by  L.  31.  Child   481 

Political  Atheism   207 

Political  Duties,  remarks  on   139 

Political  Factions,  Ames's  remarks  on   138 

Politics  and  Religion   167 


Pack 

Politics,  Past  and  Present   581 

Polyanthos   225 

Poor  Richard's  Almanac   35 

Poor-Rich  Man   442 

Portfolio,  an  account  of.   157 

Portion  of  the  Soul,  by  Dr.  Hooker   690 

Potiphar  Papers,  by  Curtis   758 

Potomac,  Passage  of.   75 

Prayer,  Seasons  of,  by  II.  Ware,  Jr   364 

Preaching,  the  True  Object  of.   680 

Prescott,  "William   372 

Prescott,  William  II.,  on  C.  B.  Brown   178 

Present  Age,  by  Dr.  Bacon   500 

Press  On,  by  Park  Benjamin   619 

Pride  of  Worth,  by  R.  T.  Conrad   622 

Priesthood  and  Clergy  Unknown  to  Chris- 
tianity  430 

Priestley,  Dr.,  on  Ames's  eloquence   131 

Princeton  Review   190 

Private  Life,  pleasures  of.   53 

Privileges  of  Age   342 

Proctor,  Edna  Dean   6S0 

Proem  to  Yamoyden   467 

Profession,  choosing  a   362 

Professor  at  the  Breakfast-Table   623 

Progress  and  Reform,  by  Sumner   648 

Progress  of  Dulness   90 

Progress,  a  Satire,  by  Saxe   698 

Prometheus,  by  Percival...  419 

Prophecy,  the,  by  L.  M.  Davidson   601 

Prose-Writers  of  America,  by  Griswold....  690 

Proud,  Robert   172 

Providence,  Bounties  of.   399 

Providence  Ruling  Nations   52 

Psalm  of  Life   562 

Pulaski.  Count,  life  of...   333 

Puritan's  Daughter,  by  Paulding   212 

Puritans,  Elegant  Culture  of.   448 

Puritans,  Position  of,  by  Bancroft   487 

Putnam  &  Co.,  booksellers   373 

Quincy,  Josiah,  life  of  J.  Q.  Adams...  152,  182 
Quincy,  Josiah,  Jr   372 

Rainbow,  the,  by  Mrs.  Welby   735 

Ramsey,  David.  Dr.  Rush's  commenda- 
tion of.   87 

Randall's  life  of  Jefferson   74 

Randolph,  John,  remarks  on,  by  Wilde...  313 

Raven,  the,  by  Poe   639 

Reading,  best  method  of.  .'.   589 

Reaper  and  the  Flowers   563 

Reason  in  Religion   187 

Reciprocal  Influence  of  Morals  and  Lite- 
rature  287 


66 


782 


INDEX. 


Recollections  of  a  Lifetime  

Redemption,  work  of,  Edwards's. 

Red  Rover,  Cooper's  

Redwood  

Rees's  Encyclopedia  


Page 
.  369 
.  28 
.  315 
.  442 
..  373 


Reform,  Army  of   751 

Reformers   302 

Religion  and  Business,  by  H.  W.  Beecher  CS5 

Religion.  Power  of,  on  the  Mind   85 

Religion,  remarks  on,  by  II.  W.  Beecher..  GS1 

Religious  Experience   25 

Religious  Feelings,  Edwards's   25 

Republican  Court,  by  Griswold   690 

Republican  Party  of  1S00   74 

Republic.  Dangers  that  threaten  our  272 

Representative  Men   513 

Resolutions  of  Jonathan  Edwards   20 

Responsibilities  of  our  Country   99 

Retributive  Providences   573 

Reverie  at  Glenmary   560 

Revival  in  New  England   28 

Revolution,  American,  Sparks  on   335 

Rhyme  of  the  Rail   (99 

Rhymes  of  Travel   760 

Ribault,  John,  life  of.   333 

Riches  without  Wings   529 

Ridiculous,  Height  of,  by  Holmes   C24 

Rights  of  Man   74 

Rill  from  the  Town-Pump   537 

Road,  the  Deserted,  by  Read   740 

Robins,  Rev.  Chandler   3C2 

Robbins,  Rev.  Royal   455 

Robbins,  Ed.  W,  on  Percival   414 

Rodolpb,  and  other  Poems   503 

Rollo  Books,  by  Abbott   516 

Round  Hill  School   4S3 

Rural  Districts  of  our  Country   371 

Russell,  Henry,  the  vocalist   507 

Russell.  Major  Benjamin   203 

Rutledge,  John   69 

Sabbath  Evening   509 

Sabbath  in  New  England     442 

Sachem's  Wood,  by  Hillhonse   324 

Saint  Peter's,  Wallace's  description  of.   703 

Salle,  (De  la,)  life  of   333 

Salmagundi   274 

Salmagundi,  by  Irving  and  Paulding   211 

Sam  Patch   468 

Sand,  a  Name  in,  by  Miss  Gould   603 

Sargent,  Winthrop   218 

Saturday  Afternoon   559 

Savage,  J   218 

Scarlet  Letter,  by  Hawthorne   537 

Scene  from  Hadad   324 


Pagb 

Scene  of  Death,  from  the  Buccaneer   305 

Schoolmaster,  the   252 

Schoolmistress,  my  Last  Walk  with   630 

Schrocder,  J.  F   49 

Schuyler,  General   123 

Science  and  Poetry   362 

Sea,  lines  on  the,  by  Stoddard   765 

Sea-Bird's  Song   458 

Sea-Shore  and  the  Mountains   629 

Self-Reliance   515 

September,  lines  on,  by  Wilcox   374 

September  Rain,  by  MackcUar   673 

Serenade,  a  song,  by  Pinkney   504 

Sewall,  Dr.,  lines  on  the  death  of.   114 

Seward,  Wm.  H.,  extract  from  his  life  of 

Adams   152 

 life  of  J.  Q.  Adams   151, 152 

Sexton,  the,  by  Park  Benjamin   620 

Shakspcare  Ode   353 

Sharp,  Granville   501 

Shaw,  Wm.  Smith   217 

Shepherds.  Song  of,  by  Pierpont   293 

Sherman,  Roger   56 

Shillook  Negroes,  account  of.   769 

Sickness,  Uses  of.   284 

Sights  from  a  Steeple   540 

Sigourncy,  Charles   337 

Silliman,  Benjamin,  Jr   234 

Sinai,  Plain  before,  by  Robinson   391 

Sinai,  Top  of.  .'392 

Skies,  Clockwork  of.   397 

Sky.  the,  by  R.  H.  Stoddard   765 

Slaveholding  Christianity   576 

Slave  Power,  Palfrey's  pamphlet  on   447 

Slave-Ship,  the   583 

Slave's  Appeal   583 

Slavery,  views  of,  by  Franklin   44 

 Washington   53 

 Jefferson   76 

 the  action  of  the 

Government  in 
behalf  of,  by  Jay  328 

 Francis  Wayland...  432 

 Albert  Barnes   463 

 G.  B.  Cheever   576 

 Richard  Hildreth...  578 

Smith,  Capt.  John,  Hillard's  life  of.   595 

Smith,  Jeremiah   258 

Smith,  Margaret,  her  Journal   606 

Snow,  description  of,  by  Mrs.  Hale   428 

Social  Science,  Man  the  Subject  of.   3C6 

Soldiers  of  the  Revolution,  address  to   2C3 

Songs  of  Summer   7C2 

Sorrento,  Excursion  to   595 

Soul,  Murder  of  the   578 


INDEX. 


783 


Page 


South  Caroliaa,  Ramsey's  History  of.   87 

Southey's  remarks  on  Lucretia  Davidson.  600 

Spain,  view  of,  by  Hillard   598 

Spanish  Literature,  Ticknor  on   348 

Sparkling  and  Bright,  by  Hoffman   545 

Sparks,  Jared,  as  ed.  of  N.  Anier.  Rev   218 

Spenser,  Mrs.  Kirkland's  life  of,  &c   532 

Spirit  of  Beauty   511 

Spirit  of  the  Pilgrims   207 

Sport,  by  Park  Benjamin   619 

Spring,  Address  of  the  Sylph  of.   230 

Squire  Bull  and  his  Son   215 

Stage,  Bad  Example  of.   40 

Star-Spangled  Banner   222 

Star  Papers,  by  II.  W.  Beecher   680 

Step  to  the  Captain's  Office  and  Settle   574 

Stewart,  Dugald,  in  praise  of  Edwards   30 

Stoddard,  Richard  Henry,  lines  on  Boker  745 

Stoddard,  Solomon   25 

Story,  Joseph,  Eulogy  on  Marshall   120 

St.  Peter's,  interior  of,  by  II.  B.  Wallace..  703 

Street  Scene,  by  Mrs.  Child   480 

Strong,  Caleb,  Governor  of  Massachusetts  141 

Study,  Love  of,  by  Percival   418 

Summer,  by  Edith  May   754 

Summer  Shower,  Scene  after  a   302 

Sunrise  from  Mount  Washington   511 

Swallows,  the  Two,  by  Sprague   358 

Sylphs  of  the  Seasons   229 

Sympathy — Enthusiasm   676 

Tacitus  and  Livy,  Frisbie  on   289 

Taney,  Chief- Justice   222 

Tappan,  William  B.,  lines  on  Franklin   33 

Tartars  and  Russians   95 

Tartars,  Physiognomy  of.   96 

Tasso,  Wilde's  remarks  on   312 

Taste,  Moral   290 

Tea,  Destruction  of,  at  Boston   4S5 

Teacher's  Profession,  its  character   245 

 Office,  from  Harper's  Magazine..  254 

Tempest,  Ballad  of  the   746 

Thacher,  S.  C   218 

Thacher,  Peter   218 

Thanatopsis   379 

Theatre,  its  Character   46,  47 

There  is  an  Hour  of  Peaceful  Rest   406 

The  World  is  Bright  before  Thee   413 

Thomas,  Dr.  J.'s,  Gazetteer   771 

Thompson,  Rev.  J.  P   459 

Thoughts  on  the  Poets,  by  Tnckerman....  675 

Thy  Kingdom  Come,  by  Conrad   622 

Ticknor  &  Fields   373,  561 

Times,  the,  by  Wm.  II.  Burleigh   681 

Timothy  Titcomb's  Letters   726 


Page 


Tobacco,  its  evil  effects   81 

Tocsin,  a  Poem  by  Pierpont   460,  696 

Token,  the,  by  S.  G.  Goodrich   3C9 

Tragic  Poetry   591 

Travelling     5i4 

True  Grandeur  of  Nations   644 

True  Track,  the,  by  J.  G.  Holland   727 

Truth,  by  Allston   233 

Truth  and  Freedom,  by  Gallagher   592 

Tnckerman,  Henry  T.,  lines  on  Allston....  22S 

 on  Allston's  character   229 

 on  Halleck's  poetry   408 

 on  Lucy  Hooper   695 

 remarks  on  Hillhouse   324 

 on  Bryant's  poetry   378 

Tucker,  Judge,  of  Virginia   192 

Tudor,  Frederick,  established  the  ice  trade  218 

Tudor,  Wm.,  as  ed.  of  N.  Amer.  Rev   218 

Twenty-Third  Psalm,  remarks  by  Beecher  683 

Twice-Told  Tales,  by  Hawthorne   536 

Twilight,  Song  at,  by  Davidson   601 

Uncle  Phil  and  his  Daughter   444 

Uncle  Tom's  Cabin   663 

Union,  an  Appeal  for  the   100 

Unitarian  Miscellany   332 

Unselfishness,  by  L.  M.  Child   481 

Up  with  the  Signal   507 

Usefulness  and  Virtue  combined   425 

Usher,  Fall  of  the  House  of,  by  Poe   641 

Usefulness,  Health,  Happiness   728 

Valedictory,  Washington's   50 

Valley  of  the  Nashaway   511 

Vanity  Fair,  by  Hawthorne   541 

Van  Vechten,  Rev.  Jacob   166 

Vesuvius,  Crater  of,  by  H.  B.  Wallace   704 

Views  Afoot   766 

Vigil  of  Faith,  by  Hoffman   543 

Virtue  and  Happiness   54 

Virtue  alone  Beautiful,  by  Whittier   613 

Virtue  Crowned  with  Usefulness   425 

Vision  of  Sir  Launfal   712 

Voices  of  Freedom,  by  Whittier   606 

Voltaire  and  Wilberforce   424 

Waddell,  Rev.  Jas.,  the  "Blind  Preacher"  193 

|  Walk,  my  Last,  with  the  Schoolmistress..  630 

|  Wallace,  Horace  B.,  remarks  on  Morris...  505 

I  remarks  on  Willis   55b 

Wallace,  John  William   702 

Walton's  Angler,  Bethune's  edition   524 

War  and  Education,  expenses  of.   646 

War,  Rev.  Albert  Barnes  on   464 

War,  views  of,  by  Franklin   38 


784 


INDEX. 


Page 

War,  views  of,  by  Washington   55 

War  of  1S12,  J.  Quincy  on   181 

Warning,  the   567 

Warrior  Chief  and  Trader   367 

Washington,  George,  his  administration, 

by  Sullivan   206 

 as  a  civilian,  by  Ames   134 

.  character  of,  by  II.  B.  Wallace...  705 

 his  assailants   74 

 letter  to  Phillis  Wheatley   113 

 Marshall's  character  of.   121 

 Mrs.  Kirkland's  life  of.   532 

 resigning  his  commission   88 

■  valedictory  counsels   50 

Water-Fowl,  by  Bryant   380 

Way  to  do  Good   516 

Wealth,  Paternal,  how  to  be  employed   327 

Wealth,  Way  to,  by  Franklin   38 

Webster,  Daniel,  remarks  on,  by  Wilde...  313 

 opinion  of  Hamilton   124 

Wedding-Ring,  lines  on   471 

Weep  not  for  the  Dead   490 

Wells,  William   218 

We  Parted  in  Sadness,  by  Hoffman   545 

West,  Benjamin,  Esq   157 

West,  Life  in  the,  by  Morris   506 

Western  Captive,  by  Mrs.  Smith   529 

Western  Clearings   532 

Whale,  Capture  of,  by  Cooper   316 

What  is  Life   732 

Wheatley,  Mrs.  John,  her  benevolence....  113 

When  other  Friends  are  Round  thee   506 

Whipple's  Criticism  on  Neal   387 

Whisper  to  a  Bride   337 

Whistle,  Franklin's   41 

White,  Joseph,  Murder  of   267 

Whitewashing   63 

Whittier's  lines  on  Brainard   455 

 on  the  death  of  Eva   66S 

Why  should  we  Sigh?   407 

Widow  at  her  Daughter's  Bridal   338 

Widow's  Wooer   615 

Wieland,  by  C.  B.  Brown   172 

Wife,  the,  by  Elizabeth  O.  Smith   531 

Wife,  the,  by  Auna  P.  Dinnies   632 


Page 


Wilberforce  and  Voltaire   424 

Wilkes's  Exploring  Expedition   373 

W'illard,  Prof.  Sidney   218 

Will,  Freedom  of.   31 

Williams  College   491 

Williamson,  Passmore   571 

Williams,  Roger,  character  of,  by  Bancroft  484 

 Palfrey's  account  of   450 

Willing,  Thomas   68 

Willis,  Nathaniel   555 

Wilson,  Rev.  James  P   459 

Winged  Worshippers,  by  Sprague   358 

Winter  in  the  West,  by  Hoffman   543 

Wirt,  Mrs.  Elizabeth   192 

Wirt,  William,  remarks  on  Marshall   121 

Wise  and  Good,  influence  of   301 

Wish  of  To-Day,  by  Whittier   612 

Wit  and  Humor,  by  E.  P.  Whipple   723 

Woman  and  her  Needs,  by  E.  O.  Smith....  529 

Woman,  Ledyard's  Eulogium  on   97 

Woman's  Record,  by  Mrs.  Hale   427 

Woodbridge,  Hon.  William   93 

Woodman,  Spare  that  Tree   507 

Wood,  Prof.  George  B   373 

Wood-Thrush,  the   257 

Worcester,  J.  E.,  LL.D.,  notice  of  his  great 

Dictionary   140 

Words,  Power  of,  by  E.  P.  Wrhipplc   721 

Work  and  Play,  by  Dr.  Bushnell   520 

Worship,  True   493 

Wreath  of  Wild  Flowers   657 

Wyatt,  William  E-   332 

Yamoyden   466 

Yearnings  for  Home   744 

Yemassee,  by  Simms   546 

Young  American,  A.  EL  Everett's  lines...  347 

Young  Christian,  by  Abbott   516 

Young,  Dr.  Thomas   486 

Young,  Temptations  of.   284 

Youth,  Wirt's  interest  in   201 

Zenobia,  by  William  Ware   452 

Zephyr  Spirit,  Song  of,  by  Simms   551 

Zophiel,  by  Mrs.  Brooks   420 


THE  END. 


STEREOTYPED  BY  L.  JOHNSON  &  CO. 
PHILADELPHIA. 


to  - V*  t>  1 


